“I accepted an invitation from Mr. Gilbert’s family to spend some time in the country with them; for though it was impossible for me to forget for one moment, yet, when these objects were removed from my sight, I was more able to turn my thoughts upward, to where my heart’s treasure now is, and where I myself expect to be.  We had two men-servants, and my two Indian girls; one of the men I dismissed, the other I left to take care of the living creatures about the place.  One of my girls I boarded where she would be in good company, and with my children and their maid I abandoned my solitary dwelling.  I met with a very tender reception from that worthy family.  My situation here was such as I both expected and wished, and attended with many outward circumstances which had the probability of making it supportable.  I was allowed to be as much by myself as I chose.  No one intruded on my privacy without my consent; but one or other of the Mrs. Gilberts often visited me in my own room, and drew from my bursting heart all its griefs, sympathizing, soothing, and advising at the same time.  They are both women of great piety, having for many years devoted their hearts, time, talents, and fortune to the service of God; and their two husbands likewise, whose business it has been to instruct the ignorant negroes without fee or reward.  Had it not been for this family, I know not where the distraction of my mind might have ended.” * * * *

Thus was Mrs. Graham, at the early age of thirty-one, left a widow in a land of strangers.  Her husband, companion, protector, was gone:  a man of superior mind, great taste, warm affection, and domestic habits.  She was left with three daughters, the eldest of whom was not over five years of age, and expecting an increase of her infant charge.  Of temporal property she possessed very little:  she was at a distance from her father’s house:  the widow and the fatherless were in a foreign land.  The change in her circumstances was as sudden as it was great.

That sympathizing heart with which she was accustomed to receive and return the confidence of unbounded friendship, and thus, by reciprocal communion, to alleviate the trials and enrich the enjoyments of life, was chilled in death.  All the pleasing plans, all the cherished prospects of future settlement in life were cut off in a moment.  While sinking into a softened indifference to the world, in the contemplation of her severe loss, she was, on the other hand, roused into exertion for the sustenance and support of her young family, whose earthly dependence was now necessarily upon her.

Not satisfied with the custom of the island, in burying so soon after life is extinct, her uneasiness became so great that her friends judged it prudent to have her husband’s grave opened, to convince her that no symptoms of returning life had been exhibited there.  The fidelity of her heart was now as strongly marked as her tenderness.  She dressed herself in the habiliments of a widow, and determined never to lay them aside.  This she strictly adhered to, and rejected every overture afterwards made to her of again entering into the married state.  She breathed the feelings of her heart in a little poem, in which she dedicated herself to her God as a widow indeed.