Mrs. Hardinge[44] leaves me the end of this month, I am sorry to say; for she is very nice, discreet, and ready to do any thing, and not at all of the present bad English _genre_.
* * * What you say about the poor sisters, and indeed of all the younger ones, is true. The little brothers and Beatrice are those who have lost the most, poor little things! I can’t bear to think of it, for dear Papa, more peculiarly than any other father, was wanted for his children; and he was the dear friend, and even playfellow, besides. Such a loss as ours is indeed unique. Time only increases its magnitude, and the knowledge of the want is felt more keenly.
* * * I was yesterday in our little house, arranging and clearing out the rooms. We shall have very close quarters, but it will not be uncomfortable.
* * * I often wish dear Papa could have seen what a treasure I have in my darling; but I am sure he does see it, and his blessing with yours rests on us, for we seem not separated from either of you, our life is so interwoven with yours.
Where people are unselfish, loving, good, and industrious, like my dear Louis, I always feel a certain likeness beginning to grow up with our dear angel Father! Don’t you? Oh, may we all only become like him! I struggle so hard, dear Mama, in the many little trials I daily have, to become more like him. My trials melt away when I think of you, and I wish I were great and strong to be able to bear some of your great trials for you. Dear Mama, how I love you! how we both love you, and would shield you with our love from all new blows and trials, you know. God comfort you! My heart is often too full to say all that is in it; to tell you all my love and devotion, for your own precious sake, and for dear Papa’s, who left you as a legacy to us all to love and to cherish for him.
To-morrow Louis, I, and my two ladies, take the sacrament in the little church here. I wished much to take it before my hour of trial comes. Dear Louis read to me yesterday evening Robertson’s sermon on the “Sympathy of Christ.”
We have fine autumn weather, and I am out as much as I can. * * * I sleep well and breakfast always at half-past eight; we dine at two, and take supper at eight, then my ladies read aloud, and I work or Christa plays, Louis reads his papers, etc. To myself I read Lord Malmesbury’s “Memoirs,” which are very curious, and when Louis has time he reads Froude to me.