CHILDREN ALL MARRIED.
In the spring of 1874 my mother had so far recovered, as to be able to
walk about a little; and, in company with her oldest sister, Tamson
Cuff, since gone to rest, she made a visit of a few weeks to Newbern,
North Carolina. Soon after her arrival she wrote the following letter:
_Newbern, N. C., April 17th, 1874._
Dear husband, and all the loved ones at home.
WILL wrote for me last night, so you will know that we got here
all safe; but Tamson is not feeling very well this morning. I
am quite as well as usual. I found Will and his folks as well
and happy as can be; Will is fatter than I ever saw him. I did
not get to see Theoph, I can't tell why; if you hear from him
let me know; and if you do not, after a week or two, write to
Mr. Hamilton, and see where he is. It was cold and dreary
enough when we came from home, but we have come right into
midsummer here; the birds are singing, and flowers blooming,
and the swamps and woods along the road are as green as in the
first of June. In the yards here, there are fig trees, and
peach and plum trees, as green with leaves as in July with us.
They are having peas, and onions, and lettuce, to eat. I had a
nice bunch of flowers given to me last night, and I want to
send you some before they wilt. * * * * We had a nice ride
around the city (in Washington,) saw the Capitol, Patent
Office, and Post Office, and I cannot tell you what else, until
I get home. We are invited to stop a week in Washington on our
return; but I reckon I shall want to come right home when I
start.
As ever, wife and mother,
R. S.
She came home from this visit much improved, and enjoyed quite good
health until the fall of '75. During the winter of '74 she witnessed
the marriage of her two remaining children, and looked out upon life a
second time almost alone. The couple that had married in the beginning
of December '38, saw the last of their children married, at the close
of December '74. Thirty-six years had been employed in rearing and
training a family ere the last one is given to manhood, and the father
and mother turn a moment to repose. Their work is done; time shall say
if it has been well done. Time did I say? Nay, Eternity! Their work
done, they go back in that quiet home alone, but cannot recall the
hopes and joys of youth. When married thirty-six years ago, they were
without the Pearl of Great Price; now they sit in that homestead,
after exercising nearly forty years of command in the sublime domain
of domestic government, and look up to their father's God. Now that
father and mother bow, and unitedly pray, "God bless our offspring in
different parts of the world; teach them, educate them, give them
knowledge, wisdom and understanding; make them useful in doing much
good, and instruments in Thy hand in winning many souls to Thy
Kingdom." This is no fancy sketch, dear reader, but an actual
quotation from the prayer that went up from that altar.
When somewhat discouraged with untoward circumstances, during this
period of her life, I received two letters from her which I have ever
prized. In one she said: "I never close my eyes at night, without
looking over you all, and committing you all to God's care; and I _do_
pray God to keep you all; so that when we are all done with the cares
of this life, we shall be a family united around the throne--children,
grandchildren, and all; and we will make the heavens ring with one
eternal song of praise."
"Follow after the meek and lowly Jesus; and if you can't make anything
of the old people, try the children; sow the seeds of Divine Truth
among _them_ as much as you can; leave no measure untried, no place
neglected, as far as in you lies. Be faithful; be earnest; for
remember He that goeth forth with tares bearing precious seed shall
return again bringing his sheaves with him. And Oh! think of the
glory, the rejoicing--when all the ransomed of the Lord shall come
flocking to him--to meet those you have been instrumental in bringing
to Christ."
In the other she said: "Continue to look up, for Christ is the end of
your hopes and He will never forsake you. He has work enough for you
to do. Seek to find out His will and obediently follow it. Work in His
vineyard wherever you find a place; and, if you can find nothing else,
then quietly, like your mother, patiently wait and speak a word for
Him whenever you can. Scatter seed wherever you go, and may the Lord
bless you, and keep you and all yours, is the best wish of the heart
of your mother."
The summer of '75 was to the inhabitants of South Jersey quite
prosperous, so far as the productions of the field were concerned, and
this made abundant work for mother now left alone. It being difficult
to obtain help, the chief burden of managing the affairs of the
farm-house fell upon her, and they were not light. She says, July 6,
1875, in a letter addressed to Mrs. Felts: "We are all pretty well and
almost done harvesting; the weather is very warm and I have had it
pretty hard, but it is over now, and I have stood it right well."
On the 5th of the same month she wrote a long letter to Mrs. Felts
inviting her home. During the month of August, 1875 she presided over
a family reunion, at which were gathered all the members of the
household consisting of over forty persons. A long table was spread
under the trees just as the sun was sinking in the west, and after a
short prayer by Rev. R. Faucett this numerous family gathered around
it in the utmost sociality. It was their last.
The remaining days of summer and early autumn passed away without any
material change in her health; but as the cool weather approached, and
the profuse vegetable matter began to die away, she was taken with a
slight billious intermittent fever. Exposing herself too early on her
recovery from this, she was thrown into typhoid fever and was by it
completely prostrated. During the winter as she was very low, I was
informed of her state, and came to see her, bringing her some
nourishment, which I induced her to take, and there was soon a gradual
change for the better. During her former illness her hair had all
turned grey, and fallen out; during the period of health from the
spring of '74 to the autumn of '75 it had grown in again black, and
now this terrible typhoid fever leaves her reduced to little more than
a skeleton, and her hair all grey and falling out again.
On the 13th of February 1876, having recovered sufficiently, she wrote
to her daughter as follows, writing with her own hand: "Dear Alice.
The cloud indeed passed away, and I am much better; I am sorry I
troubled you, and made you sad (alluding to a previous letter in
which she expressed no hope of recovery), but I thought it best then.
I guess I will get well now, if nothing else happens. Father will not
let me go out of the room yet; he is very well; he went to a donation
party to Mr. Faucett's last night. You need not be uneasy about me, I
am well cared for and do not wish you to come to me. I think it would
be out of your duty and you know I always say 'duty before pleasure;'
and besides, 'Aunt Lydia' has been with me and will come again if I
need her. * * * * The people like Mr. Faucett better than they did. I
cannot advise you about coming East. * * * You must both make it a
subject of prayer, but don't come for my sake; _I am not worth a
sacrifice_; and besides I have sacrificed you all to the Lord. (See
February 6th 1876.) I have laid all of you, with all that I have, on
the altar; all my dearest affections, and you among the dearest; so
you see I can't take you back." And in this letter she adds "here is
the last bit of my hair."
The same date she wrote to her son-in-law, Rev. C. C. Felts as
follows:
Dear Cethe:--I like to forgot, I had something to say to _you_.
I must answer your _grumbling_ as best I can, for I don't like
_grumblers_ any way. (Mr. Felts had written, that his room was
so small that he could not walk across without moving things
out of the way to make a passage, etc., and otherwise alluding
to his poverty. Of course the correspondence was rather
jocosely conducted.) She continued:
1st. You forget how much larger your room is than the cross
was; and how many things the Saviour had to move out of the
way; you forget also how much larger those mansions in glory
will appear.
2d. You forget, too, that your bread shall be given and water
sure; and having food and raiment, therewith to be content.
3d. You forget, too, that he that goeth forth weeping, bearing
precious seed, shall doubtless return again, bringing his
sheaves with him. Sow thy seed in the morning, in the evening
withhold not thy hand, for thou knowest not which shall
prosper, this or that. The other side looks so bright, I have
no comments.
MOTHER.
The summer of '76 passed slowly away, she regaining health slowly. Her
hair, which all came out with the typhoid fever, grew in rapidly, and
again black. In August of that year she wrote as follows: "We are all
well as usual. Theoph is here, and Lizzie is coming to day, and Bishop
Payne Saturday. We had the finest pic-nic yesterday we have had for a
long time. * * * I shall be to see you week after next, if I don't go
home with Theoph; and if I do, I will be there the week after. I am
going to Campmeeting now."
She went home with "Theoph," passing a week in Brooklyn and going from
there to Philadelphia. Her deep interest in the welfare of her
children, and her complete resignation to the will of God are so
apparent in these letters, as scarcely to need a hint. She has laid
all on the altar and dare not take it off. She counts not herself
"_worth a sacrifice_." What further self-denial can be asked? What
further consecration possible?
From her visit to Brooklyn she went to Philadelphia, stopping a week
at the latter place with her daughter, Mrs. Felts, and remarked while
there, that she was taking a rest after her severe summer's labor, and
was also visiting her children for the last time, unless called to
them by sickness. While in Philadelphia she visited the great
Centennial Exposition, and called on many of her friends in the city.
On the Sabbath, it was her intention to visit "Old Bethel" _once
more_, but the day being stormy, she was disappointed. Her two weeks
vacation, she said, saved her from an attack of sickness, and she
passed the following winter in quite good health. She wrote me towards
spring, saying she was rapidly gaining in flesh and had not been sick
a day since her visit.
During the month of January her oldest sister was taken very sick,
requiring much of her attention; simultaneously word came that her
daughter, Mrs. Felts, was also seriously ill. She divided her time
between these two afflicted ones, again visiting the city. As she left
home to go to the city, the weather was so bad, she had doubts about
reaching it; but she said, "My duty is to start." Staying two weeks
with her daughter, she availed herself of only one pleasure, and that
was to hear Dr. Lord's classic lecture on Gothic Architecture. This
was to her a great treat; and her perception was at that time so
clear, and her memory so retentive, that after coming home she
repeated almost the entire substance of the lecture. During the month
of March my brother Stephen and his wife moved into the homestead, to
take charge of the farm. My mother felt sad as she brought her
domestic arrangements within closer quarters, and remarked that it
seemed to her "like having gone to the top of the hill and now going
down again." Although she was delighted with her daughter-in-law and
heartily acquiesced in the arrangement, in fact it was in accord with
her own wish, yet she expressed a feeling of sadness as she
relinquished her hold upon active and responsible life. What with the
labor of caring for the sick daughter, her sick mother, and her sick
sister, during the winter, when spring came she was very much worn
down. The last letter she wrote is dated May 7th, 1877, and is
addressed to her oldest son. It reads:
Dear Will:--Yours kindly received. We were glad to be
remembered, and glad to know you had got so well; we are all as
usual except colds. I have not seen your family since you were
here. Steve is almost done planting corn; but the weather is so
cold, he gets along slow with his work. "Aunt Tamson" is very
low;--not expected to live from day to day. Tell Alice, we
can't--any one of us--come to the opening of the Exhibition;
but she can come home _any day she gets ready_.
We are getting along very peacably and nice with our two
families together. Our new preacher was with us yesterday and
kindly received. You will wonder why I have not written better;
but I am in a hurry for "Grandmother" and "Aunt Prude" are both
sick, and I am going there as soon as I can; "Aunt Tamson's"
family are all with her; you see we have trouble all around us;
it was the news of "Ike's" death that threw her back. Father is
working right on for four weeks, which is wonderful.
With much love, from your
MOTHER.
So far as I know this is the last letter she ever wrote. On the 11th
of May, Mrs. Felts went home and took charge of her work, while she
gave her time fully to the care of the sick. Every day and every night
she would visit one or the other, often going from one directly to
the other, taking but very little rest. One day she remarked to Mrs.
Felts: "Alice, this is the only time since your marriage that I have
ever wanted you back; when I gave you up, I did so freely and have
never regretted it, and this is the first time I have ever really
needed you since, and now the Lord has arranged it for you to be
here."
On the 16th of May, "Aunt Tamson" (Mrs. Tamson Cuff, her oldest
sister) passed away from earth. At the time of her death mother was
absent; coming to look upon her lifeless form, she talked pleasantly
with those around of the reality and glory of heaven, and came home
singing:
"I know not the hour when my Lord shall come,
To take me away to His own dear home,
But I know that His presence will lighten my gloom;
And that will be glory for me."
Taking off her bonnet, she said: "Alice, attend to the work, I must
indulge myself a little now"; and lying down on the sofa, she wept
freely for some time. She lay there till evening and then rousing
herself, passed the evening in conversation with the daughters of the
deceased. On the next day, May 17th, she worked very hard intending to
spend all the next day with her mother. About 5 o'clock that afternoon
word was brought that _her mother was dead_. Throwing up both hands,
she uttered a wail of horror, such as none had ever heard from her
before, saying quickly: "Oh! My mother gone; and I so selfish as to
be about my work and not with her!" We replied: "But mother you were
preparing to spend to-morrow with her." She added immediately: "I
could have gone to day. It was my selfishness. Mother said she would
die on the 18th and I intended to be with her on that day; but I ought
not to have left her, I ought not to have left her," she repeated.
As quickly as possible she was at her mother's bedside and to her
inexpressible joy found her _still alive_. She had sunk so low that
life was thought extinct, but the Lord had revived her again and she
still lived, and recognized her daughter. She lived through the night
and waited until the sun had sent his first beams to bless the earth
on the 18th, when her happy spirit fled to its eternal home. She had
known it would appear for some days, the day and very hour when she
should go away. It was the same day of the month and the same hour at
which her husband died. Side by side their ashes sleep in the old
family graveyard at Gouldtown, awaiting the clarion call of the
resurrection trump.
My mother turned not away from the corpse of her mother until she had
seen it all prepared for the grave. It was a work, she said, she could
leave no stranger to do, and made the same request for herself. "Never
allow my body to pass into the hands of strangers," was her request.
On Saturday, the 19th of May, 1877, her sister, Mrs. Cuff, was buried,
and Monday following, (May 21st,) her mother's corpse was laid in the
grave. After the funeral of the mother, at her suggestion, all the
remaining members of the family went back to the old homestead and ate
dinner together, she saying it would perhaps be their last time. From
these sad days she went direct into hard work, and when gently
remonstrated with and fears were expressed that she would get sick,
she replied: "Oh! I will get over it, I guess; and if I do not, it is
in the end life everlasting."
On the 28th of the month she was taken seriously ill and medical aid
was summoned. From the first she expressed but little hope, saying: "I
never was sick this way before." She talked freely with her children
and would not be satisfied until she had made them say that they had
forgiven her for persisting to work against their wish.
During the last Sabbath she spent on earth, she fell into a gentle
doze when suddenly waking, she said: "What do you think I saw?" and
then musingly she added: "It might have been a dream; I think it was,
but I saw the Lord holding Theoph and Cethe, in his arms, and I know
He is going to keep them safe."
That night being taken worse, the family watched with her and she
remarked: "Ah, children, I shall not be here in the morning." Morning
came, however, and she was still spared. In conversation that day she
said: "I thought I was dying, but I felt comfortable in mind and had
no fear." As her daughter, Mrs. Felts, was obliged to leave, she urged
her to watch with great care over her little girl, saying: "As you
mould her so will she grow. I never could think my children were only
for my pleasure, I did not dare make playthings of them, I thought the
training of my children was part of the work God gave me to do."
"I may get well," said she, "but anyhow my life is hid with Christ in
God and to be where there is no more pain, where all tears are wiped
away,--Ah, you need not wonder that I do not care to stay here. I have
been sick so much--and in that land no one says 'I am sick,' I have
thought with 'Aunt Tamson' and 'Grandmother' that it was hard to open
the gates, but then there's glory on the other side."
The next day (Monday) she appeared better, but during the night was
again worse. On Thursday, Father becoming alarmed, despatched for the
absent ones; she knew this and objected, saying it would produce
needless alarm. That night she had sinking spells. Recovering from one
of them, she exclaimed: "Oh, can't you catch the glory of heaven all
around me!" Father burst into tears and she immediately added: "Oh, I
did not mean to distress you!" Although we knew she was dying, we said
but little. Who could talk? Her last audible words were: "Though I
walk through the valley and shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for
Thou art with me," and taking the hand of her sister, added: "I am
deep down in the valley now"--"deep down in the valley, but glory to
God," she could say "Thou art with me!"
Just three weeks after her mother's death, viz: Friday, June 8th,
1877, she passed away and there are now three fresh graves in that old
burial ground.
THE FUNERAL.
On Monday, June 11th, 1877, a large concourse of people met in Trinity
A. M. E. Church, Gouldtown, to pay their last acknowledgements to this
modest and excellent woman. The corpse was neatly dressed and in the
coffin lay quite a profusion of freshly blown roses. The services at
the church were conducted by Rev. Redman Faucett and Dr. B. T. Tanner;
those at the grave by Revs. E. J. Hammet, G. W. Boyer and Dr. H. M.
Turner. All spoke eloquently of the virtues of the deceased. After the
coffin was lowered down in the grave and solemnly committed to dust, a
large basket of white roses were distributed among the weeping
relatives and friends, and each threw a handful of sweet flowers on
the dust of her whom all had learned to love.
And thus ends the earthly life of a noble woman. Ends did I say? May I
not rather say, begins! That life so illustrative of golden virtues
and heroic principles, it is to be hoped will go down through the
present and succeeding generations, lived over by those whom she
loved, and she being dead, may yet speak words of comfort and love to
many struggling ones among God's children.