The arrangements which Captain Quitman had made for the accommodation of
the large party of excursionists were of the most costly and liberal
character, showing that neither labor nor money had been stingily
expended. The spacious saloon had been gorgeously decorated by an
experienced artist, while innumerable historical incidents and poetical
scenes had been painted on the snow-white surface of the wall in front
of each state-room. Three scenes in “Mazeppa” appeared first on the left
as you entered from the front. The first picture represented the
beautiful wild steed in the act of making a plunge forward, while
Mazeppa is being bound to his back. The second scene represented the
foaming steed as he bounded through the forest, with the large gang of
wolves in pursuit; and the last showed the dying steed stretched on the
ground, while a flock of vultures covered the surrounding space, ready
to begin the work of destruction. The artist had executed the work so
skillfully that one might almost imagine that he could hear the horse’s
hoofs as they thundered against the earth, and distinguish the hideous
howl of the savage wolves. The next painting represented Achilles
driving his chariot round the walls of Troy, dragging the helpless body
of Hector by the heels, while the beauteous wife of the dead hero stood
weeping on a distant tower, as she witnessed the horrible cruelty. Then
a little farther down on the same side, we see Cleopatra seated in her
magnificent gondola, gorgeously clad in her royal robes, surrounded by
her officers and slaves, while she sails over the glittering surface of
the water, where she goes to conquer a mighty warrior with her
irresistible charms. We come next to a ludicrous scene representing
Gulliver on the island of Lilliput, standing erect with his legs placed
far apart, while twenty thousand Lilliputian cavalry, with the king and
queen at their head, are marching between his huge legs. A beautiful
representation of the burial of De Soto in the Mississippi river
appeared farther on. Many other thrilling scenes appeared which we
cannot spare time to describe.
So the guests marched into the spacious saloon. Professor
Scatterbrains’s band played a national air, the soft, sweet sounds
filling the room with a delightful harmony. The gorgeous display of
costly table-ware that adorned the festive board was such as one might
expect to behold at a king’s palace. Massive goblets of solid silver,
tureens, pitchers, castors and fruit stands of shining gold, large china
vases, filled with fragrant flowers, arranged in pairs from one end of
the table to the other, while gilded china imported from the East, of
various colors, green, yellow and blue, wrought in quaint but beautiful
patterns, covered the snow-white cloth. Two beautiful thrones for the
especial use of the two queens had been erected at the head of the
table, one on the left, the other on the right, handsomely decorated
with pink velvet cushions and canopied with blue cloth, richly studded
with stars of silver and gold. The charming picture that met the eyes of
the delighted guests caused an exclamation of delight to escape from the
lips of many a beautiful belle, as they filed into the saloon.
As soon as all the passengers were seated, the captain, waving his hand
toward the vast crowd by way of commanding silence, said:
“My young friends, if you wish to please me, and enjoy this excursion, I
hope you will lay aside all feelings of restraint, become acquainted
with each other, and engage in such innocent sport as is calculated to
amuse and instruct. Julius Cæsar said:
“‘Let me have men about me that are fat,
Sleek-headed men who sleep o’ nights.
Yon’d Cassius has a lean and hungry look.
He thinks too much; such men are dangerous.’
“Now, my young friends, the sequel proved that Cæsar was right in his
dislike of the lean and hungry Cassius; give me friends who laugh and
grow fat--men and women who can throw off the dull cares of life, and
condescend to be pleasant and happy on occasions like this. There are
times when man should be serious, but there are also times when he
should be social and sportive. I have spent money and labor freely in
order to complete the arrangements for the comfort and pleasure of my
guests, and it will gratify me greatly to know that I have not made a
failure. I was gratified when I heard of the admirable plans which your
Majesty has adopted in order to amuse and entertain your loving
subjects. Indeed, sir, I am delighted to know that our little scheme
meets with your approbation; we thought it would afford innocent
amusement, as well as profitable food for thought. The Barbarian Chief
has kindly consented to entertain our party by the relation of a story
which is to be the first of a series to be told during our trip.”
“I hope,” said Scottie, “that the noble Barbarian Chief will tell us all
about Parthenia, the beauteous little captive whose irresistible charm
subdued and tamed Ingomar, and led him with the rosy chain of love from
the barbarian camp to the walks of civilization, converting a heartless
savage into a fond and gentle lover. Oh, how I should like to capture
such a hero! it would be such fun to tease him until he began to rave,
and then to soothe him with sweet whispers from the soul. I would make
him gather flowers for me, and then talk to him about ‘Two souls with
but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one;’ and I would enjoy
such sport so much!”
“For my part,” said the queen of Sheba, “I would much prefer to listen
to a patriotic story, such as the ‘Scottish Chiefs,’ or ‘Thaddæus of
Warsaw;’ I admire those noble-hearted heroes who are always willing to
die for their country, but manage somehow not to do it. The heroic
Thaddæus of Warsaw was very anxious to sacrifice himself for his
country, but finally took a more sensible view of it, and fled to
England, and married Mary Buford, the great heiress.”
“I prefer love stories,” replied Scottie; “give us something like
‘Henrietta Temple,’ ‘Alonzo and Melissa,’ ‘Foul Play,’ or ‘Little
Dorrit.’”
“I prefer ‘Gulliver’ or ‘Crusoe,’” said George III. “I do not think I
could command sufficient patience to listen to such a love story as
‘Henrietta Temple.’”
“Give me something like the ‘Talisman,’ or the ‘Heart of Midlothian,’
and you may count on securing my undivided attention,” said Ivanhoe.
“Permit me to make a suggestion to my young friends,” observed Captain
Quitman, “which I have no doubt will contribute greatly to your
pleasure. We have a young gentleman aboard whom I consider an excellent
Shakespearean reader. I had the exquisite pleasure of hearing his
rendition of ‘Hamlet’ one evening at a social gathering in Memphis, and
I have no doubt he would consent to gratify his friends by repeating it
to-night.”
“We would be more than delighted if you could prevail on him to give us
an entertainment of that sort this evening,” rejoined Queen Mary.
“If we can be so fortunate as to organize a troupe of poetical readers,”
observed the Duke of Wellington, “it would instruct as well as amuse our
friends. If such a scheme should be desirable (and I am pleased to think
it would), I can produce a young lady who can repeat ‘Lalla Rookh’ from
memory; and I have no doubt that there are many others aboard who could
give us some excellent readings of poetry.”
“We commission the duke and Captain Quitman as our agents to organize a
troupe,” rejoined Queen Mary; “and our programme will be to listen to
Ingomar’s story this evening, and, at night, to assemble in the saloon
and hear the recitations.”
“I shall not be able to complete the relation of my story this evening,”
said Ingomar.
“That will make no difference,” replied the queen; “we will be
entertained by our Barbarian Chief during the day, and the poetical
readings during the night.”
“That will be a most excellent plan,” said Captain Quitman; “variety is
the spice of life you know.”
“Yes, and I beg to remind your Majesty,” exclaimed the duke, “that the
opportunity to shake the fantastic toe must be provided for.”
“Of course,” ejaculated Captain Quitman; “that is a consummation
devoutly to be wished. We can find plenty of time for that. Dancing
hours will be from seven till nine, and the literary exercises will
commence at nine, and continue until Morpheus takes command.”
“I wonder what kind of a story the Barbarian Chief is going to dish out
to us,” said George III. “Will it treat of war, love, or politics; will
it tell of battles, and blood, or will it describe sweet birds, sweet
flowers, and sweet love?”
“It would be better, perhaps, to tell the story first, and answer your
questions afterward,” replied Ingomar. “I shall tell it under protest.
The materials which are at my disposal, if skillfully handled, would
construct an interesting novel; but I am not vain enough to imagine that
I can weave them into anything like a good story. My life has been
crowded with many thrilling incidents--I have tasted the bitterest dregs
in fortune’s cup, and I have sailed on the smooth ocean of pleasure; and
as her Majesty has commanded me to entertain her guests with a story, I
shall confine myself to a truthful history of scenes in which I have
been an actor. In order to save time, I shall group the most prominent
incidents, and set them down in the city of Memphis and vicinity, taking
the liberty to change the venue of an important criminal case from New
York to the Bluff City. If you should ask me by what authority I venture
to change the venue from one State to another, I would answer by
referring you to the numerous instances where the United States Courts
have exercised the arbitrary power to do such things. Shall I, as a
champion story teller, regularly commissioned by a mighty and beauteous
queen, be denied the privileges claimed by a little United States Court?
I say the venue is changed to Memphis, and when I begin to describe the
interesting trial, I trust no one will be so inquisitive as to examine
the records, with a view to contradicting my truthful history. If I
choose to introduce my _dramatis personæ_ under _nom de plumes_, I hope
my friends will raise no objections, because, while I claim that the
acts of public men constitute public property, I am afraid to take too
much liberty in that respect, lest I should endanger my valuable
person.”
“We command you to cease your continuous talk about preliminaries,”
observed Queen Mary, as she waved her hand impatiently toward Ingomar;
“no one shall be compelled to listen to the tale. Tell the story, and
let us judge for ourselves as to its merits.”
“I obey your Majesty’s commands,” replied Ingomar.
“Perhaps,” said Captain Quitman, as a quizzical smile played on his
handsome countenance, “our friend Sancho Panza would contribute
something of an intellectual character to our programme to-night.”
“Maybe he will do us the honor to become a member of our literary club,”
said Scottie, as she courtesied to him.
“I beg to assure you, madame, that you honor me too highly, but at the
same time permit me to say that I have no doubt I shall be able to
render some assistance. If, as I understand, it is to be intellectual
amusement you seek, I flatter myself with the opinion that my
contribution will be invaluable.”
“What shall it be, Sancho?” inquired George III.
“I will repeat the multiplication table from beginning to end, and
whistle ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
A perfect roar of laughter was produced by Sancho’s thrust, but the
young people became convinced that nothing was to be made by poking wit
at him. A couple of politicians, who occupied seats near the lower end
of the table, were engaged in an animated discussion which was
attracting considerable attention.
“For my part,” said General Camphollower, “I think that our Government
dealt too leniently with rebels after the war.”
“I believe,” replied Colonel Confed, “that the views you express were
those held by men who never smelled burned powder, or heard the whistle
of a hostile bullet; but all brave soldiers who fought in the Union
army, from General Grant down to the humblest private, were opposed to
any harsh measures.”
“I perceive,” replied General Camphollower, “that you are not being much
reconstructed.”
“Gentlemen,” said Captain Quitman, “pardon me for interrupting your
conversation, but I would beg to suggest the propriety of eschewing
politics while on this excursion. Let the past bury the past--let us
cultivate a feeling of friendship between the North and South. Both
parties committed errors--let both parties get back to the right track.
Let us try to profit by our sad experience--let us teach forgiveness and
patriotism, and look forward to the time when the cruel war shall be
forgotten. We have a great and glorious nation, of which we are very
proud, and we will make it greater by our love and support. It was a
family quarrel, and the family has settled it, and woe be to the
outsider who shall dare to interfere!”
“Hurrah! hurrah for Uncle Sam!” was unanimously shouted by all the
passengers.
“Uncle Sam shall live forever, and those unpatriotic politicians who
have crippled him shall be driven into obscurity. Let peace and good
will, brotherly love and good faith, exist between the North and South,
and let Satan take those who wave the bloody shirt.”
“Good! good! hear! hear!” was shouted long and loud by all the guests,
while the two politicians shook hands across the table, and bumped their
glasses together.
By this time the table was cleared, and the waiters began to uncork
innumerable bottles of champagne.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Captain Quitman as his tall, handsome form
rose high above the crowd, “fill your glasses and hear my toast.” Some
little confusion then ensued while each guest was having his glass
filled, and then the captain’s voice rang out as he spoke: “Here is to
the Union as it was in the days of its purity.” General Camphollower
responded in an eloquent speech, and took his seat amid thundering
applause. Then, reaching his hand across the table toward Colonel
Confed, he exclaimed: “Here is my hand, colonel--let us shake across the
table, and consider it the bloody chasm.”
George III. whispered to the duke: “Do you know that lady yonder in the
black silk domino?”
“Indeed I do not; in fact, I had not noticed her.”
“There is a mystery about that woman, as sure as we stand here; just
look at her, will you--she is weeping. I have been watching her for the
last half hour, and there is a strangeness in all her movements hard to
understand, and harder still to describe.”
“Come, come, my lord,” exclaimed the duke, as he laid his hand on the
shoulder of the king, “you cannot deceive me--you are endeavoring to
imitate Romeo; he fell in love with Juliet at a masquerade.”
“Upon honor, I have not said a word to that lady, and I have no
intention or desire to do so; but I would like very much to know who she
is. What can be the matter with the poor lady, I wonder; don’t you see
how she is weeping?”
“I dare say that the song the queen sang a while ago has called up
unpleasant reminiscences. She may have sung that song to a lover who was
afterward killed in the late war. This unfortunate land is full of
aching hearts and crushed hopes. Thousands of mothers, sisters and
sweethearts are weeping and wailing for dear ones who silently sleep in
bloody graves.”
“That is all very true, but that lady is distressed about something that
has happened on this boat, because she was weeping before the queen sang
the sweet song. She did not go to the table at lunch, and she has been
continually passing among all the passengers and apparently searching
for somebody.”
“Well, I hope she will succeed in finding the individual she is looking
for, if, as you think, she is really shadowing some one.”
“My lord,” said the queen, as she approached the duke, “if you will be
so good as to collect our friends on the hurricane deck, we will order
the Barbarian Chief to commence the relation of his little story.” The
duke courtesied to the queen and immediately began to execute her
commands; and it was but a few minutes until the entire party were
seated on the upper deck.
The party having arranged themselves in a circle, in the center of which
sat the queen in a large arm-chair, Mary bowed to Ingomar, and requested
him to commence his story. Ingomar took his seat facing the queen, in a
comfortable low chair which had been provided for his especial use, and
began to relate the following story:
INGOMAR’S STORY.
“I was born in Nashville, Tennessee, and was six years old when my
mother died. I was her only child, and, as a matter of course, was much
petted and greatly beloved by her. The memory of my dear mother is as
indelibly fixed on my mind as the inscription on a marble monument,
though I trust that my poor heart does not in any manner resemble the
cold, unfeeling marble. My father was, at the time of my mother’s death,
a prosperous merchant, but from that date he began to neglect his
business, and, I regret to say, commenced to spend his time at hotels
and liquor saloons. I was left at home, alone with the house-maid and
another servant, except what time I spent at school. I was too young to
understand or realize how rapidly my father was traveling the downward
road, but I soon began to notice that he was unsteady in his walk, and
that he was becoming cross, and hard to please. I did not know then that
he was growing fond of brandy, nor did I imagine that one whom I loved
so dearly could do anything wrong. But alas, how soon was this blissful
ignorance displaced by a knowledge of the awful truth! My father had
been born and bred a gentleman, and, when not under the influence of
brandy, was as kind and tender with me as heart could wish. The exact
amount of his fortune at the date of my mother’s death I never knew,
though I have since learned that it was no insignificant sum; but, as a
natural result of his neglect of business, the firm became involved more
and more every year, until it finally collapsed at the end of the second
year after my mother’s death. When I was eight years old the servants
began to talk of leaving, on account of the bad treatment which my
father gave them--complaining of a neglect on his part to pay them their
wages. I also frequently heard them hint of a second marriage which my
father was contemplating, which, as may be imagined, gave me great
uneasiness, for I had imbibed the usual prejudice felt by children
against step-mothers. But if I had known then what I do now, I should
have entertained very different views. If there ever was an angel on
earth, my step-mother was one. I shall never forget my feelings when the
house-maid informed me that my new mother would be brought home that
evening. My heart felt as if it would break, and my eyes were filled
with tears, as I let my young mind wander back to the happy days when I
had been fondly held to my own dear mother’s bosom. While I was dreaming
of the happy days that were forever gone, and occasionally shuddering at
the prospect before me, my step-mother, accompanied by her two children,
entered the room where I was, and without ceremony caught me in her arms
and kissed me. I have never ceased to love her from that moment. She was
a frail, delicate, darling little woman, with dark brown hair and
expressive blue eyes, and a voice as sweet as the music of the cooing
dove; and her two children were very much like her as to beauty and
gentleness of disposition. Harry Wallingford, her son, was one year
younger than I, and his sister, Charlotte, was one year younger than her
brother. She was the very image of her mother, having the same kind of
deep blue eyes, only somewhat larger, and her hair, of a bright golden
hue, floated in pretty curls about her well-shaped neck and shoulders.
Her skin I thought was too white, as it had rather a bloodless
appearance, amounting to transparency. The eye-lashes were long, the
brows likewise, which gave to the countenance something of a dreamy,
thoughtful appearance. I may have been rather extravagant in making my
judgment as to her personal appearance, but I thought then, and I think
now, that she was the most charming little creature that I had ever
beheld. Harry was a spare-built, and as I thought, rather effeminate
boy, but a more manly fellow than he proved to be I never knew. He and I
became bosom friends from the start, and we were both in love with
Lottie. He loved her as a brother, and I worshipped her, because I could
not help it, and to be candid, I never tried to help it. How was it
possible for any one to associate daily with such a darling child and
not love her with all his heart? Lottie seemed to permit me to love her,
as if such devotion was no more than her just dues, and without making
any demonstrations of affection for me. I am at a loss to know how to
begin to describe Harry Wallingford, for I must say that I never had
met any one before or since who possessed such a combination of peculiar
traits of character as he did. Sometimes you would think he was the most
cold-natured, passionless boy that ever was created, and then, when
anything happened to rouse him, he would show such signs of passion as
to almost frighten me, or when any cause of real sorrow would come upon
him, his heart would begin to melt at once, and he would weep like a
woman. There was no such feeling as jealousy between Harry and me on
account of my love for his sister; being then mere children, and all
intensely in love with each other. We were all sent to the same school,
situated about a mile from our home. We were kept at the same school for
four years, and oh, what happy years were they to me! Not a ripple of
sorrow ever crossed the smooth surface of our sea of pleasure, save when
my father would come home intoxicated, and then, for a time, we would
collect in the garden and speak in whispers, lest he should find us. He
was very kind to us when sober, but when his reason was clouded with
brandy, he seemed to be jealous of the love which our mother manifested
toward us, and often gave way to his passion, and abused her in a most
shocking manner. Poverty began at length to make its unwelcome presence
at our home, but we were too young to realize or feel its influences as
our poor mother did. The servants had all left us, because my father had
no money to pay their wages, and our mother was compelled to do her own
work; but Lottie was as industrious as a honey bee, and assisted her
mother all she could, while Harry and I did all we could to make her
work light. We cultivated the garden, made the fires, and assisted
Lottie to milk the cow. In fact, we made ourselves useful in every way
we could, and in spite of our poverty we were very happy. I don’t think
my step-mother would have married my father if she had known of his bad
habits; but after the fatal step had been taken, she seemed to have made
up her mind to make the best of her bad bargain. No matter how thick and
heavy were the troubles that crowded on her, she always met us on our
return from school with a pleasant smile; and the same love and
tenderness which she bestowed on her own children were at all times
extended to me. When our wardrobe began to grow scant, and our garments
to become seedy and sometimes full of rents, our dear mother would work
till midnight, with Lottie by her side, mending them. I would often drop
my book and gaze at Lottie as she sat by the dim lamp, the golden curls
falling about her shoulders, while her little fingers made the needle
bob up and down with lightning speed, as she mended a rent in my old
coat, and wonder if the angels in Heaven were like her. My father spent
but little of his time at home, which circumstance enabled us to snatch
happiness from the very bottom pit of poverty. I was deeply grieved to
notice that my mother’s health was gradually declining, but I did not
know then that it was the result of overwork and scanty food, coupled
with the cruel treatment from my father. Neither Harry nor I had a
suspicion of the true state of affairs, else we would have quit school,
and gone to work in order to help support the family. When our little
basket would be filled with provisions every morning by our mother
before we started for school, we did not know that she was left
frequently to work hard all day without a morsel for dinner. I would
have worked night and day as a slave to have made her comfortable, and
so would Harry; but the secret of her real condition was concealed from
us until we had been at school four years, when we began to realize the
situation. We at once left the school and began to seek employment, but
in this attempt we were often doomed to disappointment, because we were
too young to expect to get situations as clerks, and not strong enough
to do much at manual labor. Harry was one of those persevering,
tenacious kind of boys that never abandon anything they undertake, and,
although he was younger than I, he was the leader in all our
enterprises. He was self-reliant, energetic and hopeful. I was the
reverse of that, and I could not accomplish anything except when I was
encouraged and led by him. I therefore submitted to his leadership, and
followed him from place to place seeking employment. Sometimes we would
manage to secure several little profitable jobs during the day, and
every cent we got was handed over to our mother. Then some days we would
traverse the streets from early morning until night without finding any
work to do, and when this would happen our scanty supply of provisions
would grow more scant, until we found the wolf at our very door. I do
not know how my father managed to obtain his meals, for he scarcely ever
came home, and when he did come he was so much overcome with brandy that
he would fall down on a bed and sleep for many hours, then rise and go
straight to the nearest whisky shop. It was about six months after we
were compelled to quit school that a strange-looking man, with red nose,
and bloated face, and very shabbily dressed, staggered into our house,
and informed my mother that her husband had fallen from a second-story
window and broken his neck. I learned that my father had been carousing
with a gang of disreputable men in the second story of a drinking and
gambling house, and had staggered through the window, falling
head-foremost on the stone pavement below. His neck was dislocated, his
head and face mangled, and he was quite dead when his drunken companions
went to him. This dreadful ending of my poor father’s life gave my
mother such a shock that she was compelled to take to her bed, from
which she never rose again. It was not quite a month after my father’s
remains were deposited in the grave when my darling step-mother’s gentle
spirit went to its eternal home. The last days of her life were not days
of suffering, as is usual in such cases, for she informed her weeping
children that she was perfectly free from pain.
“‘Come here, my son, and sit near me,’ she said to Harry one day a short
time before her death. ‘I wish to speak to you about what you shall do
when I am gone.’
“Poor boy! he was weeping as if his heart would break. No one ever loved
a darling mother more than Harry loved his; and no mother ever had a
more noble, dutiful son than Harry.
“‘You must not grieve about me after I am taken from you, my darling
boy; but you will live such a life as will enable you to come to meet me
when it is ended. I need not advise you to be good, noble, honorable,
all through life, because I feel assured that you will be all that. But
few mothers have been blessed with such children as I have, and
therefore I can depart from them with a loving faith and hope of meeting
them again. One promise I shall ask you to make, though, and that is
that you will devote your life to the protection of your sister, Lottie.
The pitfalls and dangers which lie in the path of human life are much
more numerous and much greater in the road of a young girl than are to
be found in the one of a young man.’
“‘Dear mother,’ said I, as I knelt by the bedside and seized her little
pale hand, ‘I now solemnly promise to join Harry in this sacred duty. I
will follow him through life to aid in protecting my darling sister; for
I love her with all my heart, and do here now swear to devote my life to
her service!’
“‘God bless you, Edward!’ she said as she placed her hand on my head;
‘this is very good in you, and will be remembered to your credit where
good and bad deeds are recorded.’
“Harry was unable to make a promise of any kind, being so overcome with
grief that he could not utter a word, but had fallen on the bed by his
mother’s side, clinging to her neck, and pressing his lips to her pale
brow. He appeared to lose control of his feelings--an unusual thing for
him to do, for he was generally more self-possessed than other boys. His
mother whispered to me, directing me to take him away. I lifted him in
my arms and carried him to another room and laid him on the bed, and
remained with him until he became somewhat calm.
“‘Oh, Edward,’ said he, while his eyes were full of tears, ‘how can we
live without her? Shall that darling, sweet face be forever hidden from
us? What will become of poor Lottie when our mother is gone?’
“‘Can we not work for her? Can we not take care of her? I will help you,
Harry. I will never forsake you and Lottie. I will go with you to the
end of the world, to help work for Lottie. You are my brother, she is my
sister, and nothing shall ever part us but death.’
“‘Thank you, Eddie, you are very good; and we shall stay together.’
“Lottie was soundly sleeping, unconscious of the fact that she was soon
to be motherless. We had so far kept her in ignorance of the situation,
but I afterward was convinced of the great error we committed in doing
so, for when the time came in which concealment was no longer possible,
she was wholly unprepared for the blow. She had not suspected that her
mother was on her death-bed, but had been continually chatting
cheerfully about the new blooming flowers, telling her mother how pretty
they would be by the time she should be able to walk in the garden.
Every morning she placed a fresh bouquet of fragrant flowers on a little
table by her mother’s bedside, and would sit for hours talking to her,
while she was busy mending garments for Harry and me.
“It was a beautiful day in early spring when the gentle spirit of our
darling mother took its leave of this world. The sweet songs of many
little birds loaded the air with their delightful music. The fresh, cool
breeze came stealing through the open windows, sweetened with the
fragrance of spring flowers, and all nature seemed to exert her energies
to make our mother’s last moments happy.
“‘When I am gone’ she said to Harry, ‘you will take Lottie to my brother
who resides in Memphis. He will give her a home, and you and Edward can
find employment there. I leave you in the hands of Him who promised to
be a father to the orphan. “Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall
be comforted.” “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”’
“These were her last words, and without a struggle or symptom of
suffering, she fell asleep in the arms of death like one dropping off in
usual slumber. Her arms, which had been twined about Harry’s neck, were
gently removed, and he was carried away in a swoon, while poor Lottie
sank down on the lifeless body, totally prostrated with her great
sorrow.”