"I do not know how life will pass, but I certainly do feel
confidence in Him who has upheld me hitherto. Solitude may be
cheered, and made endurable beyond what I can believe. The great
trial is when evening closes and night approaches. At that hour,
we used to assemble in the dining-room--we used to talk. Now I
sit by myself--necessarily I am silent. I cannot help thinking of
their last days, remembering their sufferings, and what they said
and did, and how they looked in mortal affliction. Perhaps all
this will become less poignant in time.

"Let me thank you once more, dear E----, for your kindness to me,
which I do not mean to forget. How did you think all looking at
your home? Papa thought me a little stronger; he said my eyes
were not so sunken."

"July 14th, 1849.

"I do not much like giving an account of myself. I like better to
go out of myself, and talk of something more cheerful. My cold,
wherever I got it, whether at Easton or elsewhere, is not
vanished yet. It began in my head, then I had a sore throat, and
then a sore chest, with a cough, but only a trifling cough, which
I still have at times. The pain between my shoulders likewise
amazed me much. Say nothing about it, for I confess I am too much
disposed to be nervous. This nervousness is a horrid phantom. I
dare communicate no ailment to Papa; his anxiety harasses me
inexpressibly.

"My life is what I expected it to be. Sometimes when I wake in
the morning, and know that Solitude, Remembrance, and Longing are