We have had a dreary winter thus far. Cold and wet. Augustus' letter has increased our desire to go North. We have talked with Sybil about it. She felt at first unreconciled, but upon deliberation has concluded that it may be best. Mr. Fisher is feeble and feels as if he must go back where he can mingle with friends, and have a living more congenial to his tastes. The undertaking seems great and hazardous. We know not how to manage nor who to apply to for advice or assistance. Mrs. Chappelle and Autie wish to go with us. It seems difficult for me to determine what is right.
        Mr. Fisher feels that he is not called to sacrifice his entire happiness to remain. It is hard to part with Clarence and there's after all an attachment to this forest home. The fruit trees that we planted with our own hand, the flowers that we have cultivated with so much labor, the palmettoes that we have so delighted to gather and braid--the fields of berries and the little sacred burying ground under the cluster of cedars all have a charm. I shall want to see them again and our light wood fires that are so bright and cheerful on a cold day, this is the sunny side. The more we think of going North the more good reasons present themselves for going.