"Domestic happiness, thou only bliss
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!" COWPER.
_Friday, August 9th, 1844._
Since the receipt of your last letter, I have had serious thoughts of
taking a trip to England. From what you say of father's health, I fear
he is failing fast, and my heart yearns to see him once more. My dear
husband sympathizes fully with me in this desire, and were my own health
confirmed, he would urge me to go; but since the birth of my little
Frank, my health has been very delicate, and he fears the voyage with
the children would be too much for me. He did once suggest my leaving
Pauline and Nelly, and taking only the baby with Ann. But I was decided
in refusing to leave them. Franky is now six months old, and appears to
be a very healthy child. I think, he will resemble his father more than
even our dear little Walter did. Mother Lenox has now five
grand-children, three of mine and two little ones at the parsonage. The
Doctor brought the news of the arrival of the little stranger only two
days ago. I sent Emily word this morning, that the baby must be named
for me. The eldest is Susy, or Susan, for mother. Mr. Benson is very
proud of his babies, and thoroughly appreciates the noble qualities of
his wife. He was quite pleased this morning with the name, I had
proposed for the little one, but said, he always accorded to Emily the
privilege of naming her babies.
Mother has been with sister since June, and will probably remain until
cold weather. Frank is not willing to have her away in winter, as she
has of late years been subject to a cough. I wish sister Nelly could now
see Pauline. The dear child is within an inch or two of my own height,
and was eleven years of age last June. Never was a mother blessed with a
more dutiful daughter. She has a most delightful influence over her
sister, and indeed in her quiet way over the whole household. Phebe,
(who has become very "weighty," as she expresses it,) often quotes Miss
Pauline's remarks as testimony which no one would dare to question. A
few days since she went to the village on an errand in company with
Nelly, and on her return I saw her leading a poor, ragged, dirty child,
while the woman whom I supposed to be the mother followed a few steps
behind.
Leaving her little charge at the kitchen door, she flew up to her room,
and then into the nursery; "mamma," said she in an animated tone, "are
you willing I should give my birth-day money to a poor little girl who
was crying in the street. She has no clothes, and she is very poor. May
I, mamma?"
I arose and went below to ascertain the cause of the poor woman's
poverty. Pauline followed, whispering, "Mamma, I had much rather give my
five dollars to her, than to buy the work-box, because my old one is
very good." I found the woman was a Canadian, and belonged to a company
of beggars, who go about with a wagon, once every year or two,
collecting clothes and money, while they procure their daily food from
house to house. I directed Phebe to give them a comfortable meal, but
was sorry to be obliged to refuse my dear Pauline the luxury of clothing
the destitute child. I was so much touched by witnessing her tears of
disappointment, that I called her to her room, and selected a calico
dress, apron and shoes from her wardrobe and allowed her to present them
to the child. She hastily thrust her purse of money into my hand, and
ran below, where beckoning the poor beggar into the shed, she soon
transformed her into a neatly dressed girl. I endeavored to improve
this opportunity to explain to my daughter the necessity of
discrimination between the really necessitous, and impostors. It was
very hard for her to believe that any mother could be so depraved as to
permit her child to appear so ragged and dirty if she could possibly
avoid it.
_Saturday, August 16th._
During school hours this morning, the thought of the Canadian girl so
troubled Pauline, that I was obliged to give her the lesson to review,
as it was so imperfectly recited, which is a very unusual event. She is
generally very prompt in her recitations, and already is a proficient in
music, both vocal and instrumental, for which she has a fine ear. I
prophesy that she will by and by far surpass her teacher.
This afternoon I was reading in the library, when she came running in
from her walk, in a state of great excitement. "Oh! mamma," said she,
bursting into tears, "I have seen the little girl again, and now I'm
sure she has a bad mother, for her nice clothes were taken off, and she
wore the same dirty, ragged ones as she did before. I don't think," she
continued, "that the little girl is wicked, because she hung down her
head and was ashamed to see me; but her mother came out of a house with
a large bundle under her arm, and pulled her angrily away." As I saw
this had made a great impression upon Pauline's mind, I determined to
say no more at the time, but take her with me more frequently than I had
done of late in my visits to the poor and distressed.
_Wednesday, August 21st._
The Doctor requested me this morning to prepare a basket of food for one
of his patients; and I determined to take Pauline with me, and deliver
it in person to the family. I knew nothing of their circumstances, only
their name, and a description of the small house which they occupy.
Cæsar readily found the place. Mrs. Fuller, the wife of the sick man,
was washing out a few clothes in an open shed back of the building,
while two children, of about five and three years of age, played in the
dirt before the door. The eldest stopped her play to gaze at the
carriage as we drove up, and ran to call her mother. We entered the
dilapidated building, where a man lay sick of a fever. He was moaning
sadly when we entered, and seemed hardly conscious; but his wife assured
us he was so, and that he kept moaning and muttering something to
himself all the time.
From the wife's account I found that Mr. Fuller, at the time she married
him, was a mechanic in good business, and that they lived comfortably
for two or three years, though her husband did not seem happy as at
first. He gradually grew more and more idle, neglected his business, and
would sit moping in the house from morning till night.
"Was he intemperate?" I inquired. "None to speak of," she replied. "He
never took to drink." After conversing with her for a short time at the
door, I gave her the basket of provisions, and asked her if she were at
present in special need of anything. She was very grateful, and said the
Doctor had provided all that was necessary, and I took my leave,
promising if she would send for it, to supply her with milk for the
children.
_Friday, August 30th._
The Doctor says Mr. Fuller is much worse, and that he has something upon
his mind which troubles him. He is not at all inclined to answer
questions, but to-day when Frank went silently in, and bent over him,
thinking him to be sleeping, the poor fellow said, "that's all I
remember, there's no hurt in that, and if there is, I'm not answerable,
'twas nothing to me."
Frank put his fingers upon the pulse, when the sick man turned upon him
with a terrible oath, and said wildly, "What did you hear? I said
nothing. You can't take me up for that."
Frank soothed him by saying he had heard nothing of consequence, and
feeling much interested for the sufferer, who appeared struggling with
remorse of conscience for some crime, he sat long by him, endeavoring to
point him to the Saviour, who can deliver from all sin.
Mr. Fuller listened as if for his life, and muttered two or three times,
"If I could only believe it! _If I could but think so!!_" The Doctor
prayed with him before he left. When he called Mrs. Fuller to the door,
and related to her what he had heard, she burst into tears, and told him
that for years past, he had at times said over and over the same words,
to which she could attach no meaning; but she clasped her hands in
agony, "Oh, dear," she said, "I am afraid he has been guilty of some
dreadful crime, and that's what harrows him up so!"
"The cause is conscience;--Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews!
Her voice is terrible, though soft,
And dread of death ensues."