"While, O, my heart! as white sails shiver,
And crowds are passing, and banks stretch wide;
How hard to follow with lips that quiver,
That moving speck on the far-off side!
Farther, farther--I see it--I know it--
My eyes brim over, it melts away,
Only my heart, to my heart shall show it,
As I walk desolate day by day."
At home for the winter, I was joined by my husband, who had entered into
business, and constant tidings of Hattie's convalescence cheered me. Ida
being obliged to visit home, I was left in entire charge of my house,
daily bewailing the fatal effects of inexperience, when, as ever, a friend
was furnished me in the hour of need. Mrs. Leavitt, my neighbor "over the
way," was a lady of great personal attraction, whose beautiful head was
crowned with the glory of prematurely white hair. She ministered to me in
so many ways. In reading or conversation her melodious voice lent a charm
to the most ordinary theme. Nor did she deem it degrading to enter the
domestic realm, and there as everywhere she reigned a queen.
The flutter of a handkerchief at the window blind was my "signal of
distress," and when my "Ship of State" seemed sinking amid the breakers of
domestic storms, her strong arm ever saved. When, the dread emergency of
dinner demanded more skill than my amateur art supplied, she came to the
rescue, and as she presided in the kitchen, teaching to compound some
savoury sauce or delicate dish, the process was interlarded with some sage
sentiment from Bacon and other profound philosophers; while, like Joe's
practical sermon over the "plum pudding" came her comments "My dear!
_knowledge_ is _power_," thus deeply impressing me with the potency of her
presence even in the culinary department.
Hence from this dear friend I received not only the "fullness of
knowledge," but the richness of affection also. She finally drifted away
from me to the sunny, flowery land of Florida, whence sweet memories are
wafted to me through her love-laden letters, under whose sentiment there
flows the same deep under-current of thought.
In the dreary month of January, Hattie came with the snow drifts, bringing
with her presence a bright sun-ray, for she was buoyant with the hope of
health, and I rejoicing that her life could be lengthened, perhaps saved,
hence the winter passed in mapping out plans for the future. But, with the
early spring, the dread disease reappeared with such intensity that I felt
her doom to be irrevocably sealed, while "hope fled and mercy sighed."
Prompted by a hope of enhancing her interest, I accompanied her to
Morrison, Illinois, where she was awaited by two loving sisters, who,
together with their noble husbands, so tenderly cared for her that it in
some degree appeased the sad reluctance of giving her into other hands.
Mr. Arms' health had now become so seriously impaired that he had
determined to seek the benefit of the Hot Springs of Arkansas, and, after
he left, I secured the services of Miss Josie Tyson as traveling
companion, and started for the lead mining regions of Wisconsin, making
Mineral Point my headquarters. This town is the shipping-place for the
ore, and I was surprised to find it with several thousand
inhabitants--abounding in wealth and greatly advanced in culture, while it
became afterward endeared to me by the extreme kindness of its people. My
little jaunts from this place by private conveyance made a pleasant
variety in the monotony of travel, after which we visited Mendota and
South Western Iowa, where we spent a delightful summer.
We returned to Morrison the day before Thanksgiving, and I lingered two
weeks with Hattie. Surely "blessings brighten as they take their flight,"
and with us the sadly, blissful moments flew all too fast, both silently
impressed that it might be our last communion. In my absence her delicate
and refined taste had designed a gold ring which she had made as a parting
gift. As she placed it upon my finger she leaned her head upon my shoulder
and wept bitterly, telling me in tenderest tones her sorrow at leaving one
who so much needed her, pleading with me to have patience to bear the
separation. These tears from fountains deep and pure must have been as
potent at the throne of grace as the one so graphically described by
Sterne; even that of the Recording Angel, who, in the bright Empyrean,
dropped a tear upon the word left by the Accusing Spirit "and blotted it
out forever."
Physicians agreeing that she might live at least a year, I yielded to her
persuasion to go South for the benefit of my own health, and--
"In silence we parted, for neither could speak;
But the trembling lip and the fast fading cheek
To both were betraying what neither could tell;
How deep was the pang of that silent farewell."
After a short season devoted to the arrangement of home matters, I started
South via the Chicago and Alton Railroad. At Dwight, Illinois, we stopped
at the McPherson House, where we had a delightful suite of rooms. The
proprietor had attained to the years allotted to man, yet was so
wonderfully preserved that he seemed a stalwart man of fifty. He spent an
evening in our parlor, feasting us with the richness of his reminiscence.
He had served in both the regular army and navy, his travels leading him
to lands afar, and his naval service landing him at almost every port in
the world, yet he had never carried a more dangerous weapon than a
penknife, always having been unharmed and unmolested. His creed consisted
of six words, viz.: "Deal mercifully, walk humbly before God." These
"articles of faith," simple as the "new commandment" which Christ gave to
his disciples, I give unto you, and beautiful as the "Golden Rule" of
Confucius, were certainly in my own case carried out both "in the letter
and the spirit;" for he at first peremptorily refused any remuneration for
our elegant accommodations, but, finding me inexorable, very reluctantly
consented to accept half pay.
The weather grew so cold, and the times so dull, we did not halt again
until we reached St. Louis, where we both had relatives and friends who
helped us to while away the holiday hours. While there we visited the
Institution for the Blind, our pleasure being much enhanced by the rare
music we heard and the polite attention of Professor Workman, the
Superintendent.
The Superintendent of the Iron Mountain Railway presented us with a pass,
jocularly remarking that it was equal to an eighty dollar New Year's gift.
Mr. C.C. Anderson, of Adams' express, upon the strength of our old
Baltimore acquaintance, gave me letters of introduction, which afterward
proved of infinite value.