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Papa and mamma are here, and we have been reading over the “Autobiography and correspondence.”
It is glorious, beautiful; but more of this anon.
Your affectionate sister, Hattie.
Dear children,--Since anniversary papa and I have been living at home; Grandpa and Grandma
Beecher are here also, and we have had much comfort in their society .... To-night the last sad duty is before us. The body is to be removed from the receiving tomb in the
Old South Churchyard, and laid in the graveyard near by.
Pearson has been at work for a week on a lot that is to be thenceforth ours.
Our just inheritance consecrated by his grave.
How little he thought, wandering there as he often has with us, that his mortal form would so soon be resting there.
Yet that was written for him. It was as certain then as now, and the hour and place of our death is equally certain, though we know it not.
It seems selfish that I should yearn to lie down by his side, but I never knew how much I loved him till now.
The one lost piece of silver seems more than all the rest,--the one lost sheep dearer than all the fold, and I so long for one word, one look, one last embrace. . . .
My darling children,--I must not allow a week to pass without sending a line to you. . . . Our home never looked lovelier.
I never saw
Andover look so
