'On the evening of the 30th of September, 1835, my father was
seized with cholera, and on the 2d of October, was a corpse.
For the first two days, my grief, under this calamity, was
such as I dare not speak of. But since my father's head
is laid in the dust, I feel an awful calm, and am becoming
familiar with the thoughts of being an orphan. I have prayed
to God that duty may now be the first object, and self set
aside. May I have light and strength to do what is right, in
the highest sense, for my mother, brothers, and sister. * *
'It has been a gloomy week, indeed. The children have all been
ill, and dearest mother is overpowered with sorrow, fatigue,
and anxiety. I suppose she must be ill too, when the
children recover. I shall endeavor to keep my mind steady, by
remembering that there is a God, and that grief is but for a
season. Grant, oh Father, that neither the joys nor sorrows
of this past year shall have visited my heart in vain! Make me
wise and strong for the performance of immediate duties, and
ripen me, by what means Thou seest best, for those which lie
beyond.
'My father's image follows me constantly. Whenever I am in
my room, he seems to open the door, and to look on me with a
complacent, tender smile. What would I not give to have it
in my power, to make that heart once more beat with joy! The
saddest feeling is the remembrance of little things, in which
I have fallen short of love and duty. I never sympathized in
his liking for this farm, and secretly wondered how a mind
which had, for thirty years, been so widely engaged in the
affairs of men, could care so much for trees and crops.
But now, amidst the beautiful autumn days, I walk over the
grounds, and look with painful emotions at every little
improvement. He had selected a spot to place a seat where
I might go to read alone, and had asked me to visit it. I
contented myself with "When you please, father;" but we never
went! What would I not now give, if I had fixed a time, and
shown more interest! A day or two since, I went there. The
tops of the distant blue hills were veiled in delicate autumn
haze; soft silence brooded over the landscape; on one side, a
brook gave to the gently sloping meadow spring-like verdure;
on the other, a grove,--which he had named for me,--lay softly
glowing in the gorgeous hues of October. It was very sad.
May this sorrow give me a higher sense of duty in the
relationships which remain.
'Dearest mother is worn to a shadow. Sometimes, when I look on
her pale face, and think of all her grief, and the cares and
anxieties which now beset her, I am appalled by the thought
that she may not continue with us long. Nothing sustains me
now but the thought that God, who saw fit to restore me to
life when I was so very willing to leave it,--more so, perhaps
than I shall ever be again,--must have some good work for me
to do.'
* * * * *
'_Nov. 3, 1835_.--I thought I should be able to write ere now,
how our affairs were settled, but that time has not come
yet. My father left no will, and, in consequence, our path
is hedged in by many petty difficulties. He has left less
property than we had anticipated, for he was not fortunate in
his investments in real estate. There will, however, be enough
to maintain my mother, and educate the children decently. I
have often had reason to regret being of the softer sex,
and never more than now. If I were an eldest son, I could be
guardian to my brothers and sister, administer the estate,
and really become the head of my family. As it is, I am very
ignorant of the management and value of property, and of
practical details. I always hated the din of such affairs, and
hoped to find a life-long refuge from them in the serene world
of literature and the arts. But I am now full of desire to
learn them, that I may be able to advise and act, where it
is necessary. The same mind which has made other attainments,
can, in time, compass these, however uncongenial to its nature
and habits.'
* * * * *
'I shall be obliged to give up selfishness in the end. May
God enable me to see the way clear, and not to let down
the intellectual, in raising the moral tone of my mind.
Difficulties and duties became distinct the very night after
my father's death, and a solemn prayer was offered then, that
I might combine what is due to others with what is due to
myself. The spirit of that prayer I shall constantly endeavor
to maintain. What ought to be done for a few months to come is
plain, and, as I proceed, the view will open.'