* *
'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.
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