E. Bardwell, then a merchant on Exchange Street, next laid me under a lasting obligation by offering to sell me goods on credit; others proffered assistance by promising their continual patronage, which was to me the same as cash,—­and soon the store I had opened on Main Street, was doing an extensive business.  My profits were small to be sure, and I had a heavy rent to pay for my store and dwelling, yet I was making a comfortable living for my family, and laying by something to reimburse the kind friends who had helped me in the time of need, when I found that the health of my family required more of my time and assistance than ever before.  My oldest daughter, who, I have before mentioned, having taken a violent cold on Lake Erie, was now confined to her bed.  All that could be done to save the life of a darling child—­our first born—­was done; and if we sometimes went beyond our means, it was a satisfaction to us to see her enjoy some of the comforts of life of which my mission to Canada had deprived her.  One physician after another was employed to stay the approach of the destroyer:  some said they could cure her, if paid in advance; to all of which I cheerfully acceded, but only to see our beloved sink lower, and patiently pine away.

No one but a parent who has watched the rapid decline of a darling child, and marked with a bursting heart the approaching footsteps of the spoiler, can imagine how powerless we felt at that time.  The wealth of the Indias, had we possessed it, would have been freely given, although it would have been unavailing, to shield that loved and gentle form from pain, and we were obliged to look hopelessly on, while our little patient, suffering daughter sank lower and lower every day.  In vain were our parental arms outstretched for her protection; from death we could not save her.  She had long since ceased to glide about the house, and soothe with her silvery tones all the childish fears of the little ones.  Helpless she now lay, burning with fever, and wasting from our sight, “till soft as the dew on the twilight descending,” the cold damps of death gathered on her youthful brow.  One pleasant morning after passing a restless night, I observed her to gaze earnestly upward, and a moment after I called her name but received no answer.

  “Her languishing head was at rest;
    Its thinkings and achings were o’er;
  Her quiet, immoveable breast,
    Was heaved by affliction no more.”

On the fifteenth day of April, 1837, she sweetly fell asleep, aged eleven years.  Sorrowfully we followed her remains to Mount Hope, where we laid her down to rest until the resurrection morning.  Death had now made its first inroad in our family circle, and since then we have laid two other loved ones by her side.  We sorrowed, but not without hope.

My business continued to prosper, and I concluded to buy a small variety store, containing some three or four hundred dollars worth of goods on the corner of Main and North Streets, formerly owned by Mr. Snow, but, having two stores on my hands, I did not make much by the trade.