CHAPTER XXXI.

"As lawyers o'er a doubt

Which, puzzling long, at last, they puzzle out." COWPER.

_Wednesday, November 6th._

_Nine o'clock._ The Court met pursuant to adjournment. The excitement

has much increased. The court-room is crowded to its utmost capacity,

and the most intense interest manifested as to the decision.

Mr. Andrews was called and sworn.

_Mr. Curtiss._ "Did you frequently see Hugh Fuller during his sickness?"

"I watched with him twice."

"Have you often watched with persons in this fever?"

"I have."

"How were their minds affected?"

"They were generally deranged."

"Did you witness any appearance of insanity in Mr. Fuller?"

"I did."

"How was it manifested?"

"He once imagined I was his mother, and that I was instructing him.

Another time he thought he was building a house, and called out to his

workmen about the work."

Before the cross examination, I noticed Mr. Willard speaking in a low

voice to Mr. Marshall, when he took his hat and retired from the

court-room.

_Mr. Marshall._ "Do you mean to convey the idea that Mr. Fuller was not

rational during any part of the nights that you watched with him?"

"By no means, sir. I mean that he was a little out of his head."

"Did he recognize you?"

"He did, and often called me by name, and told me what medicine he was

to take."

"When he thought you were his mother, what did he say?"

"He said he remembered my instructing him to tell the truth, and how

much happier he should have been if he had regarded my instructions."

Mrs. Andrews was called.

_Mr. Curtiss._ "Did you see Mr. Fuller during his sickness?"

"I watched with him the night before he died."

"How did he appear at that time?"

"The first part of the night, he took me to be his wife, and talked with

me about the children."

"Relate all you remember of his wanderings."

"He was very much excited and wanted to get out of bed and go to see Dr.

Lenox--Said he must go, and we had great difficulty in pacifying him."

Cross examination.

_Mr. Marshall._ "Do you remember what he said to you about the

children?"

"He charged me never to let the girls marry a man who had perjured

himself."

This reply produced great sensation, and the sheriff again thundered

"_order!_ ORDER!!"

"Did he appear more calm toward morning?"

"Oh, no! He grew more and more excited until we promised to send for the

Doctor."

"Did that wholly pacify him?"

"He seemed so relieved and rational that I staid alone with him while

Mr. Hardy went for the Doctor, and he hardly spoke during his absence."

"How did he appear during that time?"

"He lay with his eyes closed, and once I thought I heard the words. 'Oh,

God!--Oh, Jesus, forgive me!'"

_Mr. Curtiss_ called Mr. Hardy. "Did you discover any signs of insanity

in Mr. Fuller on the night preceding his death?"

"I did."

"What were they?"

"Substantially those already testified to by Mrs. Andrews. He called

incessantly for the Doctor, saying he could not die till he had seen

him."

_Mr. Curtiss_, under excitement, interrupted the witness, saying, "you

need not repeat the testimony of other witnesses."

Cross-examination by _Mr. Marshall_. "Did he tell you why he wished to

see the Doctor?"

"He said, he had something of great importance to confess to him, and he

could not die with it upon his conscience."

"How did he appear when you returned with the Doctor?"

"Perfectly calm and rational."

"Who were then present?"

"Dr. Lenox, Mrs. Fuller, Mrs. Andrews, and myself."

"Relate what occurred."

"The Doctor went directly to the bed. When Mr. Fuller saw him, he said

audibly, 'thank God!' He then added, that he had committed a great crime

which he wished to confess before he died, and that it related to the

last will of the late Joseph Lee. Dr. Lenox immediately requested me to

go for the nearest magistrate. When I returned with Justice Wilson, the

Doctor was praying with the sick man. Fuller's wife holding her husband

and weeping, stood the other side of the bed with Mrs. Andrews. Prayer

being closed, the Doctor informed Justice Wilson of the wish of Hugh

Fuller to make a confession which it was important to take in a legal

form. The Justice then took the sick man's confession in our presence in

the form of an affidavit."

Mr. Balch was next called, and as he took the stand Mr. Willard, with a

hasty and agitated step, returned to the court room and resumed his

seat. Every eye was turned toward him, as he appeared to be under great

excitement which he in vain endeavored to conceal. He hastily whispered

to Mr. Marshall, who started in surprise, and seemed fully to

participate in his feelings.

_Mr. Curtiss to Mr. Balch._ "Were you acquainted with Mr. Fuller?"

"Intimately; I lived next door to him, and we frequently worked

together. I saw him almost daily before his death."

"Did you see him often during his sickness?"

"I was at his house every day to inquire after him, and I watched with

him several nights."

"Did you discover signs of insanity in him?"

"I did."

"Relate to the court what you recollect of them."

"He frequently talked with me about business that he had no connection

with, and about all sorts of things that he never talked about in

health."

"When did you see him last?"

"On the day before his death."

"How did he then appear?"

"He was as wild as a hawk, and kept trying to get off the bed, and

pulling the clothes."

"What did he talk about?"

"He spoke of houses, and farms, and cattle, and workmen, and all sorts

of things, and run from one to another without any connection."

Here Mr. Curtiss rose with an air of triumph and exultation and said,

"Your Honor, unless the counsel for the prosecution wish to

cross-examine this witness, we shall here close the direct testimony for

the defence."

Mr. Willard, who had been sitting during the examination of the last

witness, with his face concealed by a book, now rose and said, "Your

Honor, and you, Gentlemen of the Jury, we shall waive the privilege of

cross-examining the last witness for the defence, that we may hasten to

introduce a few items of rebutting testimony at this stage of the

trial."

This was said in so low a voice as scarcely to be heard, while he

actually trembled with the effort to suppress his emotions. "For this

purpose," he continued, "I recall Mrs. Martha Fuller."

_Mr. Curtiss objects._ "She has been already on the stand."

_Mr. Willard._ "Your Honor, I recall her to elicit new testimony, not

known at that time."

Mrs. Fuller having presented herself, he asked leave of the court to

inquire, if any one here present were acquainted with the hand writing

of Oscar Colby, of Edward Stone, of Hugh Fuller, or of the late Joseph

Lee.

Many voices responded to the call; a number of persons came forward, and

having taken the oath, Mr. Willard advanced toward them, and slowly

drawing out his large pocket-book, proceeded to take from thence two

yellow and time-worn documents. He partially unfolded them, when each of

the signatures were identified, with the exception of that of Edward

Stone.

While this was going on the prisoners started suddenly from their seats,

lawyers and reporters dropped their pens in their eagerness to witness

what was to follow; even the counsellors for the defence seemed to hang

in breathless suspense upon the issue of the moment.

Then unfolding the larger document, he said, "May it please your Honor,

and you, Gentlemen of the Jury: The names of Oscar Colby, Edward Stone,

and Hugh Fuller, here appear as witnesses to the last will and testament

of the late Joseph Lee, bearing his characteristic signature, and seal,

drawn up in the hand-writing of the said Oscar Colby, and bearing even

date with the deed before referred to, to wit:--Crawford, October

twenty-third, one thousand eight hundred and thirty-seven."

Here Joseph Lee in a frenzy of rage attempted to spring over his own

box into that of his companion, and screamed out, as he met the iron

railing, "Perjured wretch, you swore to me it was destroyed."

The sheriff rapped and thundered "_order in court_." Still he raved and

swore like a maniac, and the sheriff could not control him.

Though he was heavily ironed, it required the full strength of several

constables to keep him quiet.

Order being restored, Mr. Willard said, "I will here introduce two items

of written testimony to rebut the charge of insanity against the author

of the affidavit, the principal witness for the prosecution, and to

confirm other testimony for the government already before the court. It

was not known that these items existed, when we concluded the

presentation of the case in behalf of the Commonwealth. I put in as

written testimony, first, the last will and testament of Joseph Lee,

deceased, which is as follows:

"'In the name of God, Amen. I, Joseph Lee Senior, of Crawford, in

the County of ----, Commonwealth of Massachusetts, gentleman, being

on my sick bed, and in the near prospect of death, but of sound and

disposing mind and memory, do make and publish this my last will

and testament, hereby revoking a former will made by me, and signed

and sealed on the fifth day of August, one thousand eight hundred

and thirty-five.

_First._ I hereby constitute and appoint my beloved son-in-law,

Allen Mansfield, to be sole executor of this my last will,

directing him to pay all my just debts and funeral charges out of

my personal estate, as soon after my decease, as shall by him be

found convenient.

_Second._ I give and bequeath to my beloved daughter, Lucy Lee

Mansfield, all the real estate of which I may die possessed.

_Third._ I give and bequeath to my faithful steward, Jacob Strong,

and to my faithful house-keeper, Susan Burns, each the sum of one

thousand dollars.

_Fourth._ I also give and bequeath to each of my faithful

servants, Samuel Dane, Sarah Brown, and Maria Keys, the sum of five

hundred dollars.

_Fifth._ I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand dollars as a

fund to the Pastor, Rev. Asa Munroe, and Deacon Simon Crocker, and

Deacon Josiah Hanscomb, of the first Congregational church in this

place, to be held in trust by them and their successors in office

forever, subject to the advice of said church. The annual income

thereof is to be by them expended for the relief of the poor, and

for objects of charity; a preference being always given among the

poor to those impoverished by intemperance; and among objects of

charity to those more immediately under their observation.

_Sixth._ I give and bequeath all the residue of my personal

property to my son-in-law, Allen Mansfield, Frank Lenox and John

Marshall, and their successors whom they shall appoint, to be by

them held in trust, and at their discretion used for the support,

and personal comfort of my son, Joseph Lee, and to his heirs after

him; or in the event of his death without legitimate offspring, the

same shall after his decease revert to my daughter Lucy Lee

Mansfield, her heirs and assigns forever.

In testimony whereof, I, the said Joseph Lee, have to this my last

will and testament, set my hand and seal, this twenty-third day of

October, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and

thirty-seven.

JOSEPH LEE. [L. S.]

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Joseph Lee, as

and for his last will and testament, in the presence of us, who at

his request, and in his presence, and in the presence of each

other, have subscribed our names as witnesses hereto.

Oscar Colby,

Edward Stone,

Hugh Fuller.'"

After he had carefully folded the tattered document and replaced it in

his pocket-book, Mr. Willard read the other item of documentary

testimony, which proved to be this note of hand.

"For value received, I promise to pay Oscar Colby or order, five

thousand dollars annually, on the first day of January, in each

year, during the term of his natural life.

Signed, Joseph Lee."

Crawford, November 23, 1837.

On the back of this note were seven annual endorsements of five thousand

dollars each; amounting to thirty-five thousand dollars.

Turning to the Judge, he then said, "May it please your Honor, and you,

Gentlemen of the Jury, I am instructed by my colleague, the Attorney

General, to submit the case in behalf of the Government without argument

or comment. This we do from a conviction that after such disclosures,

and this array of testimony, a closing argument would be not only a

superfluity, but almost an insult to your understanding."

When he had resumed his seat, Mr. Burke for the defence arose, and said,

"May it please your Honor, and you Gentlemen of the Jury, no persons can

be taken by greater surprise at these remarkable disclosures, than the

counsellors for the defence. And cordially concurring in the remarks of

the learned counsel for the prosecution, we have concluded to follow his

worthy example, and submit the case without argument, merely invoking

for our clients as large a share of commiseration, as may consist with

your sense of justice, and with the laws pertaining to their cause."

The Judge arose from the Bench, and in slow, and grave accents,

commended the counsellors, both for the prosecution and the defence for

the brief and direct manner in which they had mutually yielded the case

to the court. "The same considerations," he added, "which have in their

judgment superseded all demand for a closing argument, lead me,

Gentlemen of the Jury, to feel that there can be no occasion for my

giving you a prolonged charge. The nature of the crime for which the

prisoners are arraigned and the penalties which it incurs, have been so

properly and ably expounded to you by the counsellors as to supersede

the necessity of additional comment thereon by the Bench. The trial has

been protracted, and your minds must have been perplexed with doubts

respecting the importance to be attached to the confession of Hugh

Fuller until the introduction of the documentary testimony just

submitted, which pours a flood of light upon the case, which of itself

would seem sufficient to establish their guilt, and which, taken as a

corroboration of the direct and circumstantial testimony previously

before the court, amounts to an array of evidence seldom presented. If

this evidence has convinced your judgment of the guilt of the prisoners,

you will render your verdict accordingly."

The Jury retired, and after a few moments returned. The foreman arose

and said, "We have made up our verdict."

By order of the court Joseph Lee was remanded to the prisoner's box to

hear the verdict.

_Clerk._ "Do you find the prisoners guilty, or not guilty?"

Reply. "_Guilty._"

_Judge._ "The Court will postpone the proclamation of the sentence until

the morning session."

The Court then adjourned till Thursday morning at nine o'clock, it being

already past two o'clock, P. M.

_Thursday Morning, November 7th._ The court met pursuant to adjournment.

At nine o'clock the sheriff and his attendants came into the Court, but

without the prisoners. Great excitement was manifested. He communicated

with the Judge, who exhibited strong emotion, and who, when the sheriff

had opened the Court, announced the death by suicide of Joseph Lee, and

the dangerous illness of Oscar Colby.

_Monday, November 11th._

So ended this horrible tragedy. I intended to have taken notes, but my

all-absorbing interest in the trial prevented me. Indeed I forgot even

my intention to do so. The night of Tuesday, I could not close my eyes

in sleep; but lived over and over again the exciting scenes of the day,

while the loathsome, purple face of Joseph and the haggard visage of his

companion were ever before me.

My dear Lucy was seriously indisposed when we called for her, on our way

to the trial, and was glad to remain at home. Allen too bore the marks

of the excitement and suffering of the day before, and said he would not

willingly go through another such day for all the property in Crawford.

But he was destined to a far greater trial during the day on which he

had entered.

I have copied from the daily papers a full account of the trial, merely

adding to it from my own memory. But now I shall endeavor to explain

some circumstances connected with it which have not yet been made

public. You will remember that in the report of Wednesday morning, Mr.

Willard abruptly left the court-room, after requesting Mr. Marshall to

cross-examine the witnesses. The following statement he made to Allen

Mansfield, the Doctor, myself and some others after the trial. I will

relate it nearly in his own words.

"It would hardly be supposed," he said, "that I could sleep much at that

stage of this exciting trial. I tossed from side to side during the

night, and as I reviewed the testimony, came almost to the conclusion

that the counsel for the defence would destroy the affidavit in the

minds of the Jury and get the case. I thought, if I could only find the

second will or some clue to it, this would relieve my embarrassment. I

became so much excited by the new train of thought, that I arose from my

bed, dressed, and commenced a vigorous walk across my room.

"Plan after plan for obtaining it or some trace of it was thought of and

rejected. Morning dawned; and the duties of the day left me no time for

farther speculation. But my midnight thoughts prepared me for what

followed, and when I went into Court, a light dawned upon me. It was

connected with a circumstance with which you are already acquainted;

namely, with the anxiety which Colby had manifested to have his clothes

brought to him in the jail.

"During the examination of one of the first witnesses, it suddenly

occurred to me to inquire of the jailer whether he had ever mentioned

any garment in particular. I left the court-room for that purpose, and

was soon at the jail. I began cautiously by asking whether the prisoners

had been rendered comfortable during their confinement. To this, the

jailer replied, 'far more comfortable than they deserved. They are

ungrateful rascals. Notwithstanding the pains I have taken with Joseph's

meals, in consequence of the wishes of his brother Mansfield, yet he was

always cursing and swearing in the most shocking manner.'"

"And how was it with Colby? I asked.

"I can't say that he did precisely the same. I've nothing to say against

him except that he was always complaining of cold and sending for more

clothes. I have sent twice, and I told him that I wouldn't be bothered

with sending again; so I gave him a shawl to put over him.'

"Did he ever mention any particular garment which he wished?"

"'Yes indeed. It's vests he asks for. The first time, the man forgot

about the vest, and brought an overcoat or something of that sort; but

the next time he got one.'

"Well," said I, trembling with a mere suspicion that I had got a clue

that might lead to the discovery. The jailer seeing me much interested,

went on.

"'The very next day, he wanted another vest; and I refused downright to

send again.'

"Did he specify any one in particular?"

"'Yes; he said he wanted a new checked satin one, hanging in his

wardrobe.'

"I had heard enough; and bidding the jailer good morning, I stopped at

the court-room only long enough to take a sheriff, and proceeded to Lee

Hall. Without imparting my suspicions to my companion or to the keeper

of the house, I merely told them that I wished once more to examine the

room occupied by Mr. Colby; and notwithstanding the doubt of finding

anything new, expressed by the keeper, I walked straight to the

wardrobe, and took down every vest hanging there.

"After laying them upon the bed, I proceeded, (not very deliberately, I

confess) to examine the pockets and to see if I could discover any inner

pockets. But no, the keeper standing by said, as I laid one down after

another, 'them are clothes has all undergone a thorough _castigation_,

and there ha'n't nothing been found in 'em.'

"Hardly knowing why, I took up again the thick black satin vest, and

walked to the window. My heart almost stopped beating, as I saw that a

slit had been cut in the lining, and carefully sewed up again. Quick as

lightning, I cut the thread, put in my fingers, drew out the very

document of which I was in search, and the note of hand within it. I

sprang full two feet from the floor, as I discovered the treasure, and

my companions echoed and reechoed my shout of delight. I hastened to the

court-room with my important rebutting testimony," said he with a smile,

"and you know the result."

Allen Mansfield was so excited during this relation that he had to sit

down two or three times, and then forgetting himself he started from his

seat. When Mr. Willard had finished his remarkable story, he found that

his circle of hearers had greatly increased since the commencement of

his narrative. Not only Mr. Marshall, the Attorney General, the

Counsellors for the defence, and a score of Reporters but the Judge from

the bench had pressed around him to learn how so important a mystery had

been revealed. He then received the warm congratulations of all his

associates at the bar, for his success, and at the favorable termination

of the suit.

Mr. Mansfield begged the Doctor and myself to communicate the result of

the trial to Lucy. We did so, but found her suffering so severely from

nervous excitement, that my husband judged it wiser to avoid

particulars, and merely to inform her that the suit had resulted in her

favor. A deep sigh, with the words, "Oh! my poor brother Joseph!" were

all her reply.

It was now past three o'clock, and I hastened to my babies, and

communicated the sad story to mother. In consequence of losing my sleep

the previous night, I did not rise till quite late on Thursday morning.

When I went below, a man was just leaving the hall; and as Frank shut

the door after him, I heard him say, "Oh! how shocking!" He immediately

prepared to go out.

"My dear husband," I said, "something dreadful has happened, I perceive

by your looks. Don't be afraid to tell me. I fear Lucy"--

"No! _No!!_" said he, interrupting me, "I have heard nothing from her.

Don't be alarmed. I shall soon be back."

He had been gone nearly an hour, when a messenger came in great haste

for him to go to Mr. Mansfield's--Lucy was in a dreadful swoon. I ran

down to inquire more particularly, and to direct him to go to the office

for the Doctor, when he told me the horrid catastrophe. Joseph Lee had

been found dead in his cell, having hung himself from a large hook

driven into the wall and used to hang up a coat or a hat.

With mother's advice, I proceeded immediately to Mr. Mansfield's, where

I found every thing in the utmost confusion. Servants were running to

and fro; some crying, some trying to soothe others, while Emily and her

sweet little brothers were the only ones who remained calm. I stopped a

moment to speak to them in the nursery, when the dear girl said, "I'm

trying to keep my brothers quiet, because mamma is very sick."

I hastened to their mother's chamber, where my husband was leaning over

his patient, applying the most powerful restoratives, while her agitated

husband and Mrs. Burns were putting stimulants to her hands and feet.

Not a pulse throbbed--no sign of life appeared. The Doctor repeatedly

held a small mirror before her face, but was unable to discover the

least breath. But at length, with a deep sigh from her over-burdened

heart, she very gradually recovered her consciousness.

All stood back from her view except her physician. Poor Allen, with

tears streaming down his cheeks, dared not show himself. The sufferer

was soon able to take a little camphor and water, and without letting

her see me, I returned to the children. Summoning the nurse, I told her

if she would dress her young charge, I would send for them to pass the

day with my little ones; and not waiting for my husband, I returned

home.

That was on Thursday morning, the time appointed by the Judge, for the

prisoners to receive their sentence. When the jailer went to carry them

their breakfast, he ascertained that one of them was beyond the reach of

any earthly tribunal. He had rushed unbidden, into the presence of his

great Judge. Hastening to the other cell, and almost fearing to enter,

lest he should find him in a similar condition, he ascertained that he

was raving incoherently from a fever, and hastily sent for the Doctor.

His disease proved to be a violent congestion of the brain; and it still

remains very doubtful whether he will recover.

A coroner's jury was called to sit on the body of Joseph, and rendered a

verdict of death by suicide. The Doctor says he cannot see how he could

have succeeded in his attempt. He had hooked his cloak around his neck,

and then hung it upon the hook on the wall by one of the eyes which

fastened it together. He had been dead some hours, and probably

terminated his life soon after dark, though from the examination it

appeared that he must have been a long time in the agonies of death. His

face was almost black, and his hands tightly clenched. _So died Joseph

Lee!_ The vast wealth of which he had so unrighteously possessed

himself, what now was that to him? It would only fill his soul with

enduring agony and remorse.

_Friday, November 22d._

Emily Lenox Mansfield, with her twin brothers Charlie and Harry, have

this morning left us to go home. I feel quite lonely without them. Emily

is a most engaging child of six years of age. Her eyes filled with tears

as she parted with Pauline, who has been extremely kind and obliging to

her little visitors. I promised that she should soon spend a day with

them, now that their mother is getting stronger. Mrs. Mansfield was very

ill for several days after hearing of her brother's dreadful end. She

recovered from one fainting fit only to fall into another. I think Frank

became really alarmed at last; but she is now much better, and able to

sit up two or three hours in a day.

She has never asked a question about the result of the trial, and is

still unacquainted with the shocking detail. The Doctor fearing lest she

should hear of it suddenly, told her yesterday of the death of Oscar

Colby, which occurred night before last. My husband has visited him

twice every day in his cell, hoping to find an opportunity, if his

reason should return, to point him to his crucified Saviour. But alas!

no such season presented itself. The poor man never appeared to be

conscious, not even for a moment, after he was found so ill the day

after the trial.

One fact will interest you much. _The distillery is closed for ever._

Mr. Mansfield intends to convert it into a large warehouse.

Lee Hall is undergoing repairs, and early in the spring, I suppose we

shall lose our loved neighbors, who will go to the old homestead. Jacob

Strong and Sarah Brown will go back with them. Mrs. Burns and Maria

Keyes have always remained in the family. I believe I express the

feelings of the whole community when I say, that I am delighted that

such persons as Mr. and Mrs. Mansfield have come into the possession of

so valuable an estate. I know, they feel themselves to be but stewards,

and that they will hereafter be called to render an account of their

stewardship.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"All is not here of our belov'd and blessed,--

Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!" MRS. HEMANS.

_Wednesday, October 15th, 1845._

My dearly loved mother,--How can I express words of sympathy to you,

when my heart is so full of grief on my own account, from such a loss as

I can never experience but once, _the loss of a father_.

To lose a parent under any circumstances is a heavy affliction; but to

lose such a father, and to be unable to administer to his comfort, by

his sick bed; to receive and treasure the words of love and wisdom which

fall from his lips,--to hear his last prayer, and receive his last

blessing, is indeed a sorrow heavy to be borne. You, my dear my only

surviving parent, have one source of comfort, which though it may at

present aggravate the loss you have sustained, will yet be an

unspeakable blessing to you; and that is in the precious memories of

your dear husband. These remembrances of the past, how will you live in

them after the first poignancy of your grief has abated; how greatly

will they sustain you.

I can truly say, that not one unpleasant word, not one unholy expression

comes up to disturb the hallowed remembrance of my dearly loved father.

On the contrary, every hard feeling is softened, every unkind thought

subdued, when I think of his meek, loving spirit, and recollect his

words of love toward all mankind. "Dear, _dear_ father! And shall I

never see thee more? never more gaze into thy mild blue eyes, and see

the looks of parental fondness beaming there--never more feel thy warm

embrace, or hear thy gentle voice say, 'my daughter!'"

Ah! in the midnight hour I see _thee_ oft,

And hear thy voice--

Thy mingled words of love and tenderness.

And thou dost point me to the promis'd land,

Where now thou dwell'st--

The better land of never ending bliss.

My dear mother, if anything earthly could alleviate a sorrow like mine,

it is the hope, though yet faint, that I shall ere long look upon your

dear face and from your own lips hear the answer to the many questions

my heart yearns to ask. Do not disappoint me. Have I not a claim upon

you for a few years? I can anticipate one objection you will feel in

leaving the spot consecrated as the resting place of your beloved

husband. But, dear mother, _he_ is not there. He is with his Saviour,

and the throne of grace is as near us in America as in England.

My dear Frank is almost as earnest in this request as I am, and will

meet you in New York, if Isabel or Nelly will go with you to Liverpool

and put you in charge of some one coming direct to that place. I long to

show you my treasures. Pauline you will love as if she were your own;

and Nelly's face is wreathed in smiles at the name of grand-mamma

Gordon. Franky is a merry, joyous little fellow, who wins his way to

every heart. He holds out his arms to any one who comes in, and never

was the old adage, "love begets love," more true than in his case; for

many persons who are not in the habit of noticing children, are so well

pleased at the readiness with which the child concludes them to be

friends, that they are never weary of praising him.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"In the joy of a well ordered home, be warned that this is not your

rest;

For the substance to come may be forgotten in the present beauty of

the shadow." TUPPER.

_Tuesday, August 6th, 1850._

We were rejoiced, dear mother, to hear of your safe arrival at home, and

the hearty welcome you received from your children and grand-children.

With Isabel's four, and Nelly's two little ones, you really have quite a

flock. I wish they could all be together once. I long to have my

children acquainted with their English cousins.

Pauline is quite inclined to commence a correspondence with Isabel's

Ernest. You were so much pleased with her perfect simplicity and

artlessness of character, I will relate a little incident which occurred

since you left. The Doctor and myself were invited to a small party at

Mr. Mansfield's, and as has often occurred of late, Pauline was included

in the invitation.

She met there quite a number of young ladies of her own age, as well as

many older persons. In the course of the evening music was called for,

and some of the young ladies were requested to play upon the piano or

harp. Misses upon whom hundreds of dollars had been expended for

instruction in music, and who had been daily practising for many years,

now refused to gratify their parents, or friends, by an effort to play.

One young lady "couldn't think of it," and with a great affectation of

modesty, "never could play if any one was by." This same young lady in

the course of the evening, not only _did_ play, after being sufficiently

urged to do so, but laughed so loud that her rudeness arrested the

attention of all present. Another young miss had a "very bad cold;" the

cold however subsided after sufficient pleading to sing from a young

gentleman near her.

But I was intending to speak of my simple-hearted Pauline. She appeared

much astonished at the unwillingness to oblige, which these young girls

manifested; and when one of the company said, "here is a young lady,

who, I think, will give us some music," she very gracefully walked to

the piano-forte, pleasantly saying, "I shall be very happy to oblige

you." She played, by her own selection, some simple pieces which she

accompanied with her sweet voice.

The lady was moved to tears, while the young people crowded around her,

eagerly asking for more. She willingly complied, and played one piece

after another as they were selected for her, and with such beauty of

expression and even brilliancy in the execution, that I was not only

delighted by her sweet manner, but proud of the success of my first

pupil.

Mrs. Marshall sat near me, and said with tears in her eyes, "My dear

Mrs. Lenox, you have a great treasure in that lovely girl," (and so

indeed I have.) "I hope," she continued, "that the young ladies will

endeavor to imitate so worthy an example."

_Wednesday, August 7th._

I have given the children a holiday, on account of the intense heat. I

am richly repaid for all my care in the education of Pauline, by the aid

she is to me in the care of her sister and brother.

Franky loves her as a teacher, even better than he does me. I fear, he

sometimes imposes upon her good nature and her great love for him, by

his inattention and restlessness during school-hours. But I really

cannot blame them such a day as this, with the thermometer at ninety

degrees in the shade.

There is a great deal of sickness in the town, and the Doctor has a

number of cases of typhus fever. I think such cases have occurred every

year about this season. He now realizes the benefit of so efficient a

partner as he finds in Doctor Clapp, whose days of leisure have been

long ago forgotten, or only remembered to be sighed for. He has removed

to a pleasant residence down in town, and his good wife finds ample

employment in the training of her numerous little flock, leaving her

culinary department, in which she was so skilful, to the aid which her

husband's abundant means enable him to provide.

_Thursday, August 8th._

The heat still continues unabated. I should be inclined to call myself

sick, if it were not for my anxiety for the Doctor, who appears to me to

be quite unwell, though he will not allow it to be anything of

importance, but only the effect of riding in the heat. I do believe

physicians make the very worst patients, and dread the taking of

medicine more than any other class of persons.

_Saturday, August 10th._

We have had a most refreshing shower, which has cooled the heated air.

But it does not appear to have revived my poor husband, who though still

suffering from a most violent head-ache, yet persisted in going to visit

a few of his sickest patients. I am really very anxious, and will set up

my authority when he returns. We have long ago settled the vexed

question of _obedience_; I am to obey him when he is well, and he is to

obey me when he is sick.

_Sabbath, August 11th._

My authority was unnecessary. Dear Frank came home at noon, pale as a

ghost, and went willingly to bed. I sent for Dr. Clapp without

consulting him, and a powder which he administered has somewhat relieved

the pain, so that he is now asleep, while I sit by him.

_Monday, September 2d._

Oh! how much of fear, anxiety and engrossing care has been crowded into

the few days which have intervened since I wrote the above.

I have taken my pen, as I sit by the couch of my husband, to relieve my

swelling heart. The night succeeding the first call of Dr. Clapp, Frank

was perfectly wild with delirium. I was obliged to call Cæsar to help me

keep him in bed. He did not know us, and supposed we were trying to keep

him from getting home. Oh! how my heart ached, as he entreated to be

allowed to go home, saying again and again, "my wife will be so

anxious."

Sometimes for a minute, he seemed to recognize mother, and then would

talk to her in the strangest manner, thinking her a patient or somebody

else. Notwithstanding all the skill of his physician, the unceasing

watchfulness of friends, or the action of medicine, my dear, _dear_

husband rapidly grew worse. Indeed Dr. Clapp said, he must have had a

settled fever for a week before he took his bed. Early on Monday

morning, the twelfth ultimo, our kind Doctor sent to the city for Dr.

J----, an eminent physician, to come to Crawford for a consultation.

He arrived by the next train of cars. I watched their looks, and hung

upon their words, as if they had the power of life and death in their

hands. I knew that Dr. Clapp considered my dear husband a very sick man;

but oh! I did not realize till then, that there was hardly a hope of his

recovery. Dr. J---- looked very grave, and when his brother physician in

a low voice, pointed out some of the symptoms, he shook his head.

I went silently from the room; I could contain myself no longer. They

soon retired to consult upon the case, after which I begged them to

tell me exactly what they thought of their patient. Dr. Clapp turned

hastily away, while Dr. J---- pressed my hand, saying, "My dear madam,

we are all in the hands of God."

I almost gasped for breath, as I tried to say, "but you think he will

live, oh! say that he will live."

The kind Doctor put his handkerchief to his eyes, as he answered, "while

there is life, there is hope, but I ought not to deceive you."

"Oh!" said I, while weeping bitter tears, "I can't hear you say that I

may not hope."

Dr. Clapp wrung my hand, and wept aloud, "I shall lose the best friend I

ever had," said he, while I sank back almost fainting into a chair. Dr.

J---- sat down by me, and tried to compose my feelings, saying that I

should be ill myself, and that my dear husband had lived a useful life,

and was prepared to enter upon his glorious inheritance; but every word

cut deeper and deeper into my heart, convincing me that they had given

up all hope. I pressed my hand to my head which seemed to be flying off,

and rushed from the room. I flew to the farther end of the house, to a

room the most remote from that where lay my sick, and as they thought,

my dying husband. I threw myself upon the bed and wept aloud. My heart

was in a dreadful state of rebellion against my Maker. The most awful

thoughts came into my mind; but I drove them hence; "Why should I lose

my husband? I do not wish to live without him. I cannot give him up,"

was the language of my unsubmissive heart. But all at once the thought

of my horrible ingratitude to my heavenly Father, who had bestowed upon

me such a companion, and who had allowed us to live together so many

years, struck me dumb. I arose from my bed, threw myself upon my knees,

and plead earnestly for pardon, and for a submissive spirit. I knew, I

felt, I confessed that I had made an idol of my dear Frank, and I cried

fervently for a spirit to say,

"The dearest idol I have known,

Whate'er that idol be,

Help me to tear it from thy throne,

And worship only thee."

Long and severe was the struggle with my hard and undutiful feelings.

But the answer came at length, and with tears which were no longer

bitter, I arose and was enabled by divine grace to say, "The Lord gave

and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord." I felt a

sweet peace in giving him, whom I best loved to my Saviour, and it

seemed but a very short time before I should go to him and dwell with

him, where there would be no more sorrow, and no more parting, but where

all tears would be wiped from our eyes.

When I went back to the sick room, however, and saw the pale, haggard

countenance, the sunken eyes, and heard the labored breath, my heart

sunk within me, as I realized that he would soon pass from my sight,

without one parting word, one farewell kiss. As I stood gazing at him,

the inspired passage occurred to me, "In whose hands our breath is, and

whose are all our ways." I then remembered that God had power to restore

the emaciated form before me, to new life and vigor. The thought that it

might be his will to give my husband back to me, even from the borders

of the grave, sent the warm blood throbbing through me. I again poured

out my heart in prayer to God, not for myself, but for the life of my

husband. I renewedly dedicated him to God. I cried out, "Oh! my heavenly

Father, give me his life."

Dear mother also was besieging the throne of grace in his behalf. But he

lay unconscious of the agonized hearts throbbing near him, anxiously

watching every breath he drew.

Dr. Clapp was to be with him through Monday night. Mother besought me to

try to sleep. I wondered if she thought I could ever sleep again? But I

only shook my head. The crisis was rapidly approaching. I saw that not a

sigh, or a groan escaped the notice of our kind physician; but I was

calm. I even wondered at myself. A strong, but invisible arm was put

round about me to strengthen me, and I leaned upon it to sustain my

drooping spirit. The night passed slowly away, the morning began to

dawn; not a word had been spoken for the past hour. Dr. Clapp sat with

his fingers upon the wrist of his patient, where he could scarce feel

the fluttering pulse. Ever and anon he would take the candle from the

table, hold it before the face of the pale sufferer, and then silently

shade it again.

At length he arose, and putting his fingers upon his lips, to enjoin

perfect silence, he withdrew from the room. Nothing could be heard but

the ticking of the watch and our own loud breathing. It seemed a long,

_long_ time that the Doctor was absent, and when he came in, I saw he

had been weeping. In an agony of grief my very soul yearned for one more

look, one more word of love. I hardly dared to uncover my face. When I

did so, the Doctor was wetting his patient's lips with a sponge. Then he

sat down again, with his fingers upon the pulse.

What had come over the man? I wiped my eyes to see clearer. His whole

face was lit up with an expression, to which it had for many days been a

stranger; but I dared not hope. Again and again the sponge was dipped in

the cup and applied to the parched lips, and still we sat, as though we

had no tongues, or knew not how to use them, when feeling that I could

not breathe, I silently arose and left the room. The kind watcher

followed, and leading me down stairs to the library, shut the door, and

in a husky voice said, "My dear Mrs. Lenox, the crisis has passed, and

your husband still lives."

I started from my chair. "Compose yourself, my dear lady," he continued.

"There is hope that he may recover," and our sympathizing friend wept

tears of joy.

But for me the reaction was too great. I felt myself falling to the

floor. When I recovered Pauline was bathing my temples. Dr. Clapp had

left the room and returned to his patient. I speedily recovered and

followed him, and was softly stepping toward the bed where mother sat

holding her beloved son by the hand. But the physician saw me and

motioned me back. I withdrew into the hall, where he soon joined me, and

leading me away from the door, said, "Your husband is now conscious, and

will recognize you. Can you compose yourself? The least excitement may

be fatal to him."

After a moment, in which I tried to hush the loud beating of my heart,

and to breathe a prayer for strength, I said, "I think I can," and we

again entered the room. I walked silently to the bed, and looked at my

darling Frank. His eyes were closed and his face closely resembled

death; but when he feebly opened his eyes, the light of reason beamed

thence, and he knew me. I kissed his forehead and almost flew from the

room. My heart was filled with the most delightful emotions of gratitude

and joy, "and though my voice was silent, being stopped by the

intenseness of what I felt, yet my soul sung within me and even leaped

for joy." The emotion was so intense as to be nearly allied to pain. I

pressed my hand to my heart to keep it from bursting. I heard a gentle

step, and my sweet Pauline sat by my side, and drawing my head to her

breast, sought to soothe my agitated feelings. She had been weeping.

"Dear mamma," she whispered, "I am so happy, I have been trying to thank

God for making dear father better."

"My love," said I, "will you thank our heavenly Father for me?" As we

sat, she breathed out her heart to God like one who was used to going to

him, as to a tender father. I pressed her to me and thanked God for so

great a treasure.

_Wednesday, September 4th._

I was proceeding with my writing, the day before yesterday, supposing

Frank to be asleep, when he put his hand upon mine, and said, "my love,

you have wept quite enough."

While scarcely conscious of the fact, I had been continually wiping my

eyes, to enable me to see the page. Many tears I see have fallen upon my

paper.

"They are tears of gratitude," I replied, lifting his hand to my lips.

"My heart is so full it overflows." There were answering tears in his

eyes then; "Cora," said he with the utmost tenderness, "while I lay upon

this bed, and in the near prospect of death, I saw that I had made idols

of the dear ones God has given me; and I resolved, his grace

strengthening me, that I would devote myself more entirely to him. We

cannot love each other too much, my own wife; but let us love God more.

While we love each other, and our dear children, let us not forget him,

who so loved us as to die for us."

_Tuesday, September 10th_.

My dear husband gains but slowly. He has not yet been able to have his

bed made, but he says, he does not suffer except from weakness. After

being absent from the room about an hour to give Nelly her music lesson,

I returned and took Pauline's place by her father's side, requesting her

to go out with the children for a walk.

He took up the book, she had turned down upon the bed, supposing I

should continue the reading. "I hardly know," said he, "which to admire

the more, the skill of the teacher, or the proficiency of the pupil.

Pauline is a fine reader, and her voice is very musical."

"Yes," I answered, "I have often thought her voice low and melodious as

the daughters of Italy."

"She may be one of them," he replied, closing his eyes. "Cora," he

resumed after a short pause, "I have had time to think of a great many

things since I lay here, and I feel that I have not dealt justly by our

daughter, Pauline."

"Frank," said I, interrupting him, "you do yourself wrong."

"Hear me through," said he pleasantly. "I do not mean that I do not love

her enough, for there is no difference in my feelings toward her, and

her lively sister; or if any, my love is more deep and sacred to the

child of our adoption; but if I should be taken away, she could not

inherit a share of my property, as a child. If I ever rise from my bed,

I will make a will, so that all my children shall share alike." I

pleaded long and earnestly with him to allow me the privilege of making

over to her my own property, which he had insisted upon settling upon

me.

But he said "no," very decidedly, and when I was calm enough to hear, he

explained his refusal to my satisfaction.

"Pauline has no idea that she is not of our blood, and I hope, she may

never know it--unless"--said he, "but that is very unlikely"--and

stopped.

"I know, you are thinking if we should ever discover her parents; but if

we do, she is nothing to them as she is to us. They have never inquired

for her."

"Softly," said Frank, with a smile, "I do not think there is any

occasion for you to distress yourself; your imagination, I dare say, has

already pictured her mother standing before you, ready to take her from

your arms."

I laughed, "Yes," I answered, "pretty nearly that; but go on."

"If any such event should occur," said he, returning to the subject from

which we had digressed, "a difference between her and them might call up

feelings and explanations which would be unpleasant to all concerned."

I fully concurred in this view of the case, and then we discussed her

lovely character, and heartily agreed that we had reaped a rich reward

for our care of her, in the influence she exerted over her brother and

sister.

"Frank obeys her," said I, "quite as readily as he does me, though she

never exercises any authority over him. She has a charm, I believe; I

don't know what I should do without her."

"I fear," said Frank, "you'll have to give her up some day."

"What for?" said I eagerly.

"Why somebody may come along and win her away."

"She is nothing but a child, only seventeen last June."

"And how many years older, and how much taller was my Cora, when I took

her from her mother? You will never know how I loved you for taking the

friendless child so closely to your heart. I had looked forward with the

hope that God would bless our union, and give us children; but I had not

thought of finding one so soon. I have often laughed to myself," he

continued, "at the remark dear, good aunt Susy made about my being so

impatient 'for a darter I had to pick one up in the streets, and give to

you.' Good old soul! She hit pretty near the truth, certainly. Seldom

has anything given me greater pleasure than when you taught the little

creature to say 'Papa,' and you blushed so rosy too. I dared not say

much; I feared you might grow weary of the care. I had not then learned

all I have since. But when I saw you give up many pleasures to devote

yourself to the little motherless child, and particularly when I

witnessed year after year your care of her education, I have felt that

you would have your reward."

_Monday, September 23rd_.

Mother and I are now obliged to exert our authority. The Doctor is as

hungry as a bear, and says he will not be kept on slops any longer. He

spoke so much like a child begging for some cake, or bread and butter,

that I had a hearty laugh at him. But though he could not keep from

laughing in sympathy, yet he says, "it is a very serious matter; Dr.

Clapp has been starving me for a month past, and now I intend to have

something to eat."

Mother promised him a slice of toast for his dinner, and he asked half a

dozen times in the course of an hour if it were not dinner time. At

length I gave him the watch that he might see for himself. When Pauline

brought the toast and tea, he entered upon the discussion of them with

such a grave face, as if it were of such solemn importance, that Pauline

and I had enough to do to keep from laughing aloud, which in the present

state of his nerves would never do.

Mother says, "it's always a good sign when children are worrysome."

But the Doctor did not take this speech at all well, and said with a

grieved look, "I was not aware I had given occasion for such a remark."

_Wednesday, September 25th._

We have had war in the camp. But I must explain. I noticed this morning

that Phebe was cooking something very savory, but thought no more of it.

Mother, Pauline, or I, have always remained with the Doctor while the

others are at dinner.

To-day I thought I would remain; but Frank would not consent. Pauline

said, "No, mamma, I'll attend to father," at the same time I saw that

she was very much flushed and looked really distressed. Frank insisted

she should remain, and I went below, wondering not a little at the

meaning of all this. After I had carved for the others, I thought so

much of Pauline's looks, that I excused myself a moment, and ran softly

back to the room.

Judge then of my amazement when I beheld Phebe standing before her

master holding a bowl, while the Doctor was putting spoonful after

spoonful into his mouth, as fast as he could. Pauline stood by looking

as if she were not sure whether to laugh or to cry.

I sprang forward to take the bowl; but quicker than thought, Phebe had

caught it under her apron, hoping I had not seen it, while the Doctor

looked like a whipped dog. The whole affair was so ludicrous, that it

was with the utmost difficulty, I could keep my countenance. But

endeavoring to look very stern, I said, "Dr. Frank Lenox, you will

please to tell me what you have been eating?" He had already eaten a

hearty dinner for a sick man, not half an hour before.

There was no reply.

"Well then," said I, "there is no help for it. I must give you a dose of

castor oil." I proceeded toward the closet, as if I were intending to

administer it to him at once, while I was thankful for an opportunity to

relax my stern countenance.

"Cora," cried the Doctor, "don't give me any." His voice was feeble,

and I could carry the joke no farther.

"Well; then, what can I do?" I asked, returning to him. "Phebe, do you

know that what you were giving your master may cause his death?"

Pauline began to cry, "Oh, mamma, I was afraid I was not doing right,

but father so longed for some chicken broth."

"Laws missus!" said Phebe, uncovering the bowl, "'tan't got no strength

to it. 'Pears like he's powerful hungry. I 'clare your ole Phebe be de

last one make the broth too strong for sick mass'r."

I tasted the broth and finding it really weak, I hoped my hungry patient

had sustained no real injury. The Doctor put out his hand to Pauline,

and in a most child-like tone said, "I was the only one to blame, dear

child."

She kissed him, and I motioned her to go below. Frank looked as if he

thought he deserved a punishment, and expected to receive it; but some

how I never could punish a child who appeared sorry, and just so I felt

in this case; and therefore I merely said, "I will help you to lie down,

and will read to you. My dear husband," I said, when I rose to go below

for my dinner, "if the broth does not injure you, I will ask Dr. Clapp

to let you have a dinner of it to-morrow."

He looked his thanks and pressed my hand. I am more than ever convinced

that man was made to command, and woman to obey, and that the rule in

that good old fashioned book is right, "wives _reverence_ your

husbands--husbands _love_ your wives."

_Tuesday, October 1st._

Frank is so much better, that he not only eats broth, but chicken and

eggs. I believe, he would eat six meals a day, if we would carry them to

him. But I think he is growing a little more rational. Pauline came to

me the other day, very much grieved at herself for carrying the broth to

her father. He had begged her to ask Phebe up, when mother and I were

away, enjoining the strictest secrecy upon her, and the poor child knew

not what to do. I comforted her with the thought that no harm had come

of it, and she would know better next time.

Frank sits up almost all day, and we are beginning to feel a little

settled. School lessons are vigorously learned, Pauline having been duly

installed in my place as teacher. I have as much as I can do to take

care of my patient, who is, however, rather _impatient_ sometimes, if I

am long out of the room.

If I leave him with mother, I have to set the exact time that I will

return, and give him the watch to mark the minutes. Though often

inconvenient, yet it is delightful to have him longing for me to be with

him. I would not for worlds have it otherwise.

_Monday, October 7th._

I have some wonderful news for you, dear mother. It is our present

intention to leave America just as soon as the Doctor is able, spend the

winter and spring in the south of France, and return home by way of

England.

We should not be able to do this, if it were not for our kind friend and

physician, Dr. Clapp. I love him as a dear brother, and there is a most

delightful intercourse between our families. I have not time to tell you

how this plan came about so quickly; only to say that it is nothing new

to the Doctor; but he has been keeping it to himself. Mother will spend,

at least, part of the winter with Emily, and Ann will go with her. Cæsar

and Phebe will remain here. Ruth is to accompany us with all the

children.

_Thursday, October 7th._

We hope to leave in the "_Unicorn_" which sails the twenty-fifth of this

month. The Doctor has rode out once, and it did him great good. Pauline

is much pleased with the prospect of visiting Europe, while Nelly and

Frank are perfectly wild with delight. We may meet Joseph Morgan, who

has been in business in France for two years or more.

_Friday, October 11th._

I have but a moment to tell you that preparations are going on briskly.

Emily Benson has come over from the parsonage and is very efficient

assistance. She thinks of everything. Mr. Benson lost nothing by waiting

five years for her. She has developed into a splendid woman, and is

universally beloved in the parish. "Her husband also and he praiseth

her."

Though every moment is precious, yet I cannot refrain from repenting a

remark of our good friend, Mrs. Marshall, wife of the Attorney General,

in relation to our dear sister. She said, "Mr. Benson's family reminds

me of Cowper's description of his friends, the Unwins, 'Go when I will,

I find a house full of peace and cordiality in all its parts and am sure

to hear no scandal, but such discourse instead of it, as we are all the

better for.'"

You would laugh if you could see the quantity of baggage master Franky

has collected for the journey, and which he has no doubt aunt Emily will

be able to get into his trunks. This moving a whole family for an

absence of nine months, which is probably the length of time we shall be

away from home, is no trifling matter.

Mother insists that I shall not trouble myself with a thought about home

arrangements. She will attend to everything here. My dear husband gains

a little every day, and I think would gain faster if it were not for his

anxiety to do more than he is able. He has been so long accustomed to

take care of all of us, that he can hardly restrain himself until he is

overcome with fatigue.

_Wednesday, October 23rd._

Dear mother, our trunks are packed, and we are on the eve of departure.

To-morrow morning we leave for New York, and are to sail on Thursday.

A day or two since the Doctor received a champagne-basket full, not of

wine, but of London porter, from his grateful patient, Lucy Mansfield.

This we are to take with us, and Frank has already received benefit from

it. With love to all the dear ones at home, I must bid you _farewell_. I

intend to take my journal with me to New York and mail it from thence.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

"With wild surprise

As if to marble struck devoid of sense,

A stupid moment motionless she stood." THOMSON.

_Nice, France, Tuesday, December 10th, 1850._

Dear Mother,--After a long, but not tedious voyage, the good ship

"Unicorn," bore us gallantly into the port of Havre, where we arrived on

the twenty-eighth of November.

I could almost see my dear husband gain in flesh and strength, so

rapidly did he improve. He walks about now as erect and strong as ever.

We tarried but two days in Havre, and then proceeded to this place,

where we are comfortably established for the winter. That is, we _shall_

be, when we can get our trunks unpacked.

I don't know but I shall regret not having taken mother Lenox's advice

to bring Ann instead of Ruth. The poor girl appears almost demented, as

she cannot understand a word of the language; and whenever I send her to

the kitchen to bring water, or anything from thence, I hear a perfect

roar of laughter from the servants at her droll talk and signs. She

generally comes back empty handed as she went, rolling her white eyes

from side to side, while she sometimes laughs, and sometimes cries at

her "poor luck," as she calls it. To-day she came to me in great

indignation, saying, "I 'clare, missus, 'pears like I'se couldn't bring

down my idees to make dem doe heads 'stand anything I'se seb. I'se tink

dey find dis chile has been brought up in de way to teach dem manners."

The weather is perfectly delightful. I only wish all the dear ones I

love were here to enjoy it with us. It is quite fortunate for me that I

have no household cares, for I have a double portion of journalizing. I

promised to write mother Lenox, in the same full, free manner, as I have

always written to you. And as the same journal will be passed from

mother to Emily, and from Emily to Lucy, and from Lucy to somebody else,

I must be especially careful of my style, while in writing to you I

merely let my pen travel on at its utmost speed, and with our own poet,

"I feel a certain tingling come

Down to my fingers, and my thumb."

Perhaps you can imagine, but I cannot describe to you, the thrill of

delight which I felt when I first stepped upon _terra firma_ in Havre;

and remembered that though still far from home, and the grave of my dear

father; yet I was in the same hemisphere with yourself and my beloved

sisters.

No ocean rolled between us.

I was quite amused at a discussion, I overheard between Nelly and Frank,

just before I commenced writing. Nelly was earnestly talking of the

pleasure she anticipated in going to England, and wishing the time were

already come. In both expectation and regret, she was cordially joined

by her brother. She then proceeded to give Frank a particular account of

aunt Nelly which could hardly be from memory; and ended by saying, "I am

the most related to her of any of the family."

This, Frank stoutly denied, saying, "She is as much my aunt as yours."

After quite a warm discussion of this interesting point, the disputants

agreed to leave it to Ruth, who, after carefully weighing the subject,

said in a very gracious tone to Frank, "I 'spects, she is, Mass'r Frank.

But then 'pears like its you that's the nearest to mass'r, 'cause your

name be like his." I hope Mrs. Colonel Morton will not be unduly elated

at the honor to which Nelly aspires.

_Saturday, December 14th._

With the Doctor's efficient aid, we are now reduced to order; and can

find a dress or apron without strewing the floor with the contents of

three or four trunks. The same hands have driven up an innumerable

number of nails for clothes, of which Ruth and I have made extempore

closets by sewing rings to a sheet, and hanging them in front, so that

we have only to put aside our curtain, and we are in the inclosure,

while coats, dresses, and other clothes are free from dust. Master

Franky has a trunk devoted to him for his toys, and so far thinks it

much more convenient than his drawers and lockers at home. Another trunk

has been assigned to books, slates and apparatus. School commenced in

earnest to-day.

The Doctor has sent for a piano, that the children may not lose their

practice. He also intends Pauline to take lessons on the harp. I am not,

as you know, a proficient upon that instrument.

I have added to my family a little French girl, daughter of one of the

peasants, who was very willing to leave her parents for a time, to come

to us. Ruth is a very good sempstress; and I find enough of that

employment for her, and in following "mass'r Franky" in his walks of

discovery about the town.

My husband chose this location from the fact of its being so healthy;

and because there is a Protestant church here. Nice is a great resort

for invalids. There are quite a number of families here at present. One

lady, with her husband, child and servant occupy rooms above ours. Frank

intends calling with me on the aged pastor, whom we have not seen except

at church. Our landlord speaks of him with the greatest enthusiasm and

affection; and ascribes the peace and prosperity of the place mainly to

his influence, and untiring efforts for the good of his people.

_Friday, December 20th._

There is very little variety in our life, and I fear, I shall not be

able to relate much that will interest you. I give six hours a day to

the children, while Pauline recites in mathematics and Italian to her

father. I wish, dear mother, you could see our Pauline again. She

reminds me of an author, who describing a young lady, says, "she is near

that age, sixteen, at which every day brings with it some new beauty to

her form." No one can be more modest, nor, (which seems wonderful in a

woman,) more silent; yet when she speaks you might believe a muse was

speaking. But then her face,

"So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,

The overflowings of an innocent heart."

She is silent only when strangers are present. In the company of those

she loves, she is all animation, and merriment. Her father says it is a

perfect delight to teach her. The remainder of the school hours Frank

devotes to reading, which is a real luxury to him, reserving his walks

until we can accompany him.

The Doctor and myself called last evening upon Mr. Percival, whose gray

locks, and venerable aspect had already inspired us with respect. He

received us with the kindness of a father, and related many incidents

connected with his flock which were very pleasing. He has established

two schools, one for infant scholars, and another for those more

advanced. The infant scholars, however, are many of them near a dozen

years of age. He accompanied us part of the way on our return to visit

an English gentleman, who is very sick and has come here to die.

"Perhaps," said the old gentleman, "at some future time, I may

communicate some facts relative to his history. His life has been one of

no common interest."

We parted from our companion with regret, having obtained from him a

promise to return our call at his earliest convenience.

_Monday, December 23d._

This morning an incident occurred, which for want of other excitement,

has given us a fruitful subject for conversation. Having observed a

retired spot not far distant from the house where the invalid of whom I

spoke was stopping, we turned our steps toward it, and found it to be a

family burying place containing five graves, upon one of which was a

beautifully white marble monument, inscribed with the simple word

"Imogen." We stood a while to weave each for ourselves a history of this

loved one, whose grave was of the usual size of a fully grown woman.

Perhaps she was an only daughter, or a young wife, whose early departure

had cast a gloom over a large family.

Pauline and Nelly who started with us had lingered on the way, and came

in sight just as we turned to leave the place. Meeting our good friend,

Mr. Percival, we walked on slowly together, leaving them to visit the

simple grave. It was nearly an hour before they returned. The Doctor and

I were enjoying a delightful conversation with our aged friend, who had

accompanied us home, when Nelly came bounding into the room, saying, in

an excited tone, "oh, mamma!" But seeing we were not alone she checked

herself, and was introduced together with Pauline to our visitor. I

gazed at Pauline with wonder. Her whole countenance was lighted with

animation. Her eyes sparkled, and there was the richest bloom upon her

cheeks. I saw at a glance that something unusual had occurred, and said

inquiringly, "Well, my daughters, have you had a pleasant walk?"

"Very," they replied, and retired from the room.

Our visitor had no sooner taken his departure than they came running in,

eager to communicate their adventure.

"Oh, mamma!" exclaimed Nelly, throwing herself into a chair, "Pauline

has had such a scene."

"Yes, mamma," said Pauline, "I never expected to create such a sensation

as I did soon after you left. I went to the cemetery with Nelly, and

after walking around had thrown myself down before the monument marked

'Imogen.' I was imagining my own feelings, had the interred been my

mother, and thinking if such were the case, how I should love to visit

her grave, and plant flowers around it, when I looked up to meet the

glance of a young man who was tenderly assisting an old gentleman toward

the very spot where I knelt, while in one hand he carried a portable

seat. A single glance sufficed to assure me that they were mourners for

some beloved friend lying there; and I sprang up hastily and apologized

for my intrusion. The old gentleman had not appeared to observe me until

I spoke; but then he started back as if he had seen a ghost, and would

have fallen to the ground had not his companion hastily thrown down the

stool, and caught him in his arms. I opened it, and stepping behind them

motioned the younger one that it would be better to let him be seated.

He put his hand feebly to his head, saying audibly, 'Oh, my God! support

me under this.' Then turning to his son, he said, 'Did you see her,

Eugene?'

"'Who, father?'

"'Why oh! I forgot myself. Let us return; I can't stay here. Perhaps

she'll come back.'

"'Dear father, your eyes have deceived you. It was only a young lady who

happened to be reading the epitaph upon the tomb stone;' and he turned

to look again at me.

"I had lost all power of motion, and was so drawn toward father and son,

that I had not thought of moving.

"'You have been so very anxious,' continued the young man, 'to come here

once more, and the air is so balmy to-day, I fear you will not have so

favorable an opportunity again.'

"A deep sigh was the only reply; and the son took a pocket-handkerchief,

and tenderly wiped his father's forehead, as he leaned against his

breast. 'Perhaps,' said he, addressing me in French,' you will come

around in front of the grave. My father is much agitated at your sudden

appearance.'

"I replied, in English, that I was very sorry for what had happened;

and regretted that I had been led by curiosity to intrude upon their

retirement.

"'No apology is necessary,' he replied.

"'To whom are you talking, Eugene?' asked the invalid in a very feeble

voice.

"'To the lady, you saw, father,' and he made a motion with his hand for

me to stand where he could see me.

"I did so, but no sooner did the old gentleman perceive me, than he

started forward holding out both his hands as if to embrace me; and then

with a dreadful groan fell back into the arms of his son.

"'Oh! what can I do for you?' I asked in affright.

"'Fly,' said he, 'to that house,' pointing to the nearest one, 'and call

for help. Stay,' he continued quickly, 'if you could hold him, I could

go quicker.'

"'Nelly,' I exclaimed, as she came running toward me, after wandering

all over the enclosure, 'Run as quick as you can to that house, and tell

the servants their master has fainted by the grave, and they must come

directly.' I knew Nelly's skill in running would serve a good purpose on

this occasion. I gave Eugene, as his father called him, my salts, and

kneeling down vigorously rubbed the cold hands in mine.

"'I cannot account for it,' said he, 'why my father is so much agitated

at the sight of you; but as he is so perhaps it will be as well for you

to stand aside when he recovers his consciousness.'

"In a very short time, Nelly returned in company with a man and woman.

The man brought a chair with pillows in it, and in this they speedily

placed the unconscious invalid, and carried him away. Eugene merely

said, 'I shall see you again,' as he left."

My dear mother, you who are acquainted with Pauline's history may judge

in some slight degree of our feelings upon hearing of this adventure. I

glanced at Frank, who turned very pale, but said nothing. Pauline got up

with considerable excitement in her tone, and manner, and stood before

a small mirror which hung in the room, saying, "I cannot conceive for

whom the old gentleman could have taken me. I'm sure I don't see as I

look like anybody but father." She has often been told of her close

resemblance to him.

After she had left the room, Frank and I talked over the singularity of

the event; but concluded that we were not called upon to make any

inquiries with regard to the old gentleman's agitation, as he is an

Englishman, and Pauline was, without doubt, a native of France. He is

doubtless the one to whom Mr. Percival alluded in our first interview.

_Tuesday, December 24th._

Last night after Pauline's adventure I was so very nervous and excited

that I could not sleep. I imagined the most improbable events, until I

felt a perfect horror from the possibility that Pauline might be related

to these people. I awoke Frank to ask him if he had brought the packet

we received with her.

He replied that he had, but thought it was altogether probable we should

carry it back as wise as we came. I told him I had not slept, and he

quite laughed at me for making so much of a mere accident. He said that

my imagination was always running away with me. I tried to think so

myself and was soon asleep.

To-day Mr. Percival came in to invite us to attend service in the chapel

to-morrow, (Christmas,) and having sent the children out for a walk, the

Doctor asked him the name of the English gentleman who was so ill.

"Clifford," he replied, hesitating a moment. "Henry Clifford. He is, or

was a colonel in the English army." I saw Frank give a sudden start, and

then checked himself and went on with the conversation.

Mr. Percival hinted that domestic trials had brought on premature old

age; that after having been for many years separated from his wife, he

had come here to die by her grave. "Is it the one marked 'Imogen?'" I

inquired.

"Yes, and the house you see from the spot is where she was born. The

estate now belongs to her son."

"Was he an only child?" I asked, almost gasping in my eagerness for a

reply.

"There was an infant who died about the same time as its mother."

"What was the cause of their separation?" asked Frank.

"I never understood sufficiently to relate," he replied in rather a

reserved tone; and feeling entirely relieved from my great burden, I

cared not to hear more. When Pauline returned, I somewhat astonished the

dear child by the vehemence of my embrace. But recollecting myself, I

pressed Miss Ellen also in my arms, that she might not suspect any

particular emotion.

"What has happened, mamma?" said Pauline, "you look unusually happy."

"I am so, my dear," I could not avoid saying.

"And lovely too, mamma," giving me another kiss.

After he left, Frank went to his desk, and taking out the card upon

which he had written the name of the gentleman to whom he had been

entrusted with the dying confession of Squire Lee, looked earnestly at

it, hoping the name was the same. But no, that was Shirley. He said

while Mr. Percival was here, the thought that this might be the very man

concerning whom he had made so many inquiries, flashed through his mind.

It had been so long since he had despaired of learning anything about

him that he had forgotten the name.

_Wednesday, December 25th._

We have had a very quiet Christmas, that is, since Franky has done

shouting over the contents of his stocking. Miss Nelly is really growing

into a young lady. She came to me last evening, and having drawn me to a

part of the room where she was sure her father could not hear, she

whispered that she thought she was too old to hang up a stocking, for

she had known a long time who put the presents in it; and that she

would as soon have them given directly to her.

I laughed so much at the idea of her thinking herself grown up, that her

father insisted upon sharing the joke; and somewhat to the young lady's

annoyance, I informed him that she had become too old to be treated like

a child. He called her to sit on his knee, and told her he must have her

for a baby a long time yet. She was so much better than Franky, who

would not sit still a moment.

But Miss only pouted until he whistled, and held up his gold pencil case

for her to play with, then saying, "Baby want to hear papa's watch tick,

tick?" when she "laughed tears," and Pauline came running in to see what

caused all the merriment.

Nelly sprang up from her father's lap, saying, "sister would make a far

better baby than I should."

Pauline went and put her arms lovingly around her father's neck, and

said as she laid her cheek against his, "I should be contented to be a

baby in this way forever."

We took our whole family to church, filling up one entire slip. Franky

was particularly polite to Ruth, whom he had requested leave to invite

to sit with us on this occasion. He took the book of hymns from his

sister, and passed it to his sable friend, a kindness which Ruth fully

appreciated.

A young gentleman about twenty years of age sat near us. I could not

avoid noticing that his eyes seldom turned from our pew. He was a fine,

frank looking fellow, with light, curly hair, and fair complexion. But

his principal beauty was a pair of brilliant eyes; very bright, but soft

and mild in their expression. I saw that Pauline was confused by the

young man's ardent gaze, and I was surprised as we came out of the aisle

to see that she slightly returned his bow. But I had not much time to

wonder, before Nelly whispered, "mamma, that's Pauline's 'Eugene.'" I

saw by a smile on his countenance that the young man had heard her

introduction; and we were relieved from rather an awkward meeting, by

Mr. Percival, who inquired about his father, and then introduced him to

us.

Young Clifford represented his father as very feeble, and said it would

be a great kindness if the Doctor would call and see him. This Frank

readily promised to do. As we went the same way the young man walked by

Pauline, and did not leave her until we reached our own door.

Nelly was delighted with him, and her sister frankly said she thought

him uncommonly pleasing.

The Catholic part of the community went early in the day, to their

church to attend service, and spent the rest of the time in sports. They

are now returning from the visits and places of amusement. Some of them

are rather noisy; but generally they appear weary and fatigued.

_Saturday, December 28th._

Not a day has passed since our introduction to young Clifford, (or

Eugene as Nelly insists upon calling him) without our meeting him either

in a walk, or by his coming to our place. The Doctor has also called

twice upon Colonel Clifford, who is now constantly confined to his bed.

Frank says he is not more than forty-seven years of age, but sorrow has

placed a heavy mark upon him. He expressed much pleasure that his son

had found friends in our family. I rather think our partial friend, Mr.

Percival, has spoken of us in his presence. He is very much depressed in

spirits; and says there are periods of his life, he would give a great

deal to be able to live over again. He speaks with the utmost tenderness

of his son, and says, "If he were an experimental Christian, I could ask

no more. He is everything else the fondest father could desire."

After this expression the Doctor conversed with him upon religious

subjects. "Ah," said the sick man, "what should I have done but for the

support of religion!" He hinted that at times his mental distress had

been so great, that if it had not been for his religious principles, he

fears he should have yielded to the suggestions of the adversary, and

have put an end to his life. "But God," he added, "has mercifully

preserved me; and will preserve me until the end."

Eugene shares not at all in his father's depression; but is very lively

as well as gentle. He says he has been obliged to act the part of a

daughter as well as that of a son, for his father has been an invalid

ever since his remembrance.

Pauline asked, "How long has your mother been dead?"

He replied, "Many years. I have only a slight recollection of her; and

it is a subject upon which my father never speaks."

I saw that this remark excited Pauline's compassion. He also noticed it,

and made the most of it. I felt really a little jealous of him to-day,

she looked up at him with such a simple trust. I must be on the watch.

We know so little of him, and there is such a mystery about the family.

_Wednesday, January 1st., 1851._

I wish you a happy new year, dear mother. Eugene came early this morning

with his bright face to wish us the same. He said his father had sent

him out for a walk, and he invited Pauline and Nelly to accompany him. I

gave my consent, though with some reluctance. The truth is, he is one of

those lovely young men, who when they are present carry all before them.

Frank took the opportunity to walk over and see his father.

Colonel Clifford really smiled when told that his son had called and

taken off the young ladies for a walk; but a tear stood in his eye as he

replied, "Eugene has never had an opportunity to be much in the company

of ladies. I am very much pleased that he has chosen such society." He

again expressed gratitude for our kindness to his poor boy, who would

soon be an orphan. The Doctor, at Colonel Clifford's request, prayed

with him. After prayer, Frank told him he was a Doctor, not of divinity,

but of medicine. He thought the Colonel was disappointed, but after a

moment's silence he replied, "a pious physician has a great opportunity

to do good." The Doctor is more and more pleased with him.

Pauline and Nelly returned in fine spirits from their walk, and repeated

to me most of the conversation which had passed. Pauline said their

companion had requested them to call him Eugene now that they were so

well acquainted; and also that he was entirely reconciled to the plan of

his father's spending the winter here, which he at first thought would

he dismal enough.

I don't think Eugene realizes that probably his father will not live

through the winter.

_Thursday, January 2nd._

Eugene has completely won me over. He came in to-day and appeared as

glad to see us, as if we had not met for a week. He sat down by me in

the most artless manner; and taking a skein of silk from Franky, who was

getting it into a sad snarl, said he had a favor to ask of me; and if I

would grant it he should be very happy.

He looked at me so earnestly, that I told him with a smile, I thought I

might venture to promise, if it were nothing very unreasonable.

For a moment he cast his eyes down; and then said with perfect

_naiveté_, "I thought of it last night after the conversation here,

about my not remembering my mother; and this morning I told father, and

he approves it very much if you are willing."

"You forget," said I, "that you have not yet asked the favor."

"Well," he resumed, repressing a sigh, "You know I have never since my

remembrance had a mother. I need one sadly, to tell me when I do wrong.

Oh!" he added, with great emotion, laying the silk on his knee, "I have

so longed for a mother, or sister who would watch over me, and take an

interest in me, as I have seen mothers and sisters in their sons and

brothers."

I was very much affected by this natural outburst of feeling, and said,

"I will, my son." Hardly conscious of what I did, I leaned forward, and

kissed his pure, white brow.

He grasped my hand, and kneeling, covered it with kisses, while he

thanked me in the warmest terms.

Pauline and Nelly looked on with great interest. "Remember," said the

former, as she held out her hand to him, while her eyes were filled with

tears, "you have now two sisters and a brother."

He was then in a great hurry to go and report his success to his father,

who he said would be very much pleased.

_Tuesday, January 7th._

Eugene came over for a few moments last evening to thank me in behalf of

his father, and to ask if the Doctor would call upon him in the morning,

as there had been some change in his symptoms.

Frank offered to go at once; but the young man did not wish it. He went

this morning, however, and prescribed a change of medicine.

Colonel Clifford confessed that he had at first been somewhat

disappointed in finding that he was not a clergyman; but now considered

it a very kind providence which had brought a physician almost to the

very door. He added that now the only anxiety he had had in remaining in

Nice was obviated. The Doctor remained and read to him for an hour. When

he left, the Colonel renewed his thanks for our kindness to his dear

boy.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"A Mother's love--how sweet the name!

What _is_ a mother's love?

A noble, pure, and tender flame,

Enkindled from above,

To bless a heart of earthly mould

The warmest love that _can_ grow cold;

This is a mother's love." MONTGOMERY.

"A malady

Preys on my heart, that medicine cannot reach,

Invincible and cureless." MATURIN.

_Wednesday, January 29th._

It has fallen into a custom that the Doctor should pass a part of every

morning with the invalid, while Eugene walks with his sisters, as he

fondly calls them. Nelly and Frank have been in with their father to be

introduced to the Colonel; and received from him some valuable

curiosities as presents. The next day he sent Pauline a very valuable

token of regard, with a message that he fully appreciated the value of

such sisters to a young man destitute of any female relative. It is a

little singular that while he converses freely on every other subject,

and has drawn from the Doctor much of his own history, yet he has never

alluded in the most distant manner to the nature of his own peculiar

trials. He is much better in health since the change in his medicine,

but Frank told him freely that it was not probable the benefit would be

permanent.

The Colonel said he should be sorry to think it otherwise; though he

supposed he ought to desire to live for the sake of his boy.

I could hardly have thought it possible that we should in so short a

time have become so much interested in persons, of whose existence even

we were till now ignorant. Eugene is a very dutiful son, and has

evidently been trained with the greatest care by his pious father. He

repeats over and over again the names of mother and sisters, as if he

revelled in the very idea of having such relatives. He told me that one

day he called me by the name of mamma in his father's presence, when a

look of agony passed like a shade over his face; but in one moment, with

a faint smile, he said, "I thank God, my son, that you have found a

mother, even in name."

_Wednesday, February 12th._

When the Doctor visited Colonel Clifford this morning, he found him

busily engaged in writing, which he immediately put aside, saying, "I

have nearly finished the preparation of some papers which I wish at my

death to put into the hands of my son."

The Doctor was about to leave; but the Colonel insisted on his

remaining, as he wished to introduce a particular subject of

conversation. He began by saying, "I have not inquired so particularly

about the American colleges without an object. If in what I say, you

consider me as taking advantage of your kindness, both to me and my boy,

I must beg the same indulgence to excuse it." He then, assured by

Frank's sincerely expressed wish to be of service to him, went on to

say, "when I die, Eugene will have no friend or near relative, from whom

he has a right to claim sympathy and kindness. I have often prayed that

some friend might be raised up, with whom I could feel safe to confide,

both his spiritual and temporal interests. I have thought," he added,

while a tear trickled down his emaciated cheek, "that perhaps God had

answered my prayers, and sent you here to be that friend."

Frank took the wasted hand in his as he replied, "I shall feel honored

in being considered as such."

"But do you fully understand my meaning?" he was eagerly asked. "Eugene

has more than enough property, and it is well funded; but he needs a

_home_, and kind friends to watch over him; just what every young man

needs."

"Perhaps you are not aware," replied the Doctor, "that we intend

returning to the United States in a few months."

"I am fully so; but Eugene has no particular attachments to England;

that is, when I am gone, and he would gladly accompany you. Do not give

me an answer to-day. Consult your family, and let me know hereafter; and

may the Lord incline your heart to do according to my desire!" He held

the Doctor's hand convulsively in his, as he said this, and appearing to

be much fatigued by the exciting nature of the interview, Frank took

leave.

It was an interesting subject for us, during our long walks; and after

being interrupted for a time, was extended far into the night. My

husband fully realized that the care would fall upon me; his

professional duties so fully occupy his time at home. Then the influence

upon our children, we felt it to be our duty to consider. I frankly

confessed to the Doctor that I had never seen a young man whom I could

more readily take to my heart as a son; and that I knew Pauline and

Nelly, as well as Frank, would be delighted with this addition to our

family.

"What is the drawback, then? I see there is something you do not bring

to the light."

I could at first give no reply. There was a drawback; but it seemed to

me so selfish that I could not endure to mention it. It was the fear

that Eugene would love my Pauline with a love surpassing that of a

brother, and that she would return his love. At length I replied, "no,

nothing that need to be a drawback; only I thought that perhaps it might

be dangerous to place young people at the age he and Pauline are, in

such intimate connection."

"Ah," said he, laughing, "I might have guessed Pauline was at the

bottom of all your trouble. For a girl, good and obedient as she is, she

has occasioned you great anxiety. Even if such an event should happen,

which I will acknowledge is very probable, you will have the training of

him, and you can educate him to suit yourself, instead of training her

for a wife for cousin Joseph as he proposed. Eugene appears to be a very

pure minded young man. Like our children, he has been educated at home;

and that is one reason of his father's regret and anxiety. He knows

nothing of the world, and is as ignorant as a child of the wickedness he

will have to meet, and therefore liable to be led away. I have tried to

think what I should wish were I in his place, and have concluded with

your consent, and full approbation to accept the charge."

_Friday, February 14th._

I had never seen Colonel Clifford until yesterday morning, when I went

with the Doctor to tell him of our willingness to take Eugene into our

family, if the young man's wishes in that respect corresponded with his

father's.

He answered our light knock for admittance, after a moment; and I could

see that he had been weeping. But he held out his hand as he feebly

seated himself; and with a smile, said, "it argues well for me, Doctor,

that you have brought your lady."

We took seats near him, and I could see that he waited with trembling

impatience for us to speak upon the subject nearest his heart. The

Doctor said, "we have come in to express our willingness to accede to

your wishes in regard to your son."

The Colonel exhibited great emotion, and with a beautiful smile of trust

in his heavenly Father which illumined every feature, he said with

closed eyes, "My God, I thank thee!" After a short pause he turned to

me, "my dear madam, let me hear you say you will be a mother to my

motherless boy."

The last words were uttered with difficulty, as if he had not been used

to uttering the word "Mother." I replied, "with God's help, I will."

He covered his face with his hand, and wept long; but his tears seemed

to be soothing instead of exciting him. We waited for his agitation to

subside, while the Doctor rose and walked to the window, and my tears

flowed in sympathy with his.

"You are Christian parents," were his first words, "and with such I need

no excuse for my tears." Then becoming more composed, he said, "the

burden which has weighed heavily upon me for many years is gone. God has

graciously answered me,"--he broke down again; but instantly resumed,

"Doctor, will you express my thanks?"

He rose feebly, and kneeled by his chair; and though I could hear the

sobs bursting from his overflowing heart, he arose composed, and

refreshed.