I had never
before seen death in any form. I believe the first view of death is more
or less terrible to every child; it certainly was terrible for me to
first view death imprinted upon the countenance of a fond father. I have
ever since thought that my father recognized me when my mother led me to
his bed-side; but power of utterance was gone. It was a fearful trial to
me, who had seen but ten years of life. After the first shock, a strange
calm took possession of me. Though many years have passed since that
period, I remember, as though it were but yesterday, how I sat during
those long hours, scarcely for an instant removing my eyes from my
father's face, but shed not a tear; for, after the first burst of grief,
tears refused to come to my relief. Just as the day began to dawn I
heard the physician say, in a whisper, to a kind neighbor who stood by,
I think he is going. At that moment my father opened his eyes, and,
looking upward with a pleasant smile, expired without a struggle. I
could never clearly remember how I passed the intervening days between
my father's death and burial. I have an indistinct recollection of the
hushed voices and soft footsteps of friends and neighbors, who kindly
came to aid in performing the last offices of love and friendship to the
remains of my departed father.
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