n her teens, or just out of them, should acquiesce in this restrictive
guardianship, tender and benevolent as was its intention. My little acts
of rebellion were met with some severity, but I now recall my father's
admonitions as

"Soft rebukes with blessings ended."

I cannot, even now, bear to dwell upon the desolate hush which fell upon
our house when its stately head lay, silent and cold, in the midst of
weeping friends and children. Six of us were made orphans, three sons
and three daughters. We had had our little disagreements and
dissensions, but the blow which now fell upon us drew us together with
the bond of a common sorrow. My eldest brother had recently gone to
reside in a house of his own. The second one, Henry by name, became at
this time my great intimate. He was a high-strung youth, very chivalrous
in disposition, full of fun and humor, but with a deep vein of thought.
He was already betrothed to one whom I held dear, and I looked forward
to many years brightened by his happiness, but alas! an attack of
typhoid fever took him from us in the bloom of his youth. I was with him
day and night during his illness, and when he closed his eyes, I would
gladly, oh, so gladly, have died with him! The great anguish of this
loss told heavily upon me, and I remember the time as one without light
or comfort. I sought these indeed. A great religious revival was going
on in New York, and a zealous young friend persuaded me to attend some
of the meetings held in a neighboring church. I had never taken very
seriously the doctrines of the religious body in which I had been
reared. They now came home to me with terrible force, and a season of
depression and melancholy followed, during which I remained in a measure
cut off from the wholesome influences which reconcile us to life, even
when it must be embittered by a sense of irreparable loss.

At the time of my father's death, my dear bachelor uncle John, already
mentioned, left his own house and came to live with us. When our
paternal mansion was sold, some years later, he removed with us to the
house of my eldest brother, who was already a widower. After my marriage
my uncle again occupied a house of his own, in which for many years he
made us all at home, even with our later incumbrances of children and
nurses. He was, in short, the best and kindest of uncles. In business he
was more adventurous than his rather deliberate manner would have led
one to suppose. It was s