Friday. 9th May. /1851.

A beautiful summer day.
I dressed and went up to see
mother, took jelly in a bowl, the papers, and an orange.
Saw Catharine, she looks thin, but much better than
I could have hoped after her fatigue.
My heart aches for my poor father, he was sick, and
in great pain. So thin, dejected, and changed, that as
he laid on the sofa, I thought his death as near,
all his features so fixed, his eyes so full of gloom.
And poor ma, to see her eyes fill with tears, as she
in vain, tried to console him.
Catharine, in her pleasant way tried to cheer him, and is
the only one he seems to listen [to] for hope. The poor
Soul, must stay night, and day with Henry, who is not
able to sit-up; and raises an alarming flinch; at intervals.
It makes me miserable to contemplate, so much
sorrow; but our only consolation is that God appoints all things
we know not what happiness, may shine from these dark
clouds. The father, and son, must both be purified for
Heaven, and we should prepare for the same trials.
Faith in our Saviour’s mercy, must be our hope, and in
his hands we commit our sick friends, and our own
souls.
Since my marriage, I have suffered so much silent grief, for
the affections of home, my first home, I should say.
G. of course cannot feel, or sympathize in bodily ailments,
in truth[,] I do not wish him [to] feel one moments pain,
on my account. But to feel for my father’s suffering is
a trial nothing could alleviate. I must weep bitter
tears for him, good, kind, refined noble, high toned man
is my sick father.

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