Portrait Gallery


Saturday Morning, Jan. 22, 1825.

My DEAR Husband, — I was sitting alone in my chamber reflecting on the brief life of our sainted little boy, when your letter came, enclosing those lines of yours, which to a “mother's eye” are precious. O my husband, have not some of our brightest hopes perished! “Our fairest flowers are, indeed, blossoms gathered for the tomb.” But do not, my dear husband, do not let these afflictions weigh too heavily upon you: those dear children, who had such strong holds on us while here, now allure us to Heaven.

“On us with looks of love they bend.
For us the Lord of life implore,
And oft from sainted bliss descend,
Our wounded spirits to restore.”

Farewell, my beloved husband. I have not time to write more, only to say I regret you have lost the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Ticknor's society, which you so much need. I fear Mrs. Dwight is not much benefited by her voyage, so the last accounts appear; though at first they thought her better. The children are tolerably well, though not free from colds.

Your ever affectionate G. W.

From The Illustrated Fryeburg Webster Memorial, 1882, page 25.