XX.
APRIL.
I HAVE had a new lesson which has almost broken my heart.In looking over his father's papers, Ernest found a little journal, brief in its records indeed, but we learn from it that on all those wedding and birthdays, when I fancied his austere religion made him hold aloof from our merry-making, he was spending the time in fasting and praying for us and for our children! Oh, shall I ever learn the sweet charity that thinketh no evil, and believeth all things? What blessings may not have descended upon us and our children through those prayers! What evils may they not have warded off! Dear old father! Oh, that I could once more put my loving arms about him and bid him welcome to our home! And how gladly would I now confess to him all my unjust judgments concerning him and entreat his forgiveness! Must life always go on thus? Must I always be erring, ignorant and blind? How I hate this arrogant sweeping past my brother man; this utter ignoring of his hidden life?
I see now that it is well for mother that she did not come to live with me at the beginning of my married life.I should not have borne with her little peculiarities, nor have made her half so happy as Ican now.I thank God that my varied disappointments and discomforts, my feeble health, my poverty, my mortifications have done me some little good, and driven me to Him a thousand times because I could not get along without His help.But I am not satisfied with my state in His sight.I am sure something is lacking, though I know not what it is.
MAY Helen is going to stay here and live with Martha How glad how enchanted I am! Old Mr.Underhill is getting well; I saw him to-day.
He can talk of nothing but his illness, of Martha's wonderful skill in nursing him declaring that he owes his life to her.I felt a little piqued at this speech, because Ernest was very attentive to him, and no doubt did his share towards the cure.We have fitted up father's room for a nursery.Hitherto all the children have had to sleep in our room which has been bad for them and bad for us.I have been so afraid they would keep Ernest awake if they were unwell and restless.I have secured an excellent nurse, who is as fresh and blooming as the flower whose name she bears.The children are already attached to her, and I feel that the worst of my life is now over.
JUNE.-Little Ernest was taken sick on the day I wrote that.The attack was fearfully sudden and violent.He is still very, very ill.
I have not forgotten that I said once that I would give my children to God should He ask for them.but oh, this agony of suspense! It eats into my soul and eats it away.Oh, my little Ernest! My first-born son! My pride, my joy, my hope! And I thought the worst of my life was over!
AUGUST.-We have come into the country with what God has left us, our two youngest children.Yes, I have tasted the bitter cup of bereavement, and drunk it down to its dregs.I gave my darling to God, I gave him, I gave him! But, oh, with what anguish I saw those round, dimpled limbs wither and waste away, the glad smile fade forever from that beautiful face! What a fearful thing it is to be a mother! But I have given my child to God.I would not recall him if Icould.I am thankful He has counted me worthy to present Him so costly a gift.
I cannot shed a tear, and I must find relief in writing, or I shall lose my senses.My noble, beautiful boy! My first-born son! And to think that my delicate little Una still lives, and that death has claimed that bright, glad creature who was the sunshine of our home!
But let me not forget my mercies.Let me not forget that I have a precious husband and two darling children, and my kind, sympathizing mother left to me.Let me not forget how many kind friends gathered about us in our sorrow.Above all let me remember God's loving-kindness and tender mercy.He has not left us to the bitterness of a grief that refuses and disdains to be comforted.We believe in Him, we love Him, we worship as we never did before.My dear Ernest has felt this sorrow to his heart's core.But he has not for one moment questioned the goodness or the love of our Father in thus taking from us the child who promised to be our greatest earthly joy Our consent to God's will has drawn us together very closely, together we bear the yoke in our youth, together we pray and sing praises in the very midst of our tears "I was dumb with silence because Thou didst it."SEPT.The old pain and cough have come back with the first cool nights of this month Perhaps I am going to my darling- I do not know I am certainly very feeble Consenting to suffer does not annul the suffering Such a child could not go hence without rending and tearing its way out of the heart that loved it.This world is wholly changed to me and I walk in it like one in a dream.And dear Ernest is changed, too.He says little, and is all kindness and goodness to me, but I can see here is a wound that will never be healed.I am confined to my room now with nothing do but to think, think, think.Ido not believe God has taken our child in mere displeasure, but cannot but feel that this affliction might not have been necessary if I had not so chafed and writhed and secretly repined at the way in which my home was invaded, and at our galling poverty.God has exchanged the one discipline for the other; and oh, how far more bitter is this cup!
Oct.4.- My darling boy would have been six years old to-day.Ernest still keeps me shut up, but he rather urges my seeing a friend now and.People say very strange things in the way of consolation.Ibegin to think that a tender clasp of the hand is about all one can give to the afflicted.One says I must not grieve, because my child is better off in heaven.Yes, he is better off; I know it, I.feel it; but I miss him none the less.Others say he might have grown up to be a bad man and broken my heart.Perhaps he might, but I cannot make myself believe that likely.One lady asked me if this affliction was not a rebuke of my idolatry of my darling; and another, if I had not been in a cold, worldly state, needing this severe blow on that account.
