'_Groton, April_ 25, 1833.--I came hither, summoned by the
intelligence, that our poor--had met with a terrible accident.
I found the dear child,--who had left me so full of joy and
eagerness, that I thought with a sigh, not of envy, how happy
he, at least, would be here,--burning with fever. He had
expected me impatiently, and was very faint lest it should not
be "Margaret" who had driven up. I confess I greeted our
new home with a flood of bitter tears. He behaves with great
patience, sweetness, and care for the comfort of others. This
has been a severe trial for mother, fatigued, too, as she was,
and full of care; but her conduct is angelic. I try to find
consolation in all kinds of arguments, and to distract my
thoughts till the precise amount of injury is surely known.
I am not idle a moment. When not-with--, in whose room I sit,
sewing, and waiting upon him, or reading aloud a great part of
the day, I solace my soul with Goethe, and follow his guidance
into realms of the "Wahren, Guten, and Schönen."'