“May 21. Had a sitting all alone with dear Uncle Sam's picture this afternoon.
I thought it might be the time of his funeral.
I read the beautiful 90th Psalm and a number of his bright, sweet lyrics.
A sympathetic visit from Winthrop Chanler.”
“May 27. .... Dear Brother Sam's death has brought me well in sight of the farther shore.
May I be ready when it is my turn to cross.”
I was already in debt to you for one good letter when this later one arrived, giving me the full, desired particulars of our dear one's last days on earth.
You and Annie both write as though the loss were heaviest to me, and I only feel that I cannot feel it half enough.
The pathos of a life of such wonderful vicissitudes!
I cannot half take it in. What must he not have suffered in those lonely days of wandering and privation, while I was comfortable in my household! . . God knows, I had every reason to love him, for he was heroically faithful to his affection for me. Now, I feel how little I appreciated his devotion, and how many chimeras, in my foolish wool-gathering head, crowded upon this most precious affection, which was worthy of a much larger place in my thoughts.
His death is a severe loss to Maud and me.... We were always hoping to rejoin him, and to pass some happy years with him. A great object is withdrawn from our two lives.
Nothing can take his place to either of us. ... As I write, the tears come.
Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston and New York. 1916.
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