I had a severe attack of what appeared to be cholera, and during my recovery Mrs. Hankey very kindly lent us her villa at Hampstead for a few weeks. There I went with my children, Somerville with some friends always coming to dinner on the Sundays. On one of these occasions there was a violent thunderstorm, and a large tree was struck not far from the house. We all went to look at the tree as soon as the storm ceased, and found that a large mass of wood was scooped out of the trunk from top to bottom. I had occasion in two other instances to notice the same effect. Dr. Wollaston lent me a sextant and artificial horizon; so I amused myself taking the altitude of the sun, the consequence of which was that I became as brown as a mulatto, but I was too anxious to learn something of practical astronomy to care about the matter.
CHAPTER X.
DEATH OF MARGARET SOMERVILLE—LETTER FROM MRS. SOMERVILLE TO THE REV. DR. SOMERVILLE—LIFE AT CHELSEA—THE NAPIERS—MARIA EDGEWORTH—TOUR IN GERMANY.
Our happy and cheerful life in Hanover Square came to a sad end. The illness and death of our eldest girl threw Somerville and me into the deepest affliction. She was a child of intelligence and acquirements far beyond her tender age.
The long illness and death of this young girl fell very heavily on my mother, who by this time had lost several children. The following letter was written by her to my grandfather on this occasion. It shows her steadfast faith in the mercy and goodness of God, even when crushed by almost the severest affliction which can wring a mother's heart:—
MRS. SOMERVILLE TO THE REV. DR. SOMERVILLE.
London, October, 1823.
I never was so long of writing to you, but when the heart is breaking it is impossible to find words adequate to its relief. We are in deep affliction, for though the first violence of grief has subsided, there has succeeded a calm sorrow not less painful, a feeling of hopelessness in this world which only finds comfort in the prospect of another, which longs for the consummation of all things that we may join those who have gone before. To return to the duties of life is irksome, even to those duties which were a delight when the candle of the Lord shone upon us. I do not arraign the decrees of Providence, but even in the bitterness of my soul I acknowledge the wisdom and goodness of God, and endeavour to be resigned to His will. It is ungrateful not to remember the many happy years we have enjoyed, but that very remembrance renders our present state more desolate and dreary—presenting a sad contrast. The great source of consolation is in the mercy of God and the virtues of those we lament; the full assurance that no good disposition can be lost but must be brought to perfection in a better world. Our business is to render ourselves fit for that blessed inheritance that we may again be united to those we mourn.
Your affectionate daughter,
Mary Somerville.