It is quite impossible for words to express the heaviness of heart with which I now intrude upon the sacredness of domestic sorrow with these few lines of sympathy, I scarcely dare to add, of consolation! The voice of consolation will doubtless, make itself heard in due time. But it can scarcely be listened to yet!
I know not how to speak of this terrible bereavement. True, the deceased was full of years;1 and yet, to this moment, I can hardly realise to myself his removal from among us. On the depth of your own grief I will not presume to dwell. There is only ONE to whom it can be adequately known, but
1 Hodgson was just seventy-one at the time of his death, having been born Nov. 16, 1781. |
| 326 | MEMOIR OF REV. F. HODGSON. |
You will, I am confident, forgive me and those who belong to me, for venturing to claim no ordinary place among the mourners. Our desolation cannot be like yours; but our loss, too, has been a heavy and a trying loss! I more especially have lost a true-hearted and invaluable friend, and a bright example of benevolence and worth, to say nothing of those graceful qualities and accomplishments which made his society so high a privilege. I can honestly aver that the friendship and good opinion of the late Provost will ever be regarded by me as among the most precious of the mercies which have been vouchsafed to my own declining years.
