This was in the first part of June.
On the day after the fourth of July we got news of his death. He had been lost overboard, in a storm, between San Francisco and the Sandwich Islands.
It is very sad to recall that time of deep affliction. He was the last of five sons, all of whom had left home in full health and strength, none of whom returned.
"Five as likely young men," said poor Miss Joey, "as ever grew up beneath one roof."
"All five gone!" groaned the old man, as he leaned his face against the wall.
"Five brothers waiting for me," whispered Emily, as Mary Ellen bent over her, weeping.
"Five boys," moaned the poor broken-hearted mother,—"nobody to take care of them, nobody to do for them, no comforts, no mother, and now no grave!"
'Twas touching to see her husband trying to console her. Her favorite seat was in one corner of the hard, old-fashioned settee. There she would sit, swaying herself to and fro, whispering sometimes to herself, "Deep waters! deep waters!"
The old man would sit close up to her, and say, softly,—
"Now, mother, don't! I wouldn't take on. You know he isn't there. Look up. Don't forget God!"