[Original has no paragraph breaks. Paragraph breaks added here for ease of reading.]East Hartford, May 20, 1847.
My dear friend "Hattie."
How little we know what a day may bring forth. When I was with you, you remember I planned to have dear Jerusha make you a visit during vacation. For different reasons, we thought it best for her. So return to the seminary, this [...], and of course every moment was occupied, and we had so short a time for preparation. She was all ready, and I went with her to Hartford, on her way to the seminary. I anticipated meeting you, dear Hattie, at the depot, and then I could tell you, why I had been unable to fulfill my engagement. But truly "God's ways are not as our ways." We can make plans, but are often prevented from exerting them.
We received the bad, and perfectly unexpected, intelligence of the death of my dear, my oldest brother, just in time to bring Jerusha home. We feel that our Father's hand is heavily upon us, and many circumstances in our cup of afflictions make it a bitter cup, but with it are mingled [...] innumerable. The Lord gave us this invaluable brother, and the Lord had a perfect right to take Luke to himself, and by his grace He has enabled us to say "blessed be the name of the Lord."
I'll try to tell you the circumstances of his death, painful as they are. My dear brother, for the last few months of his life seemed to be rapidly growing in grace. He felt his great responsibility as a minister of the gospel of John. He felt that he was placed in that station, to watch for souls, and he sought to do it, "as one that must give account." He redoubled his duties and ministerial labors. He studied much, preached more often, visited more among his people, and conversed with all he met upon the salvation of their souls. He was "instant in death, and out of season." The weight of souls pressed heavily on his heart. He observed frequent days of fasting and prayer, personally, breathing after holiness. It was more than his bodily strength would admit, and he was laid upon a bed of sickness. God saw fit to take away his reason, and he suffered for a week, in anguish of spirit concerning himself. He ... himself wholly, said he was not a christian, and was unfit to live. In this delirium he took a large quantity of laudenum, but by immediate attention of physicians, his life was spared. As his disease left him his reason returned, and once more he sat at his Savior's feet clothed in his right mind. He had sweet communion with his Savior, and the last message he sent us, while his reason was given him was, I can lean on Jesus' arm, and trust Him for the future.
The next week they felt obliged to move, and dear brother exerted himself too much, being still weak. Then came the Sabbath and the exercises of the day were far too trying for him. Through the exhaustion of his physical power, his mental power failed, and the same form of delirium returned. It was all on the subject of his own soul's condition. He felt that he was not fit for any thing; that he never could be useful. The morning of his death, he assumed, as such persons often do, an air of cheerfulness, and tried to divert the baby, and do various little things. He then told Catharine we wanted a walk. She feared to have him go alone, and told him she would like to walk with him, if he would wait a little. He was very weak and went and lay down, but he could not rest, but soon rose and told Catharine he would walk a little way. She did not dare to say more, fearing that he would suspect her fears. She told him about dinner, when he went out, but at dinner time he came not. She waited til three o'clock and then alarmed the neighbors. They all went in search of him, and soon found his body in a little ravine, a short distance from the house. Dear Catharine says "they found him lying with one hand under his head, and the other over his breast, as if he had laid down to sleep." She says no more, probably thinking she had said enough for the first shock. If he took his life in a way which relieved his head of the pressure of blood his reason must have been restored at the last, and if so he had peace in his death.
But if not oh! how soon he found peace, perfect peace. How must the glitter of heaven have burst upon his astonished sight, when his spirit was freed from the chains that bound it here. I try to forget these painful circumstances which are so trying to human nature, and to think of him as a bright spirit before the throne, casting his crown at his Savior's feet. Our pastor said, in his sermon last Sabbath, that my dear, departed brother was a "martyr to ministerial fidelity." If so, he wears a martyr's crown, and how trifling do the circumstances of his death look to him. He was, to me all that a brother could be. His society was my delight; we were always of one mind: "We took sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God in company." I have always anticipated being with [him] again, enjoying his counsel, and tell him, as I [...] wont to do, every thought of my heart, that I told to any earthly being. He always returned the same unbounded confidence, and my Father saw that I needed just this chastisement, to teach me not to set my affections on any earthly object.
I do desire to learn all He designs to teach me. I pray I may never suffer the love I cherish for my earthly friends to draw away my heart from my dearest Friend. Pray for me, my dear friend, that this afflictive visitation may be for my spiritual good, that I may advance in holiness, that I may be spiritually-minded, that my treasure and my heart may be in heaven, and that I may be so impressed with the uncertainty of life, as to improve it, while it is given me, in my Master's service. Pray too that it may make me humble in view of myentire dependence upon God for reason, the greatest of all temporal blessings, because without it we cannot enjoy spiritual blessings.
If God is our Father, His work is our work, and if so we shall always rejoice in that will, and I bless the Lord that he has enabled me to rejoice in it. In view of the mercy of God, in getting us so precious a hope with regard to my dear brother, I often feel a joy and gratitude which are delightful. I do not see how a christian can be otherwise than happy, happy in doing and in suffering his Father's will. I do not say I never weep over the early departure of my precious brother, Oh! no. This is not required of us for our Savior wept, at Lazarus' grave, but my dear, dear Heavenly [Father] does not suffer me to sink in despondency, but help me to think of my brother as a glorified spirit in heaven.
My dear brother and sister were very happy in their work, and apparently very useful, and it looks my Saviour so as that they were permitted to labor there so little while, but what we know not how, we shall know hereafter, and doubtless, if we ever arrive at our heavenly home, we shall look back and "admire the plot." It is humiliating to think how easily our places can be filled, even if we occupy important posts of usefulness. God heeds not our services, and it is a privilege of which, we are wholey unworthy that He permits us as to serve Him. Let ever take it so more and more, and place more unbounded confidence in the wisdom and love of our Father in Heaven.
If we are his children, He loves us infinitely more than any other being loves, and if our friends are His, he loves them better too, than we can love them, and He loves the happenings of His creatures, and seeks to promote it. Are we not, dear "Hattie" happier than we were before we knew the blessedness of trusting in the Lord, the preciousness of the life we have, through the atonement of our Savior. Our happiness is of another kind, but is it not a paler kind? and my dear Father is teaching me now, not to be sad, and less happy, but so make my happiness consist in doing His will, now entirely, and less in self-gratification, with earthly things.
Dear Hattie, let us strive to give such decided evidence of our love to God, and devotion to His service while health and reason are given us, that even if we should be called away in as sudden and as trying a matter, as was my departed brother, we might leave for our friends a life so full of consolation as we are permitted to cherish for him. Our pastor said so at, only a few weeks since, that the evidence of the life was far more satisfying than any evidence could be in a dying hour. And how large a portion of our fellow men are stupified by disease, or entirely deprived of reason at the time, that they cannot leave a dying testimony to their love of Jesus, and Jesus' love for them. Let ours be a lively testimony, and our Father will detest the rest just right.
You know how much I have said to you of my hopes of being permitted to labor in the west. God is testing me now to see whether I did long to go to be useful, or to be with my brother. I confess, I had both in my thoughts. I love the west now, and think much of that dear destitute church, where my brother labored. Will the Lord raise up a man filled with His spirit to enter into that field, and reap the fruit, which my brother had sown, and watered with tears.
Only think of my precious sister Catharine. My heart bleeds for her. I hope we shall be enabled to thank the Lord together, that we each had such a friend to love, that we were permitted to love him, and may still love as a pale spirit, and may love him, though subordination the love of our savior, through all eternity. If you please, will you read this to dear Abby. When I saw her I was not prepared to tell her the circumstances of my brother's death.
I send you my likeness, as you desired. It was designed for the dear departed. But be ... nothing of the kind now. He has the likeness of Savior, his lovely image to gaze upon now. The ... too, I send. When shall I see you? I long to do so. The pamphlet I return with thanks. P.S. I expected to have sent the above named articles with the letter by Mrs. Henry Olmsted, but it is so rainy to-day that I cannot send them.
You see how this is written, but does it heed any apology. I will try to send them soon. in my present circumstances? May the Lord be our portion.
If you write me before you come to see me, will you please write me all the verses to the piece "Why should we mourn" &c. I cannot remember them all. The others I remember. I[f] you come and see me, please bring your Psaltry, if convenient, as I very much want my brother and sister to learn both those pieces. I little thought, when learning that sweet piece "Why should we mourn" &c, that it would be such a comfort to me in affliction. It is in my mind almost constantly, and the other "When shall we meet again," is very comforting.
Hattie, can you ... how the people of the world sustain affliction. I can't. What should I do, without grace now? By the way, dear now that the Lord has asked us to mourn, my pretty gingham dress, which I have just made will be laid aside. Would Julia like it? You know we can wear each other's dresses.
My love to your dear family, one and all. May your circle long remain unbroken. But we do not call ours broken. "We still are ..." My sainted father and brother have only gone a little before us to a heavenly mansion. Just fourteen years ago last Sabbath, my father entered upon his rest, and on that day my brother's funeral sermon was delivered. We hope, we all are on in spirit, and all else is of little consequence. Is it not?
My dear mother feels this affliction very sensibly, but is able to say "the will of the Lord be done." She sends her love to you and your mother, with a request for your prayers. Good-bye my dear. I need your sympathy and your prayers, yours most truly Sidham [?] Pitkin.