LETTER THIRTY-ONE.
Sydney,
My Dear Sister,
I received in November last your letter of the date June, 1842, conveying to me the particulars of my mother's death. I was in some degree prepared for this sad intelligence, but when I knew for a certainty that I should see that dearest face no more,—that she, whose love for us gathered strength from affliction and misfortune, was now resting in the grave and could no longer participate in her children's happiness or sorrow, when I knew that my mother indeed was dead, I felt as if a portion of this world's beauty was lost to me for ever. But it is a blessed thing to know there is another and a better world where sorrow never troubleth and the weary are at rest.
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