"So where'er I turn my eyes,
Back upon the days gone by,
Saddening thoughts of friends come o'er me;
Friends who closed their course before me,
Yet what links us friend to friend,
But that soul with soul can blend.
Love-like were those hours of yore,
Let us walk in soul once more."
The dreary winter had passed away, one in sad contrast with the mild
southern season, and known only to those who have realized its storms and
wind and snow.
The birds of spring were caroling their first songs of the season, and the
white mantle of snow disappearing under the sun-rays. These tokens told me
I must be "up and doing." Selecting a companion among the kind group of
Pecatonica friends, Miss Sarah Rogers, a lady of sterling virtue and
pronounced character, I went to Chicago. The war conflict being still at
its height, I could do little in the way of book selling, but managed to
dispose of sufficient bead work to be entirely self-sustaining. In my
business route in Chicago I entered a millinery establishment, and was
surprised by a greeting from the familiar voice of my sister Jennie, and
they alone who are members of a scattered household can realize what must
be such a meeting. In the lapse of years since our separation, our paths
had so diverged that we had lost trace of each other. I sat down and
eagerly listened to a recital of an experience fraught with varied
incident. They had moved from Chicago to Monroe city, Missouri, a place
which (as most will remember) received the baptism of fire, being utterly
destroyed by the Northern troops. My sister not only lost her home, but
was separated from her family for several days. As soon as they were
gathered together, and had gained sufficient strength to travel, they
returned without a resource to Chicago, there to begin life anew, my
sister lending a helping hand by opening this business. Her daughter Cora,
whom I had left a little girl, was then a graceful young lady, has since
married and is living in the city.
My brothers, Charles and Howard, both entered the ranks of the army,
returned with health impaired from service, and afterward yielded up their
lives.
My father had settled with his new family at Farmington, Ill., and thither
my brother Howard repaired when utterly broken down in health. No mother
could have more tenderly and steadfastly ministered to him, than did my
father's wife; she, her two bachelor brothers and a maiden sister
attending him, in the lingering, languishing hours of suffering, and
gently smoothing his "pathway to the grave."
I must not fail to mention among Chicago friends the name of Mrs. Dean,
which has been written in letters of light upon a hallowed life page,
standing out in bold relief upon the background of years. Her house was my
home, and she was ever a fond mother to me.
Her lovely little daughter, Ada, has since matured to womanhood, assumed
the relations and duties of a wife, and is now presiding over an elegant
home in one of the flourishing towns of Iowa.