and after I got home told my father that his
horse was quite well, and would be fit for his use on Saturday. He
replied sadly that his horse must be sold, for that from the first,
though he had not liked to vex me by saying so, it was an expense
he could not conscientiously afford. I had expected this, and
certainly, when from day to day a man may be obliged to declare
himself insolvent, keeping a horse does seem rather absurd. He then
went on to speak about the ruin that is falling upon us; and dismal
enough it is to stand under the crumbling fabric we have spent
having and living, body, substance, and all but soul, to prop, and
see that it must inevitably fall and crush us presently. Yet from
my earliest childhood I remember this has been hanging over us. I
have heard it foretold, I have known it expected, and there is no
reason why it should now take any of us by surprise, or strike us
with sudden dismay. Thank God, our means of existence lie within
ourselves; while health and strength are vouchsafed to us there is
no need to despond. It is very hard and sad to be come so far on in
life, or rather so far into age, as my father is, without any hope
of support for himself and my mother but toil, and that of the
severest kind; but God is merciful. He has hitherto cared for us,
as He cares for all His creatures, and He will not forsake us if we
do not forsake Him or ourselves.... My father and I need scarcely
remain without engagements, either in London or the provinces....
If our salaries are smaller, so must our expenses be. The house
must go, the carriage must go, the horses must go, and yet we may
be sufficiently comfortable and very happy--unless, indeed, we have
to go to America, and that will be dreadful.... We are yet all
stout and strong, and we are yet altogether. It is pitiful to see
how my father still clings to that theater. Is it because? the art
he loves, once had its noblest dwelling there? Is it because his
own name and the names of his brother and sister are graven, as it
were, on its very stones? Does he think he could not act in a
smaller theater? What can, in spite of his interest, make him so
loth to leave that ponderous ruin? Even to-day, after summing up
all the sorrow and care and toil, and waste of life and fortune
which tha