"Your absence makes a great blank in the family; and I feel that I must be very careful lest any little accident should make me feel of a deep blue while you are away. Confidence is a great matter, not only in curing, but in preventing disease, whether of the body or the mind; and I have somehow got the notion that I am more safe when you[5] are looking after me than when you are not, and that any trouble is sooner cured when you are present than when you are not. This is, I suppose, the true charm which some people have faith in to keep off their ills. I have been forcibly reminded of the passage of time, by reviewing the scenes of the last three years, and am deeply sensible of the mercies that have been extended to me. What little I do is a poor return: may a better spirit prompt and guide my future services! What few I have rendered are estimated by my brethren beyond their value, and of course tend to flatter my self-love. This should not be; and I ought to see myself as I am seen by that eye that never sleeps. The situation I occupy is one that I would not exchange, if I had the power, with any man living: it is full of agreeable incidents, and free from the toils and anxieties frequently attendant on a high state of prosperity; and is, beside, free from that jealousy, or from any other cause of uneasiness, so common among the ardent and successful in this world's race."
To his daughter, who was on a visit at Washington, he writes:
"Boston, May 18th, 1834. Sunday evening.
"My dear Child: The contrast in the weather to-day with what it has been most of the time since you left home, is as great as is usual between a bleak November day and the soft air of June. To-day it is beautiful, but on Wednesday it snowed, hailed, and rained, and I am told, indeed, that a few miles beyond Amherst the snow fell four inches in depth. You have reason to be thankful that you have been in a milder climate, and, at the same time, are seeing all the wonders that open upon you in the new world on which you have entered.
"I shall be expecting a letter from you within a day or two; there can be no want of materials where so many new objects are constantly presenting themselves, and there is a pleasure in receiving them just as they appear to you; so you need not be afraid to place before me the first sketches, precisely as you catch them.
"To-day I suppose you are in Philadelphia, and, if so, I hope you have attended a Friends' meeting. The manner of worship and the appearance of the people are different from anything you have seen; and the influence of this sect upon the taste and manners of the people is very striking, particularly in the matter of their dress. It is said that you can judge something of the character of a lady from her dress. Without deeming it an essential, I think it of some consequence. This strikes the eye only, and may deceive; how much more important that the dress of the heart and mind and affections be right, and that no deception be found there! I do most earnestly pray God that every opportunity may be improved by you, my dear S., to adorn yourself with all those graces that shall not only charm the eye, but also with those that shall win the affections of those whose affection you would prize, and more especially that you will secure the approval of our best Friend.
* * * * *
"Monday afternoon, May 19.—I have received your charming letter, dated on Thursday last. It is just the thing, a simple narrative of facts; and you will find plenty of materials of this sort, as I stated to you before. I have been in the saddle to-day nearly five hours with your Uncle W. and Father Taylor, and am very tired, but shall get refreshed by a night's rest.
"The day is beautiful, finer than any we have had since you left home. We went to Mount Auburn, and it appears very lovely; how much better than the dreary resting-places for the dead so common in New England, overgrown with thistles, and the graves hardly designated by a rude stone! Our Puritan forefathers mistook very much, I think, in making the place of deposit for our mortal remains so forbidding in appearance to the living. A better taste is growing among us. It may become a matter of ostentation (we are so apt to go to extremes), to build sepulchres and monuments to hold our bodies, that will speak to our shame when we are no longer subjects of trial; when, in short, we shall have gone to our account. If these monuments could speak to their living owners, and induce them to labor to merit, while they may, a good word from the future lookers on, then they would be valuable indeed. As it is, I have no fault to find; it is decidedly better than the old fashion of making these tenements look as dreary as anything in this world can look."
To the same he writes, a few days later:
"Tell —— that I saw little —— this morning. She is the sweetest little creature that ever lived, and I find myself smiling whenever I think of the dear child in health. Sympathy is a powerful agent in illustrating through the countenance the feelings within. I believe my face is as arrant a tell-tale as ever was worn; and whenever I think of those I love, under happy circumstances, I am happy, too. So you may judge how much I enjoy in the belief that you are enjoying so much, and doing so well, in this journey."
On February 8, 1835, he writes to a young friend:
"Take care that fancy does not beguile you of your understanding in making your choice: a mere picture is not all that is needful in the up and down hills of life. The arrangements of the household and the sick room have more in them to fasten upon the heart than all the beauties and honors of the mere gala days, however successfully shown off. Be careful, when you pick, to get a heart, a soul, and a body; not a show of a body that has mere vitality. All this comes in by the ears; but it is in,—I will not blot it out."
March 16, he writes to his sister.
"I have had so much call for my sympathy, assistance, and advice, among my brethren in trade, that I have little inclination or spirit to write social or family letters since my last; but, in all this turmoil and trouble (and it really is as disastrous as a siege or a famine to the country), I have kept up a good heart, and have been able to view the work of destruction with as much composure as the nature of the case will allow. Whatever effects it shall produce on my property, I shall submit to, as the inevitable destruction that comes without any fault of my own, of course without any self-reproaches; but for the authors I feel a just indignation. As regards the pecuniary distress among us, it is subsiding: there have been fewer failures than were anticipated; but there have been numbers on the brink, who have been saved by the help of friends. A few persons have done great service in helping those who could not help themselves; and the consequences will be felt here for years to come in the credit and standing of many worthy people, who must otherwise have been broken down. Brother A. has had a load of care and responsibility much too severe for him, and has now agreed to throw off a part of the business as soon as the present pressure is past."
April 29, he writes: