[Boston—Sunday, 26 April 1868]

Sunday April 26th It seems ages—long years—since the “dear chief” and good Dolby left us, yet when we count, it is only four days—only four since we were so torn and worn by grief—we both feel older. Even now the shell of his presence is upon us, his voice is in our ears. I fear we must still suffer a reaction, when the threads of life will seem difficult to take up and our fires will smoulder as if nothing could awake a flower again. What sorrow is in parting.

Everywhere we turn people speak to us of him or else some sudden look of his returns upon us. We walk together and read his books and cannot choose but dread the coming weeks, for “who shall come after the king?”

If he could but confess to us all the rapture of his return! But I know this must not be and we should be more than content, yes grateful for what we have enjoyed.

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