"When, after the lapse of three years, I once more approached my native
land, I was much more unworthy of being recognized by my friends than in
returning from my previous voyage. Still I proceeded directly to
Charlottesville, and stopped at the old mansion, which I had not seen
for six long years. Alas! it was tenanted by strangers. A new tombstone
was in the village grave-yard, and on one side of it the name of my
father, and the other bore my own. I asked the sexton, who was just
opening the church for an evening lecture, when Richard Colman died. He
replied very readily,--'O, about a year since. The old gentleman heard
of the loss of the vessel in which he sailed, and dropped away himself
very suddenly.'
"I dared not inquire after Louisa, for I felt that she must look upon me
as the destroyer of our father. I hastened to Boston, and had determined
on leaving the country for ever, when, by accident, I had tidings of my
sweet sister.
"After the melancholy information I obtained at Charlottesville, I had
become a temperance man, and took up my abode at the Sailor's Home.
While there, a poor man, who had been ill for months, and finally was
obliged to have his leg amputated, spoke often of the goodness of a
young lady who had been often to see him, and whom he considered almost
an angel. My curiosity was excited, and I inquired of the excellent
landlady the name of his friend, and was answered by a warm tribute of
praise to my own sister.
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