"We strive to read, as we may best,
This city, like an ancient palimpsest,
To bring to light upon the blotted page
The mournful record of an earlier age,
That, pale and half-effaced, lies hidden away
Beneath the fresher writings of to-day."
After spending a fortnight with the invalid, in which "the golden hours on
angel's wings" sped on and away, bringing a returning glow of health to
his cheeks, strength to his steps and hope to his heart, so with renewed
resolution I started upon my mission, first going to Pecatonica to visit
my brother William and family, and to complete my plans for travel.
Soon after my arrival I was introduced by my sister-in-law to Miss Hattie
Hudson, and by that inward sympathy which unites all kindred natures into
one, and the strange recognition of soul with soul, we were at once
friends.
She was indeed
"A perfect woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command."
One who, aside from her physical attractions, possessed all the charms of
inner grace and beauty, idealizing and spiritualizing her nature.
We at once also agreed that she should remain with me, and with such rare
companionship I started East. Stopped at the beautiful city of Cleveland,
so rural and yet so metropolitan in its characteristics, where, following
fast upon the din of business and the rush of trade, steals the sweet
murmur of waters, the "wave of woods" and flow of fountains, the shaded
park and perfumed pasture.
Here, aside from the cheer of business success, my heart was gladdened by
a meeting with my old friend, Mrs. Bigelow, and little Willie, the whilom
blind boy I had met in New York city, and toward whom I had been drawn by
that "touch of nature" which "makes the whole world kin."
He was now an elegant, educated gentleman, who, among his many
accomplishments, numbered that of music, a science he had so thoroughly
mastered, and with the "concord of sweet sounds" he helped us all to while
away many an otherwise weary hour.
I visited the various places of note upon the New York Central Railway,
thoroughly and successfully canvassing all, and reaching New York city,
was received by my uncle Henry Deems with such a welcome as only a noble,
soulful man can extend. After a short, sweet respite from care, we turned
toward New England, the truly classic ground of America, every foot of
whose "sacred soil" has been trod by pilgrim feet and hallowed by their
hearts' devotion.
Went to Plymouth, Massachusetts, and spent almost an entire day at Pilgrim
Hall in researches and study of its musty and time-worn relics.
It was against the rules to open the cases containing these treasures of
the past to spectators, all of whom were forced to look at them through
doors of glass, even as the bereft ones are ofttimes allowed to look at
loved lineaments only through the lid of a closed casket; but the
gentleman in charge made mine an exceptional case, and, to use his own
language, as my sight lay in the sense of feeling, I should certainly
touch these relics.
All the interest of varied historical association was imparted to me, and
my fingers allowed to rest upon everything. I closed this day, so rich in
research, with gratitude to him for his thoughtful kindness.
There was in process of erection a monument upon Plymouth Hock, and I
stood upon that granite shrine, where first knelt the Pilgrim Fathers, and
pictured in my mind's eye the landing of the Mayflower and the grouping of
her freight of human souls, majestically towering above them all the
stalwart form of Miles Standish, with his "muscles and sinews of iron,"
and close by the lithe, clinging, delicate form of
"That beautiful rose of love
That bloomed for him by the wayside,
And was the first to die
Of all who came in the Mayflower."
These and all their attendants passed through my fancy as they knelt upon
Plymouth Rock, and with the surging sea for a symphony, sent up their
first song of praise and deliverance, and in that hour of reverie there
was to me, indeed,
"A rapture by the lonely shore;
A society where none intrudes.
By the deep sea--and music in its roar."
Then again I moved away in almost rapt entrancement, and soon stood in the
old cemetery beside the moss-grown memorial stones which had stood amid
the flight of over two centuries, and emotions deep and strange struggled
in my breast, sealed by that _golden, sacred_ silence which sanctifies the
unutterable.
Prominent among other objects there, was the resting-place of the Judsons,
to whose memory a suitable tomb had been erected.
Going to Boston I spent three delightful weeks at the home of Mr. and Mrs.
Little, a dear old couple who had been married long enough to have
celebrated their "Golden Wedding." The old gentleman was wont to say, that
these fifty years were all links in the "honey-moon," but that he had not
as yet reached the end of the first "honey-moon." So these two old lovers,
like "John Anderson my Joe," and his devoted companion, had climbed the
hill and were standing "thegither at its foot" in happy contentment,
looking toward the golden sunset and catching the gleam of the light
beyond.
I of course visited "Boston Common," "Bunker Hill Monument," "Old South
Church," the museums and galleries of painting, rare collections of
statuary, and even heard the "Great Organ." These localities are all
fraught with interest, but too familiar to tourists to require description
or comment; but I cannot leave the readers of this chapter without a
tribute of praise to the high attainments of this "Athens of America," and
a word of gratitude for their kindness. I found not the cold, phlegmatic
nature which had been depicted as that of the Yankee, nor did I see the
tight purse-grip so often attributed to them, for I have nowhere met
warmer hearts and more generous patronage than there, and indeed all New
England was pervaded by an equal spirit of liberality and kindness.
Lowell and the other manufacturing towns I visited were to me objects of
wonderful interest, the music of whose looms and shuttles, belts and
wheels, engines and flame, will ever come in vivid variety amid the many
voiced memories of life and its mystic music.