From my JOURNAL (The Green Book).
"June 26.—My darling often talks to me in her hymns. To-night, when I left her, she said with her lovely sweetness, 'Good-night, darling.
"Go, sleep like closing flowers at night,
And Heaven your morn will bless."'
"'I never wish to leave you,' she said the other day. 'I never wish for death; always remember that. I should like to stay with you as long as I can.' And another day, 'I must call you "my daughter-son," as Mrs. Colquhoun did hers: as long as I have you, I suppose I can bear anything; but if you were taken away, or if I had never had you, my life would be indeed desolate: I could not have lived on.... I try so not to groan when you are here, you must not grudge me a few groans when you are out of the room.'"
"July 18.—'I had such a sweet dream of your Aunt Lucy last night. I thought we were together again, and I said, "How I do miss you!" and she said she was near me. I suppose I had been thinking of—
"Saints in glory perfect made
Wait thine escort through the shade."
I think perhaps I had been thinking of that. Dear Aunt Lucy, how she would have grieved to see me now!'"
"July 19.—'Yes, I know the psalms; many in your Uncle Julius's version too. Many a time it keeps me quiet for hours to know and repeat them. I should never have got through my journey if I had not had so many to repeat and to still the impatience.'"
To MISS WRIGHT.
"Holmhurst, July 31, 1870.—I continue to work on steadily at my book in the sick-room. I have just got Murray's Roman Handbook, and am amazed to see how much better it is than I expected; but I am glad I have not seen it before, as, though I have already given even all his newest information, I have told it so oddly differently.