I
wisely said nothing to my aunt of what was passing in my mind. Tea being
over, we passed the remainder of the evening in social conversation. We
had much to say, mutually of family matters. I told them many
particulars connected with the death of my mother, of which I had never
informed them by letter. They also told me much concerning their
deceased children. Their son had died at the age of fifteen. As he had a
decided taste for books, my uncle intended giving him an education,
instead of training him to the life of a farmer. For a year previous to
his death he attended school in Massachusetts. Returning home to spend
his vacation, his parents thought his health was impaired, but
attributed it to hard study, for he was naturally studious. They were
hopeful that relaxation from study, with exercise in the open air, would
soon restore him to his usual health. But their hopes were not to be
realized; even then had death marked him for his prey; and consumption,
which was hereditary in his father's family, soon laid him in the grave.
Three months after the grave had closed over their beloved son, Walter,
their daughter, Caroline, fell a victim to a malignant fever, which at
that time prevailed in the neighborhood, and they saw her too laid in
the grave, at the early age of twelve years--thus leaving them childless
and sorrowing.
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