December 21, 1855.
Since the date of my last letter I have received the news of the death of poor Mary.[[25]] I need not inform you of my devoted attachment to her, and she deserved it all. Poor girl! she had her own troubles, and she bore them all with cheerful patience. She is now at rest, I trust, in that heavenly home where there is no more pain and sorrow. Her loss will make the remainder of my residence here, which I trust may be brief, dreary and disconsolate.
How happy I am to know that you are with Mrs. Plitt! She has a warm heart, and a fine intellect, and will, better than any other person, know how to comfort and soothe you in your sorrow. I am thankful that you are now at home.
With Mrs. Plitt’s kind letter to me came that from Mrs. Speer to you, and one from Lieutenant Beale to myself. I shall always gratefully remember his kindness and that of his wife. His letter was just what it ought to have been. I wrote to Mrs. Plitt from Southampton by the “Arago,” which left on Wednesday last.
The death of poor Mary has been your first serious sorrow, because you were too young to feel deeply the loss of your parents. Ere this can reach you a sufficient time will have elapsed for the first natural overflowings of sorrow. I would not have restrained them if I could. It is now time that they should moderate, and that you should not mourn the dead at the expense of your duties to the living. This sad event ought to teach you the vanity of all things human and transitory, and cause you to fix your thoughts, desires, and affections on that Being with whom “there is no variableness or shadow of turning.” This will not render you gloomy, but will enable you the better to perform all the duties of life. In all calamitous events we ought to say emphatically: “Thy will be done.” At the last, all the proceedings of a mysterious Providence will be justified in another and a better world, and it is our duty here to submit with humble resignation. Although my course of life has been marked by temporal prosperity, thanks be to Heaven, yet I have experienced heart-rending afflictions, and you must not expect to be exempt from the common lot of humanity. I have not seen Mrs. Shapter, but I sent her Mr. Beale’s letter, which she returned with a most feeling note. She, also, wrote to you by the “Arago.”
You will know sooner in the United States than I can at what time I shall be relieved. I shall now expect to hear by the arrival of every steamer that my successor has been appointed. Should he arrive here within a month or six weeks, I still have an idea of running over to the continent; but I have yet determined upon nothing. I have a great desire to be at home.
December 28, 1855.
I have received your favor of the 11th instant with the copy of Mr. Baker’s letter, which I have read with deep interest. I wrote to you last week on the subject of poor Mary’s death, which I deeply deplore. I hope that ere this can reach you your mind will have been tranquillized on that sad event. It would have been wrong, it would have been unnatural, had you not experienced anguish for the loss of so good, kind-hearted, and excellent a sister.
Still, the loss is irreparable, grief is unavailing, and you have duties to perform towards yourself as well as your friends. To mourn for the dead at the expense of these duties would be sinful. We shall never forget poor Mary, her memory will always be dear to us; but it is our duty to bow with submission to the will of that Being in whose hands are the issues of life and death. You know what a low estimate I have ever placed upon a woman without religious principles. I know that in your conduct you are guided by these principles, more than is common in the fashionable world; but yet if this melancholy dispensation of Providence should cause you to pay more attention than you have done to “the things which pertain to your everlasting peace,” this would be a happy result. I have lost many much-loved relatives and friends; but though age becomes comparatively callous, I have felt and feel deeply the loss of Mary and Jessie. Poor Jessie! She died breathing my name with her devotions. What can I do—what shall I do for her children?
I send by the bag to the department a letter from the duchess, to whom, I believe, I have not mentioned our loss.