What sorrow does not man wear down?’[57]
But how much must one suffer before the weapon loses its edge. A daughter is a benignant star, shining through the clouds of adversity, and the chief embellishment of every scene of joy; a mother’s companion in sorrow, her ministering angel in sickness. It is on her a mother relies to close her eyes, and to cherish that remembrance of her, the scenes of busy life may soon efface from the breasts of others. Uninterested as I always am, except by what touches my affections, I seem to be more so now than ever; and have lost almost the only link which connected me strongly with my own sex, in their common pursuits and amusements. The flowers in my path are gone, and although when I look at my sons I must say, ‘my banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,’ yet I cannot cease to lament my fallen blossom:—
‘Die Blume ist hinweg aus meinem Leben.’
Dec. 25, 1816.—We arrived last night in London, the populous, the powerful. It was grievous, as I sat with my children, to see the little circle had closed in, and lost its loveliest flower, its brightest gem, since last Christmas-day, when I looked round on it with perhaps too much pride.
CHAPTER VI.
1817-1821.
TO MRS. LEADBEATER.
London, Jan. 7, 1817.