Sunday, 22 August, 1830

Nothing has occurred today. My reflections have been employed on the uncertainty of life. They were started by visiting a young married man stretched on the bed of sickness from which I think he will never arise. He has just returned from, as they calll it here, a trip to Georgia and was taken ill the same day. All his found anticipations of enjoying the smiles of his companion in peace are blasted and he will soon have to leave her forever. When hope and prospects are the most enlivening, it seems to indicate some unexpected calamity. We should never be overrejoiced or immoderately certain of anything because all things are uncertain.