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46 that she and the rest of the heirs were secured as to their original investment but that she and her sister in England had lost what they had saved in the way of stock, as I understood her. I feel very sorry for them all and tried to express my interest and sympathy. Their father started this business and they have carried it on successfully for nearly sixty years and they feel greatly humiliated at this disastrous failure which seems to have been the result of enlarging the mills and taking in a partner who was supposed to have capital but who seems not to have had. After staying there half an hour I went down to Johns and spent the rest of the evening. When we returned the stars were shining brilliantly and the air was like a spring night. Thursday Dec. 26" 1889. This morning it was raining but it cleared early. I took a walk out beyond the cemetery and got some laurel and some winter weeds and berries with which I made a little wreath and laid above dear Gertrudes portrait in memory of the happy days that are no more. Downing left for N.Y. by the noon train on the Hudson River road. I went out and renewed a notice I have posted forbidding digging sand & sod which some one had wantonly destroyed. The wind came out of the N.W. furiously but was not cold. Mr. Jones sent men to lay out the foundation of his house on his lot. I came away by the 4 05 train. It had grown colder. I reached my room at 7.30. It is not cheerful coming back to this lonely room after my visit to my pleasant house. I was not made to live alone and my heart clings to all that is left about our dear old place. I am glad Sara has Mr & Mrs. Reed with her this winter. They are very pleasant people and a great comfort to Sara and appear to be greatly pleased to be there. I found two of my pctures returned from the Paris exhibition, one of them, Joe Cornells with a great placard "Mention Honorable" on it which I dare say will please Joe but is no great pleasure to me in view of the honors some others received, but I care very little about it and feel this has been my last contribution to these shows. I feel that physically I have lost during the past year. I am very lame and weak in my left side and walking is a burden. My long and pleasant rambles over the hills I fear are a thing of the past. The least exertion puts me out of breath, and it is a serious effort to me to climb the stairs to my studio. Where and how will it all end? and yet I can truly say that I am happy and content as I have expected to be. Friday 27" The wind blew a gale all night and this morning it was much colder when I went over to breakfast. I had not seen Mary since she left our house last August, I think. She has been visiting Julia for a month. Hary is in town and he, Mary and I breakfasted together. I have not seen him in a year and a half. I began a winter picture today on a canvas 30 x 36 and painted in the objects leaving the canvas to represent the snow which seems the exact tint. I am much interested and hope to make a good picture. Wood came in and seemed to like it. I found my picture belonging to Eno which he lent me to send to Paris has a small hole in it and I shall have to get it lined. Spent the evening at Marys. [[newspaper clipping]] To the Editor of the Tribune. Sir: There was a slight mistake in your report of my service yesterday morning. It said that I recited "Auld Lang Syne." Now, while I have a great admiration for that immortal song, I should hardly think of using it as a part of a religious service, though I have heard that Scotch Presbyterians sometimes close their solemn assemblies with "Willie Brewed a Peck o' Maut" instead of the regular Doxology. The verses I recited were my own, and the title "Auld Lang Syne" has been affixed to them because they were sung to that music when they were first written, in 1876, and are set to it in various hymnals in which they have appeared. They were sung to that music at the funeral of your excellent coadjutor, Dr. George Ripley. I append them in order that you may print them if you choose to do so: It singeth low in every heart, We hear it each and all, - A song of those who answer not, However we may call; They throng the silence of the breast, We see them as of yore,- The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet, Who walk with us no more. 'Tis hard to take the burden up, When these have laid it down; They brightened all the joy of life, They softened every frown; But, oh, 'tis good to think of them, When we are troubled sore! Thanks be to God that such have been, Though they are here no more! More homelike seems the vast unknown, Since they have entered there; To follow them were not so hard Wherever they may fare; They cannot be where God is not, On any sea or shore Whate'er betides, Thy love abides, Our God, forevermore. Yours truly, JOHN W. CHADWICK. Brooklyn, Dec. 23, 1889. [[/newspaper clipping]]
