ELD, Dec. 17, 1856.

MY DEAR MRS. PEABODY,--Do you not know why I dread to write to you, and
yet why I cannot help it? Since last I spoke to you, such an event has
passed, that I tremble to go over the abyss and speak to you again. But
you and your children stand, bereft and stricken, on [245] the shore, as
it were, of a new and strange world,--for strange must be the world to
you where that husband and father is not,--and I would fain express the
sympathy which I feel for you, and my family with me. Yet not with many
words, but more fitly in silence, should I do it. And this letter is
but as if I came and sat by you, and only said, "God help you," or knelt
with you and said, "God help us all;" for we are all bereaved in your
bereavement.

True, life passes on visibly with us as usual; but every now and then
the thought of you and him comes over me, and I exclaim and pray at
once, in wonder and sorrow.

But the everlasting succession of things moves on, and we all take
our place in it-now, to mourn the lost, and now, ourselves to be
mourned--till all is finished. It is an Infinite Will that ordains it,
and our part is to bow in humble awe and trust.

I had a letter once, from a most lovely woman, announcing to me the
death of her husband, a worthless person; and she spoke of it with no
more interest than if a log had rolled from the river-bank and
floated down the stream. What do you think of that,--with affections,
venerations, loves, sympathies, swelling around you like a tide?

I know that among all these there is an unvisited loneliness which
nothing can reach. May God's peace and presence be there!

I could not write before, being from home. I do not write anything now,
but to say to you and your dear children, "God comfort you."

From your friend,

ORVILLE DEWEY.

[246] To his Daughter Mary.

BALTIMORE, Nov. 24, 1856.

DEAREST MOLLY,--I must send you a line, though somehow I can't make my
table write yet. I have just been out to walk in the loveliest morning,
and yet my nerves are ajar, and I can't guide my pen. I preached very
hard last evening. I don't know but these people are all crazy, but they
make me feel repaid. The church was full, as I never saw it before. The
lecture Saturday evening was crowded. So I go.

I am reading Dr. Kane's book. Six pages could give all the actual
knowledge it contains; but that fearful conflict of men with the most
terrible powers of nature, and so bravely sustain