The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1853-11-03
For the National Era.
A DIARY.
BY MARTHA RUSSELL.
...S

| Again we gathered round the Are-we d
not speak OF the past, but the russets wer
brought up, and we talked over the condition
of the farm, every field Of which was almos
az familiar to mo as to James, the comparative
qualities of the "Hudson meadow" and tht
T" clover piece" for spring wheat, the amount
of available rail timber in the I" over yonder ,
woods, and, before slept we had run a new
fence around the Juniper lot" and Jane,
had rooted out their spreading branches May
he as easily root up his evil habits But thai
can hardly be; yet when | left this morning
as he placed the reins in my hands he said
earnestly, "You have trusted me as man
spoken to me as one, Elizabeth, and you shall
see that will be one" Aye, with Gods help
James
Feb 26h.-Another stroke of paralysis, and
now my mother knows me no mOre-perhape
no more on earth. heard Mrs +. calling tc
her daughter Mary, moment ago. My moth
err will never call me sgain--never utter my
name This is tasting the bitterness of death
Feb. 28h "A letter from Emilia Cranstou
How strange and unreal sound her gay words
of balls, and parties, and conquests" One
thing gives me pleasure--as much as thin
weary heart can feel Fred H. did not 20 tc
Europe, only to Cuba, and is now in New York
Maren 2Oh All is over! My mother-my
ail-lies pulseless and rigid in the room below
| have sat by her for hours in kind of dull
stupidity scarcely recognising anything, feel
ing any thing but this leaden sense of loss
When will the end come!
March 2ia.-Lsst night slept, for the first
time in four nights--s heavy, dreamful, trou.
bled sleep-a counterpart of the day Then
rose and went down to the white form lying SC
still there, beneath the white sheet that which
was my mother, and yet was not and for the
first time the tears sprsng forth-tesrs for
myself-not her. could recognise the hand
Of God, but not trust it. Oh, how dark and
lonely looked the way Of life. ! walked to the
window and looked out through my binding
tears. Oh, how dreary and miserable seemed
that prospect which ever before had worn
some new phase Of peauty-that long strip OF
"tdal sand" the tall black stakes Of the I" fsh.
ing ponds" the ravening waves in the fore
ground, stealing ever in and in, as death had
stolen on me--the waste of wild waters backed
by shroud of gray March mist through
which streamed family the weak beams Of the
rising sun.
Suddenly, twittsring down upon bunch OF
cat nip, whose dry stalks rustled benesth the
window, came two little brown sparrows Az
| watched them hopping from stalk to stalk
picking at the dried reed wborls, ! remember.
ed His words-"Ye are Of more value than
many sparrowsln Did He send them Oh,
did He not for my heart accepted their
teaching, and was comforted.
March 23d-I have looked my last upon
that face, have seen the dust heaped over the
coffin, and comprehend the mournful signif-
canoe Of the old minister's words, when he
thanked friends and neighbors for their assist.
ance in aburying our dead from sight"
As turned away from that grave now, my
only heritage, my hand was grasped by blind
old Mr.. B., who with James had come, not
merely 10 pay the last respect to the dead, but
to offer to the orphan daughter home In
their house.
was deeply touched by this kindness but
more ny Jsmes's words and manner, when be
said, timidIy, o. If his happiness might deepen
my grief that Emily L. had forgiven him his
crrors-that she would be his wife in the spring,
and longod 10 have me GOMEZ
For time may 70 to them, but that must
not be my !" abiding place. A life Of action
must be mine. | have health and education,
and all up and down the great thorough fares
Of our land are those waiting to be taught
Somewhere among these shall fnd place,