midnight
I see more and more that I must be myself what I want my children to be , and that I can not make myself over even for their sakes . This must be His work , and I wonder that it goes on so slowly ; that all the disappointments , sorrows , sicknesses I have passed through , have left me still selfish , still full of imperfections . MARCH 5 , 1852.-This is the sixth anniversary of James ' death . Thinking it all over after I went to bed last night , his sickness , his death , and the weary months that followed for mother , I could not get to sleep till long past midnight . Then Una woke , crying with the earache , and I was up till nearly daybreak with her , poor child . I got up jaded and depressed , almost ready to faint under the burden of life , and dreading to meet Helen , who is doubly sad on these anniversaries . She came down to breakfast dressed as usual in deep mourning , and looking as spiritless as I felt .