Lydia Maria Child, Letters of Lydia Maria Child
John Greenleaf Whittier, Wendell Phillips, Harriet Winslow Sewall, Ed.

To Miss Lucy Osgood.

I was just about answering your welcome letter, when that overwhelming blow¹ came suddenly, and for a time seemed to crush all life and hope out of me. Nothing but the death of my kind husband could have caused me such bitter grief. Then came your precious letter of sympathy and condolence. I thanked you for it, from the depths of my suffering heart; but I did not feel as if I could summon energy to write to any but the bereaved ones of his own household. You know that he was a valuable friend to me, but no one but myself could know how valuable. For thirty years he has been my chief reliance. In moral perplexities I always went to him for counsel, and he never failed to clear away every cloud. In all worldly troubles I went to him, and always found a judicious adviser, a sympathizing friend, a generous helper. He was only two months [96] younger than myself, but I had so long been accustomed to lean upon him, that the thought never occurred to me that it was possible that I might be left in the world without him. All my plans for old age were based upon him; all my little property was in his hands ; and if I had ever so small a sum, even tell dollars, for which I had no immediate use, he put it on interest, though it were but for a single month. But the loss in this point of view seems trifling compared to the desolation his death has made in my affections. If I could only hear his gentle voice again, I would be willing to throw all the dollars into the sea. Oh, this dreadful silence! How heavily the dark veil drops clown between us and that unknown world! Whether it be the vividness of memory, or whether he is actually near me, I know not,--but I have the impression of the perpetual presence of his spirit with singular distinctness. The presence, be it real or imaginary, has the same influence over me that he always had while on earth. It soothes me, makes me feel calm and strong. I think your friend Samuel Johnson wrote the best hymn for the occasion I ever read. I mean the one he wrote for Mr. Longfellow. Blessings be with you.