My wife and people send their love and dire indignation to you.
To Miss Catherine M. Sedgwick.
SHEFFIELD, Dec. 12, 1864.
. . . It is not pleasant to think upon death. It would not be pleasant
to any company of friends to think that the hour for parting was
near. Death is a solemn and painful dispensation. I will have no
hallucination about it. I "wait the great teacher, Death." I do not
welcome it. It is a solemn change. It is a dread change to natures like
ours. I do not believe that the Great Disposer meant that we should
approach it with a smile, with an air of triumph,--with any other
than feelings of lowly submission and trust. I do not want to die.
I never knew anybody that did, except when bitter pain or great and
irremediable unhappiness made the release welcome. And yet, I would
not remain forever in this world. And thus, like the Apostle, "I am
in a strait betwixt two." And I believe that it is better to depart;
but it is a kind of reluctant conclusion. It may be even cheerful; but
it does not make it easy for me to tear myself from all the blessed
ties of life. I submit to God's awful will; but it is with a struggle
of emotions, that is itself painful and trying,--that tasks all the
fortitude and faith of which I am capable. [277] Will you tell me
that our Christian masters and martyrs spoke of a "victory" over
death? Yes, but is victory all joy? Ah, what a painful thing is every
victory of our arms in these bloody battles, though we desire it! Do
you feel that I am not writing to you in the high Christian strain?
Perhaps not. But I confess I am accustomed to bring all that is taught
me--all that is said in exceptional circumstances like those of the
apostles-into some adjustment with a natural, necessary, and universal
experience. Besides, Jesus himself did not approach death with a song
of triumph upon his lips. What a union, in him, of sorrow and trust!
No defying of pain, no boasting of calmness or strength, no braving of
martyrdom,--not half so fine and grand, to a worldly and superficial
view, as many a martyr's death! But oh, what a blending in him of
everything that makes perfection,--of pain and patience, of trial and
trust! But I am writing too long a letter for you to read. . . . K.
just came into my study, and says, "Do give my love." I answer, "I give
all our love always." So I do now; and with the kindest regards to all
around you, I am, as ever,
Most affectionately your friend,