SICKNESS AT LEBANON--SOPHRONIA'S MIRACULOUS RECOVERY.
We moved, as before-mentioned, to the town of Lebanon, New Hampshire.
Here we settled ourselves down, and began to contemplate, with joy and
satisfaction, the prosperity which had attended our recent exertions;
and we doubled our diligence, in order to obtain more of this world's
goods, with the view of assisting our children, when they should need
it; and, as is quite natural, we looked forward to the decline of life,
and were providing for its wants, as well as striving to procure those
things which contribute much to the comfort of old age.
As our children had, in a great measure, been debarred from the
privilege of schools, we began to make every arrangement to attend to
this important duty. We established our second son Hyrum in an academy
at Hanover; and the rest, that were of sufficient age, we were sending
to a common school that was quite convenient. Meanwhile, myself and
companion were doing all that our abilities would admit of for the
future welfare and advantage of the family; and were greatly blessed in
our labors.
But this state of things did not long continue. The typhus fever came
into Lebanon, and raged tremendously. Among the number seized with this
complaint were, first, Sophronia; next Hyrum, who was taken while at
school, and came home sick; then Alvin; in short, one after another
was taken down, till all the family, with the exception of myself and
husband, were prostrated upon beds of sickness.
Sophronia had a heavy siege. The physician attended her eighty-nine
days, giving her medicine all the while; but on the ninetieth day, he
said she was so far gone, it was not for her to receive any benefit
from medicine, and for this cause he discontinued his attendance.
The ensuing night, she lay altogether motionless, with her eyes wide
open, and with that peculiar aspect which bespeaks the near approach
of death. As she thus lay, I gazed upon her as a mother looks upon the
last shade of life in a darling child. In this moment of distraction,
my husband and myself clasped our hands, fell upon our knees by the
bedside, and poured out our grief to God, in prayer and supplication,
beseeching him to spare our child yet a little longer.
Did the Lord hear our petition? Yes; he most assuredly did, and before
we rose to our feet, he gave us a testimony that she would recover.
When we first arose from prayer, our child had, to all appearance,
ceased breathing. I caught a blanket, threw it around her, then, taking
her in my arms, commenced pacing the floor. Those present remonstrated
against my doing as I did, saying, "Mrs. Smith, it is all of no use;
you are certainly crazy, your child is dead." Notwithstanding, I would
not, for a moment, relinquish the hope of again seeing her breathe and
live.
This recital, doubtless, will be uninteresting to some; but those who
have experienced in life something of this kind are susceptible of
feeling, and can sympathize with me. Are you a mother who has been
bereft of a child? Feel for your heart-strings, and then tell me how
I felt with my expiring child pressed to my bosom! Would you at this
trying moment feel to deny that God had "power to save to the uttermost
all who call on him!" I did not then, neither do I now.
At length she sobbed. I still pressed her to my breast, and continued
to walk the floor. She sobbed again, then looked up into my face,
and commenced breathing quite freely. My soul was satisfied, but my
strength was gone. I laid my daughter on the bed, and sunk by her side,
completely overpowered by the intensity of my feelings.
From this time forward Sophronia continued mending, until she entirely
recovered.