348 Mary Somerville. 



of a gentlewoman, however angry I may have been 

 at the time. But I must say that no one ever met 

 with such kindness as I have done. I never had an 

 enemy. I have never been of a melancholy dis- 

 position ; though depressed sometimes by circum- 

 stances, I always rallied again ; and although I 

 seldom laugh, I can laugh heartily at wit or on fit 

 occasion. The short time I have to live naturally 

 occupies my thoughts. In the blessed hope of meet- 

 ing again with my beloved children, and those who 

 were and are dear to me on earth, I think of death 

 with composure and perfect confidence in the mercy 

 of God. Yet to me, who am afraid to sleep alone 

 on a stormy night, or even to sleep comfortably any 

 night unless some one is near, it is a fearful thought, 

 that my spirit must enter that new state of exist- 

 ence quite alone. We are told of the infinite 

 glories of that state, and I believe in them, though 

 it is incomprehensible to us ; but as I do compre- 

 hend, in some degree at least, the exquisite loveli- 

 ness of the visible world, I confess I shall be sorry 

 to leave it. I shall regret the sky, the sea, with all 

 the changes of their beautiful colouring ; the earth, 

 with its verdure and flowers : but far more shall I 

 grieve to leave animals who have followed our steps 

 affectionately for years, without knowing for cer- 

 tainty their ultimate fate, though I firmly believe 



