I trust time
will allay these feelings.
'My poor father naturally thought more of his _only_ son than of his
daughters, and, much and long as he had suffered on his account, he
cried out for his loss like David for that of Absalom--my son my
son!--and refused at first to be comforted. And then when I ought to
have been able to collect my strength and be at hand to support him,
I fell ill with an illness whose approaches I had felt for some time
previously, and of which the crisis was hastened by the awe and
trouble of the death-scene--the first I had ever witnessed. The past
has seemed to me a strange week. Thank God, for my father's sake, I
am better now, though still feeble. I wish indeed I had more general
physical strength--the want of it is sadly in my way. I cannot do
what I would do for want of sustained animal spirits and efficient
bodily vigour.
'My unhappy brother never knew what his sisters had done in
literature--he was not aware that they had ever published a line. We
could not tell him of our efforts for fear of causing him too deep a
pang of remorse for his own time mis-spent, and talents misapplied.
Now he will _never_ know. I cannot dwell longer on the subject at
present--it is too painful.
'I thank you for your kind sympathy, and pray earnestly that your
sons may all do well, and that you may be spared the sufferings my
father has gone through.
Pages:
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217