My friend and room-mate Sarah, who was preparing herself
to be a teacher, was invited to join us, and she was glad to do
so. It was all quickly settled, and early in the spring of 1846
we left New England.
When I came to a realization of what I was leaving, when good-bys
had to be said, I began to feel very sorrowful, and to wish it
was not to be. I said positively that I should soon return, but
underneath my protestations I was afraid that I might not. The
West was very far off then, a full week's journey. It would be
hard getting back. Those I loved might die; I might die myself.
These thoughts passed through my mind, though not through my
lips. My eyes would sometimes tell the story, however, and I
fancy that my tearful farewells must have seemed ridiculous to
many of my friends, since my going was of my own cheerful choice.
The last meeting of the Improvement Circle before I went away was
a kind of surprise party to me. Several original poems were read,
addressed to me personally.
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