Oliver visits him in September, and in his next letter speaks of “our fine rides on horseback.” Elizabeth has decided to go to Nashville, Tenn., to visit her uncle Moses, principal of an academy there, in hopes of finding employment as a teacher; and the father calls upon his son in Newport for pecuniary assistance, and informs him that Hannah has come home seriously ill.
The next letter from his father contained the sad intelligence that Hannah was sinking fast, and urged him to come home immediately. He spent the last few days of life with the dying girl, doing all in his power to comfort her. She died in November, 1840.
On his journey back to Newport, Mr. Stevens stopped in Boston to hear a lecture by John Quincy Adams, an account of which he gives his father:—
“His subject was the four stages of man in his progress from the savage to the civilized state,—first, as a hunter; second, as a shepherd; third, as a tiller of the soil; fourth, as a member of a community in which all trades, occupations, arts, and professions were confined to their appropriate spheres, each receiving the protection and encouragement of all. His delivery was very energetic, though uncouth. His fancy was exuberant, and his speculations were not entirely, it seemed to me, supported by the truth of history.
“I wrote to Susan, as you desired, and gave her a detailed account of Hannah’s illness, with such other matters as I thought would be interesting. Since I have been back to Newport, I have been reading Blackstone pretty diligently. Thus far, I am much pleased with him.”
“It was a sad Thanksgiving at the homestead this year,” Oliver writes, “so different from the year before, when all were at home except Susan, and death had not yet broken the family circle.” Now all the children, except Sarah and Oliver, were scattered far and wide,—Susan at Union, Mo., Elizabeth at Nashville, Tenn., Mary in Belfast, Maine, and Isaac in Newport. The father was again disabled with his leg, and unable to attend the Thanksgiving sermon. Oliver concludes his pathetic letter with a wish to go to West Point.
Newport, December 15, 1840.
Dear Brother Oliver,—I have been very busily engaged since your letter came to hand in preparing an address to be delivered before the Newport Lyceum. As it was the introductory one, I felt very desirous that it should be no discredit to myself, and that all proper expectations should be fully realized. This is my apology for not immediately answering your letter. As the address has been delivered, I will now write you briefly respecting the subject-matter of the latter part of your communication....
There is nothing new here. I am passing my time very pleasantly. We have a debating club in successful operation, consisting of about sixty members,—clergymen, lawyers, physicians, tradesmen, etc., etc. We have a talk this evening on the French Revolution. I don’t know whether I shall say anything or not. Write as soon as you can find it convenient. Remember me to father, mother, and Sarah, and friends in general. I hope father will take every care of his health. Is it vacation with John Loring now? One of his classmates, young Dunn, is at home in Newport.