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Dear mother, your parting words are still fresh in my memory, and your prayers and tears are locked in my heart. Your love is a sort of spirit robe that covers all my thoughts, and I wear it every where. Kiss little sisters and brother often for me, and let them never forget their sister Helen; but they must not think of me only as something sad and melancholy, for I am growing more cheerful now; sometimes I laugh almost as merrily as ever. Tell brother, when I come again he will gather wild flowers with me as before, and I can hear him say his lessons, and Nin and Mary will read for me, and write all my letters, and I will teach them some new songs, and tell them many stories. They must go to the library every week, and write me what they read.

Water-Cure, Long Island.

MY GOOD FRIEND MR. DEAN: -- Let me thank you many times for your dear note of yesterday. How kind of you to think of me in your leisure moments, when they come to you so seldom! I have no new thing to write to you, save that to-morrow Dr. and Mrs. Nott leave for their home in Schenectady, and also a lovely family, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy and daughter, of Virginia, all of whom will be very much missed in our circle. Mrs. H--- is somewhat larger than myself; her complexion is a dark brunette; she has jet black eyes, and her raven tresses nearly touch the ground. Some say she is a descendant of Pocahontas, or Metoka as her father called her. I do love a real Southern character, it makes one so cordial generous, and impulsive. Mrs. Hardy and myself have climbed these hills together, crossed valleys, and traversed winding foot-paths, and waded the brooks, and plunged and bathed together, till she seems almost a part of myself. I shall miss her gentle hand and kind words every where. But they have arranged that I pass the month of May next at their pleasant home in N---, which I fancy will be a little round of delight, almost a dissipation. The winter looks dark and cheerless now, for as yet I know not where to pass it; but you see there is a bright spot for me in the spring-time; so I will go on, laughingly and gladly, as though I had a fortune secured, and nothing more to do in this life but live and be happy.

One little thing I must tell you: Mrs. Hardy promises when she gets to New-York to send me back a nice writing-desk for a keepsake. Will not that be a precious gift? and how I shall love the dear thing for her sake! Oh, why is every body so kind to me? I cannot be sad long at a time if I try; some tuneful voice always comes to cheer, and some gentle hand to guide and bless me.

Dr. S--- is anxious for me to remain here until I am quite well. He says the water treatment is much more effectual in cold weather than in warm. Besides, the good Quaker steward and stewardess often say, "I think we must keep thee here this winter, thou wilt be so much company for us."

New-York Institution for the Blind.

THE sun set upon the sea, and the moon rose above the hills, and the stars came out smiling through the clouds, like bands of angels, with linked hands, flying through the heavens. The reading hour past, we sang an evening hymn, and prayers were said, and the bell rang for ten, and all laid them down to sleep. To Him who sits enthroned in the abodes of light and Jove, I heard Mary's lips whispering of mother, home, and heaven. Perchance she is dreaming now of faces imaged on her heart long ago, and the sunny hours of childhood with their visions of joy have come to possess her thoughts. It is midnight, that deep hushed hour, when the soul turns back upon itself, and all the thoughts and feelings are chased homeward by incidents of the past. Now the night dews are hanging lightly on all the flowers, and the green leaves in moony shadows are trembling on the walls and the lengthened forms of the waving boughs are crawling on the floor, as the shades of melancholy creep o'er my soul. Away yonder on the bosom of the Hudson the lights of the sky are twinkling; so up in heaven, on the fountain that wells from the throne, the smiles of God are playing. The world of spirits is opened to ours, and ours to theirs; even now, loved ones departed are in smiling distance, and their blent voices fall on my ear, like the pulses of a lute, when the waking hand has passed away. They come in the night time, when silence holds her spell-like reign, and in unseen communion spirit doth with spirit blend. Night too is the time for prayer; then the ear of Heaven is nearer bent, and the full sad heart, by faith, breathes a freer air, and leaping upward, gets new and clearer glimpses of the Christian's better life. So Jesus, wearied with the toils of the day, oft at night climbed lonely Olivet, apart to pray and talk with his Father in heaven, and seraphs who had grown old in his love were with him there; and while he kneeled upon the damp earth, their spirit hands dried his tears away. Dear mother, I often fancy you must be near, and turn to hear you speak, and put out my hand, but to greet the empty air. Oh, think of me when the morning breaks, and when the noon is bright, and the day declines; and pray for me too, lest this life of darkness make me sad, and loneliness' self settle on me. Write to me often, mother, and say I have always a place in your love, and a memory in your prayers; say that little brother and sisters speak of me in their play, and count the days until I shall come back again. I am pleased with the Institution. If Charity herself had come down to build on earth a home for her children, and Innocence had gathered them, the dwelling were not more fair, or its inhabitants more lovely and pure. But, dear mother, I love our blue Ontario more; its green shore inurns the stirring memories of a heart that was my own; besides, the dearest spot is always where our friends abide. When the sun was going down I went into the garden, and felt around among the bushes, until I found some flowers, and gathered a, beautiful bouquet for you, mother, and now, in fancy, I will steal softly into your room, and lay it on your pillow. May its sweet perfumes make you dream of a land where flowers never fade, and those we love never die; where sorrow may not come; and where with a napkin of love all tears shall be wiped from our eyes.