FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 7^35-2^ IMviafea i^^J<^ M't'i!^ ^ %. THE LIFE AND LETTERS ELIZABETH PRENTISS AUTHOR OF Sl^EPPIXG HEAVENWARD NEW YORK ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY 38 West Twentv-tuikd Stkekt COPYRIGHT, Bv George L. Prentiss 1882. nnwAun o. jknkins, Printer and Siereoiy/'er, 20 North William Street, New York. This memoir was undertaken at the request of many of Mrs Prentiss' old and most trusted friends, who felt that the story of her life should be given to the public. Much of it is in the nature of an autobiography. Her letters, which with extracts from her journals form the larger portion of its contents, begin when she was in her twentieth year, and continue almost to her last hour. They are full of details respecting herself, her home, her friends, and the books she wrote. A simple narra- tive, inter- perscd with personal reminiscences, and varied by a sketch of her father, and passing notices of others, who exerted a moulding influence upon her character, completes the story A picture is thus presented of the life she lived and its chang- ing scenes, both on the natural and the spiritual side. While the work may fail to interest some readers, the hope is cher- ished that, like Stepping Heavenward, it will be welcomed into Christian homes and prove a blessing to many hearts ; thus realising the desire expressed in one of her last letters : Much of my experience of life has cost me a great price and I wish to use it for strengthening and comforting other souls. ^ G. L. P» Kauinfels Septeynber ii, 18S2. 3 CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 1818-1839. I. Birth-place and Ancestry. The Payson Family. Seth Payson. Edward Payson. His Mother. A Sketch of his Life and Character. The Fervor of his Piety. Despondent Moods, and their Causes. His bright, natural Traits. How he prayed and preached. Conversa- tional Gift. Love to Christ. Triumphant Death I IL Birth and Childhood of Elizabeth Payson. Early Traits. Devotion to her Father. His Influence upon her. Letters to her Sister. Re- moval to New York. Reminiscences of the Payson Family 9 in. Recollections of Elizabeth's Girlhood by an early Friend and School- mate. Her own Picture of herself before her Father's Death. Favorite Resorts. Why God permits so much Suffering. Literary Tastes. Letters. "What are Little Babies For .^ " Opens a School. Religious Interest ' ^ IV. The dominant Type of Religious Life and Thought in New England in the First Half of this Century. Literary Influences. Letter of Cyrus Hamlin. A strange Coincidence 26 VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER II. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 1 840-1 841. I. A memorable Experience. Letters to her Cousin. Goes to Richmond as a Teacher. Mr. Persico's School. Letters 3c IL Her Character as a Teacher. Letters. Incidents of School Life. Re- ligious Struggles, Aims, and Hope. Oppressive Heat and Weari- ness ^2 III. Extracts from her Richmond Journal ^q CHAPTER HI. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 1841-1845. I. At Home Again. Marriage of her Sister. Ill-health. Letters. Spirit- ual Aspiration and Conflict. Perfectionism. " Very, Very Happy." Work for Christ what makes Life attractive. Passages from her Journal. A Point of Difficulty ^^ II. Returns to Richmond. Trials There. Letters. Illness. School Ex- periences. "Tothe Yeari843." Glimpses of her daily Life. Why her Scholars love her So. Homesick. A Black Wedding. What a Wife should be. " A Presentiment." Notes from her Diary. 73 III. Her Views of Love and Courtship. Visit of her Sister and Child. Let- ters. Sickness and Death of Friends. Ill-health. Undergoes a surgical Operation. Her Fortitude. Study of German. Fenelon. 81 CONTENTS. VI! CHAPTER IV. THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. 1 845-1 850. I. Marriage and Settlement in New Bedford. Reminiscences. Letters. Birth of her First Child. Death of her Sister-in-Law. Letters . . 95 n. Birth of a Son. Death of her Mother. Her Grief. Letters. Eddy's lUness and her own Cares. A Family Gathering at Newburyport. Extracts from Eddy's Journal II UL Further Extracts from Eddy's Journal. Ill-Health. Visit to Newark. Death of her Brother-in-Law, S. S. Prentiss. His Character. Re- moval to Newark. Letters ^ ^^ CHAPTER V. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 185I-1858. L Removal to New York, and first Summer there. Letters. Loss of Sleep and Anxiety about Eddy. Extracts from Eddy's Journal, Describing his last Illness and Death. Lines entitled, " To iMy Dying Eddy." ^-7 n. Birth of her Third Child. Reminiscences of a Sabbath Evening Talk. Story of the Baby's Sudden Illness and Death. Summer of 1852. Lines entitled, " My Nursery." '33 HI. Summer at White Lake. Sudden Death of her Cousin, Miss Shipman. Quarantined. Lz/f/e S7(s/s S/v Birthdays. How she wrote it. The Flower of the Fa?nily. Her Motive in Writing it. Letter of Sympathy to a bereaved Mother. A Summer at the Seaside. Henry ajid Bessie 3 VllI CONTENTS. IV. A memorable Year. Lines on the Anniversary of Eddy's Death. Ex- tracts from her Journal. Little Susys Six Teachers. The Teach- ers' Meeting. A New York Waif. Summer in the Country. Let- ters. Little Sicsfs Little Servajtts. Extracts from her Journal. " Alone with God,". 143 V. Ready for new Trials. Dangerous Illness. Extracts from her Jour- nal. Visit to Greenwood. Sabbath Meditations. Birth of another Son. Her Husband resigns his Pastoral Charge. Voyage to Europe 155 CHAPTER VL IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 1858-1860. L Life Abroad. Letters about the Voyage, and the Journey from Havre to Switzerland, Chateau d'Oex. Letters from there. The Chalet Rosat. The Free Church of the Canton de Vaud, Pastor Panchaud. 160 IL Montreux. The Swiss Autumn, Castle of Chillon. Death and Sor- row of Friends at Home. Twilight Talks. Spring Flowers 170 HL The Campagne Genevrier. Vevay. Beauty of the Region. Birth of a Son. Visit from Professor Smith. Excursion to Chamouni. Whooping-cough and Scarlet-fever among the Children. Doctor Curchod. Letters 1 76 IV. Paris. Sight-seeing. A sick Friend. London and its Environs. The Queen and Prince Albert. The Isle of Wight. Homeward 189 CHAPTER VIL THE STRUGGLE WITH ILL-HEALTH. 1861-1865. L At Home again in New York. The Church of the Covenant. Increas- ing Ill-heallh, The Summer of 1861. Death of Louisa Payson CONTENTS. IX Hopkins. Extracts from her Journal. Summer of 1862. Letters. Despondency 201 II. Another care-worn Summer. Letters from Williamstown and Rocka- way. Hymn on Laying the Corner-stone of the Church of the Covenant 21a III. Happiness in her Children. The Summer of 1864. Letters from Hun- ter. Affliction among Friends 217 IV. D-Kith of President Lincoln. Dedication of the Church of the Cove- nant. Growing Insomnia. Resolves to try the Water-cure. Its beneficial Effects. Summer at Newburgh. Reminiscences of an Excursion to Palz Point. Death of her Husband's Mother. Fu- neral of her Nephew, Edward Payson Hopkins 223 CHAPTER VIH. THE pastor's wife AND DAUGHTER OF CONSOLATION. 1866-1868. I. Happiness as a Pastor's Wife. Visits to Newport and Williamstown. Letters. The Great Portland Fire. First Summer at Dorset. The new Parsonage occupied. Second Summer at Dorset. Little Loiis Sayings and Doings. Project of a Cottage. Letters. The Little Preacher, Illness and Death of Mrs. Edward Payson and of Little Francis -. 23c II. Last Visit from Mrs. Steams. Visits to old Friends at Newport and Rochester. Letters. Goes to Dorset. Fred and Maria and Me. Letters 238 III. Return to Town. Death of an old Friend. Letters and Notes of Love and Sympathy. An Old Ladies' Party. Scenes of Trouble and Dying Beds. Fifty Years Old. Letters 248 X CONTENTS. CHAPTER IX. STEPPING HEAVENWARD. 1869, I. Death of Mrs. Stearns. Her Character. Dangerous Illness of Prof. Smith. Death at the Parsonage. Letters. A Visit to Vassar Col- lege. Letters. Getting ready for the General Assembly. " Gates Ajar " 261 II. How she earned her Sleep. Writing for young Converts about speak- ing the Truth. Meeting of the General Assembly in the Church of the Covenant. Reunion, D.D.'s, and Strawberry Short-cake. " Enacting the Tiger." Getting Ready for Dorset. Letters 27c III. The new Home in Dorset. What it became to her. Letters from there 274 IV. Return to Town. Domestic Changes. Letters. " My Heart sides with God in everything." Visiting among the Poor. " Conflict isn't Sin." Publication of Stepping Heavejiward. Her Misgivings about it. How it was received. Reminiscences by Miss E. A. Warner. Letters. The Rev. Wheelock Craig 277 V. Recollections by Mrs. Henry B. Smith 288 CHAPTER X. ON THE MOUNT. 1870. I. A. happy Year. Madame Guyon. What sweetens the Cup of earth- ly Trials and the Cup of earthly Joy. Death of Mrs. Julia B. CONTENTS. .Xi Cady. Her Usefulness. Sickness and Death of other Friends. "My Cup runneth over." Letters. "More Love to Thee, O Christ " 29a n. Her Silver Wedding. ** I have lived, I have loved.'* No Joy can put her out of Sympathy with the Trials of Friends. A Glance back- ward. Last Interview with a dying Friend. More Love and more Likeness to Christ. Funeral of a little Baby. Letters to Christian Friends yx. in. Lines on going to Dorset. A Cloud over her. Faber's Life. Loving Friends for one's own sake and loving them for Christ's sake. The Bible and the Christian Life. Dorset Society and Occupations. Counsels to a young Friend in Trouble. "Don't stop praying for your Life ! " Cure for the Heart-sickness caused by the Sight of human Imperfections. Fenelon's Teaching about Humiliation and being patient with Ourselves 3^7 IV. The Story Lizzie Told. Country and City. The Law ot Christian Progress. Letters to a Friend bereft of three Children. Sudden Death of another Friend. " Go on ; step faster." Fenelon and his Influence upon her religious Life. Lines on her Indebtedness to him 314 CHAPTER XI. IN HER HOME. L Home-life in New York 3^2 XL Home-life in Dorset 34^ III. Further Glimpses of her Dorset Life 35^ ^^ CONTENTS. CHAPTER XII. THE TRIAL OF FAITH. 1871-1872. I. Two Years of Suffering. Its Nature and Causes. Spiritual Conflicts. Ill-health. Faith a Gift to be won by Prayer. Death-bed of Dr Skinner. Visit to Philadelphia. "Daily Food." How to read the Bible so as to love it more. Letters of Sympathy and Counsel. "Prayer for Holiness brings Suffering." Perils of human Friend- ship 361 II. Her Husban^l called to Chicago. Lines on going to Dorset. Letters to young Friends on the Christian Life. Narrow Escape from Death. Feeling on returning to Town. Her " Praying Circle " The Chicago Fire. The true Art of Living. God our only safe Teacher. An easily-besetting Sin. Counsels to young- Friends Letters ^ 373 III. •'Holiness and Usefulness go hand-in-hand." No two Souls dealt with exactly alike. Visits to a stricken Home. Another Side of her Life. Visit to a Hospital. Christian Friendship. Letters to a bereaved Mother. Submission not inconsistent with Suffering Thoughts at the Funeral of a little " Wee Davie." Assurance of Faith. Funeral of Prof. Hopkins. His Character , 385 IV. Christian Parents to expect Piety in their Children. Perfection. " Peo- ple make too much Parade of their Troubles." "Higher Life" Doctrines. Letter to Mrs. Washburn. Last Visit to Williamstown 394 CHAPTER XIII. PEACEABLE FRUIT. 1 873- 1 874. I. Effect of spiritual Conflict upon her religious Life. Overflowing Af- fections. Her Husband called to Union Theological Seminary. CONTENTS. xm Baptism t f Suffering. The Character of her Friendships. No per- fect Life. Prayer. " Only God can satisfy a Woman." Why human Friendship is a Snare. Letters 399 II. Goes to Dorset. Christian Example. At Work among her Flowers. Dangerous Illness. Her Feeling about Dying. Death an " Invita- tion " from Christ. " The Under-current bears Home,'' " More Love, more Love ! " A Trait of Character. Special Mercies. What makes a sweet Home. Letters 4^5 in. Change of Home and Life in New York. A Book about Robbie. Her Sympathy with young People. " I have in me two different Nat- ures," What Dr. De Witt said at the Grave of his Wife. The Way to meet little Trials. Faults in Prayer-meetings. How special Theories of the Christian Life are formed. Sudden Illness of Prof. Smith. Publication of Golden Hours. How it was received 414 IV. Incidents of the Year 1874. Starts a Bible-reading in Dorset. Be- gins to take Lessons in Painting. A Letter from her Teacher. Publication of Urbane and His Friends. Design of the Work. Her Views of the Christian Life. The Mystics. The Indwelling Christ. An Allegory 425 CHAPTER XIV. WORK AND PLAY. 1875-1877. I. A Bible-reading in New York. Her Painting. " Grace for Grace." Death of a young Friend. The Summer at Dorset. Bible-read- ings there. Encompassed with Kindred. Typhoid Fever in the House. Watching and Waiting. The Return to Town. A Day of Family Rejoicing. Life a " Battle-field " 439 IL The Moody and Sankey Meetings. Her Interest in them. Mr. Moody. Publication of Grisehia. Goes to the Centennial. At Dorset again. Her Bible-readings. A Moody-meeting Convert. Visit to XIV CONTENTS. Montreal. Publication of The Home at Greylock. Her Theory of a happy Home. Marrying for Love. Her Sympathy with young Mothers. Letters 445 III. The Year 1877. Death of her Cousin, the Rev. Charles H. Payson. Last Illness and Death of Prof. Smith. " Let us take our Lot in Life just as it comes." Adorning one's Home. How much Time shall be given to it ? God's Delight in His beautiful Creations. Death of Dr. Buck. Visiting the sick and bereaved. An Ill-turn. Goes to Dorset. The Strangeness of Life. Kauinfels. The Bible- reading. Letters 466 IV. Return to Town. Recollections of this Period. "Ordinary " Chris- tians and Spiritual Conflict. A tired Sunday Evening. " We may make an Idol of our Joy." Publication of Pemaqiud, Kezia Millet 47^ CHAPTER XV. FOREVER WITH THE LORD. 1878. I. Enters upon her last Year on Earth. A Letter about The Home at Greylock. Her Motive in writing Books. Visit to the Aquarium. About " Worry." Her Painting. Saturday Afternoons with her. What she was to her Friends. Resemblance to Madame de Brog- lie. Recollections of a Visit to East River. A Picture of her by an old Friend. Goes to Dorset. Second Advent Doctiine. Last Letters 48s II. Liltlo Incidents and Details of her last Days on Earth. Last Visit to the Woods. Sudden Illness. Last Bible-reading. Last Drive to Hager Brook. Reminiscence of a last Interview. Closing Scenes. Death. The Burial Appendix 507 533 CHAPTER I. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL, 1818-1839. I. Birth-place and Ancestry. Seth Payson. Edward Payson. His Mother. A Sketch o( his Life and Character. The Fervor of his Piety. Despondent Moods and thcis Cause. Bright, natural Traits. How he prayed and preached. Conversational Gift. Love to Christ. Triumphant Death. Mrs. Prentiss was fortunate in the place of her birth. She first saw the Hght at Portland, Maine. Maine was then a district of Massachusetts, and Portland was its chief town and seaport, distinguished for beauty of situation, enterprise, intelligence, social refinement and all the best qualities of New England character. Not a few of the early settlers had come from Cape Cod and other parts of the old Bay State, and the blood of the Pilgrim Fathers ran in their veins. Among its leading citizens at that time were such men as Stephen Longfellow, Simon Greenleaf, Prentiss Mellen, Samuel Fessen- den, Ichabod Nichols, Edward Payson, and Asa Cummings ; men eminent for private and public virtue, and some of whom were destined to become still more widely known, by their own growing influence, or by the genius of their children. But while favored in the place of her birth, Mrs. Prentiss was more highly favored still in her parentage. For more than half a century the name of her father has been a household word among the churches not of New England only, but throughout the land and even beyond the sea. It is among the most beloved and honored in the annals of American piety.^ He belonged to a very old Puritan stock, and to a * For many years after the publication of his Memoir, it was so often given to children at their baptism that at one time those who bore it, in and out of New England, were to be numbered by hundreds, if not thousands. " I once saw the deaths of three little Edward Payson s in one paper," wrote Mrs. Prentiss in 1852. 2 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. family noted during two centuries for the number of ministers of the Gospel who have sprung from it. The first in the line of his ancestry in this country was Edward, who came over in the brig Hopewell, William Burdeck, Master, in 1635-6, and settled in the town of Roxbury. He was a native of Nasing, Essex Co., England. Among his fellow-passengers in the Hopewell was Mary Eliot, then a young girl, sister of John Eliot, the illustrious " Apostle to the Indians." Some years later she became his wife. Their youngest son, Samuel, was father of the Rev. Phillips Payson, who was born at Dor- chester, Massachusetts, 1705, and settled at Walpole, in the same State, in 1730. He had four sons in the ministry, all, like himself, graduates of Harvard College. The youngest of these, the Rev. Seth Payson, D.D., Mrs. Prentiss' grandfather, was born September 30, 1758, was ordained and settled at Rindge, New Hampshire, December 4, 1782, and died there, after a pastorate of thirty-seven years, February 26, 1820. His wife was Grata Payson, of Pomfret, Conn. He was a man widely known in his day and of much weight in the community, not only in his own profession but in civil life, also, having several times filled the office of State senator. When in 18 19 a plan was formed to remove Williams College to a more central location, and several towns competed for the honor. Dr. Payson was associated with Chancellor Kent of New York, and Governor John Cotton Smith of Connec- ticut, as a committee to decide upon the rival claims. He is described as possessing a sharp, vigorous intellect, a lively imagination, a very retentive memory, and was universally esteemed as an able and faithful minister of Christ.' Edward, the eldest son of Seth and Grata Payson, was born at Rindge, July 25, 1783. His mother was noted for her piety, her womanly discretion, and her personal and mental graces. Edward was her first-born, and from his infancy to the last year of his life she lavished upon him her love and her prayers. The relation between them was very beautiful. » He was the author of a curious work entitled, " Proofs of the real Existence, and dangerous Tendency, of Illuminism." Charlestown, iSc2, By " lUuminism " he means an orgftnised attempt, or conspiracy, to undermine the foundations of Christian society and establish upon its ruins the system of atheism. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 3 His letters to her are models of filial devotion, and her letters to him are full of tenderness, good sense, and pious wisdom. He inherited some of her most striking traits, and through him they passed on to his youngest daughter, who often said that she owed her passion for the use of the pen and her fondness for rhyming to her grandmother Grata.' Edward Payson was in all respects a highly-gifted man. His genius was as marked as his piety. There is a charm about his name and the story of his life, that is not likely soon to pass away. He belonged to a class of men who seem to be chosen of Heaven to illustrate the sublime possibilities of Christian attainment — men of seraphic fervor of devotion, and whose one overmastering passion is to win souls fot Christ and to become wholly like Him themselves. Into this goodly fellowship he was early initiated. There is something startling in the depth and intensity of his religious emotions, as recorded in his journal and letters. Nor is it to be denied that they are often marred by a very morbid ele- ment. Like David Brainerd, the missionary saint of New England, to whom in certain features of his character he bore no little resemblance, Edward Payson was of a melancholy temperament and subject, therefore, to sudden and sharp alternations of feeling. While he had great capacity for en- joyment, his capacity for suffering was equally great. Nor were these native traits suppressed, or always overruled, by his religious faith ; on the contrary, they affected and modi- fied his whole Christian life. In its earlier stages, he was apt to lay too much stress by far upon fugitive " frames," and to mistake mere weariness, torpor, and even diseased action of body or mind, for coldness toward his Saviour. And almost to the end of his days he was, occasionally, visited by seasons of spiritual gloom and depression, which, no doubt, were chiefly, if not solely, the result of physical causes. It was an error that grew readily out of the brooding introspection and self-anatomy which marked the religious habit of the times. The close connection between physical causes and mor- » " I spent part of last evening reading over some old letters of my grandmother's and never realised before what a remarkable woman she was both as to piety and talent"— From a letter of Mrs. Prentiss^ written in 1S64. 4 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. bid or abnormal conditions of the spiritual life, was not as well understood then as it is now. Many things were ascribed to Satanic influence which should have been ascrib(id rather to unstrung nerves and loss of sleep, or to a violaticjn of the laws of health/ The disturbing influence of nervous and other bodily or mental disorders upon religious experi- ence deserves a fuller discussion than it has yet received. It is a subject which both modern science and modern thought, if guided by Christian wisdom, might help greatly to eluci- date. The morbid and melancholy element, however, was only a painful incident of his character. It tinged his life with a vein of deep sadness and led to undue severity of self-disci- pline ; but it did not seriously impair the strength and beauty of his Christian manhood. It rather served to bring them into fuller relief, and even to render more striking those bright natural traits — the sportive humor, the ready mother wit, the facetious pleasantry, the keen sense of the ridiculous, and the wondrous story-telling gift — which made him a most delight- ful companion to young and old, to the wise and the unlet- tered alike. It served, moreover, to impart peculiar tender- ness to his pastoral intercourse, especially with members of his flock tried and tempted like as he was. He had learned how to counsel and comfort them by the things which he also had suffered. He may have been too exacting and harsh in dealing with himself; but in dealing with other souls nothing could exceed the gentleness, wisdom, and soothing influence of his ministrations. As a preacher he was the impersonation of simple, earnest, and impassioned utterance. Although not an orator in the ordinary sense of the term, he touched the hearts of his hear- ers with a power beyond the reach of any orator>\ Some of ' In a letter to iiis mother, written when Elizabeth was three years old, he says : " E. has a terrible abscess, which we feared would prove too much for her slender constitu- tion. We were almost worn out with watching ; and, just as she began to mend, I was seized with a violent ague in my face, which gave me incessant anguish for six days and nights together, and deprived me almost entirely of sleep. Three nights I did not close ray eyes. When well nigh distracted with pain and loss of sleep, Satan was let loose upon me, to buffet me, and I verily thought would have driven me to desperation and madness." THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 5 his printed sermons are models in their kind* that e.g. on " Sins estimated by the Light of Heaven," and that addressed to Seamen, liis theology was a mild type of the old New En gland Calvinism, modified, on the one hand, by the influence of his favorite authors — such as Thomas a Kempis, and Fenelon, the Puritan divines of the seventeenth century, John Newton and Richard Cecil— and on the other, by his own profound experience and seraphic love. Of his theology, his preaching and his piety alike, Christ was the living centre. His expressions of personal love to the Saviour are surpassed by nothing in the writings of the old mystics. Here is a passage from a letter to his mother, written while he was still a young pastor: I have sometimes heard of spells and charms to excite love, and have wished for them, when a boy, that I might cause others to love me. But how much do I now wish for some charm which should lead men to love the Saviour ! . . . . Could I paint a true lilceness of Him, methinks I should rejoice to hold it up to the view and admiration of all creation, and be hid behind it forever. It would be heaven enough to hear Him praised and adored. But I can not paint Him ; I can not describe Him ; I can not make others love Him ; nay. I can not love Him a thousandth part so much as I ought myself. O, for an angel's tongue ! O, for the tongues of ten thousand angels, to sound His praises. He had a remarkable familiarity with the word of God and his mind seemed surcharged with its power. " You could not, in conversation, mention a passage of Scripture to him but you found his soul in harmony with it — the most apt illustra- tions would flow from his lips, the fire of devotion would beam from his eye, and you saw at once that not only could he deliver a sermon from it, but that the ordinary time allot- ted to a sermon would be exhausted before he could pour cuit the fullness of meaning which a sentence from the word o* God presented to his mind." ' He was wonderfully gifted in prayer. Here all his intel- lectual, imaginative, and spiritual powers were fused into one and poured themselves forth in an unbroken stream of peni- tential and adoring affection. When he said, " Let us pray," a divine influence seemed to rest upon all present. Hig 1 The late President Wayland. 6 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. prayers were not mere pious mental exercises, they were 6& vout inspirations. No one can form an adequate conception of what Dr. Payson was from any of the productions of his pen. Admirable as his written sermons aie, his extempore prayers and the gushings of his heart in familiar talk were altogether higher and more touching than anything he wrote. It was ny custom to close my eyes when he began to pray, and it was always a letti.\g down, a sort of rude fall, to open them again, when he had concluded, and find myself still on the earth. His prayers always took my spirit into the immediate presence of Christ, amid the glories of the spiritual world ; and to look round again on this familiar and comparatively misty earth was almost painful. At every prayer I heard him offer, during the seven years in which he was my spiritual guide, I never ceased to feel new astonish- ment, at the wonderful variety and depth and richness and even novelty ol feeling and expression which were poured forth. This was a feeling with which every hearer sympathised, and it is a fact well-known, that Chris- tians trained under his influence were generally remarkable for their devo- tional habits.^ Dr. Payson possessed rare conversational powers and loved to wield them in the service of his Master. When in a genial mood — and the mild excitement of social intercourse generally put him in such a mood — his familiar talk was equally de- lightful and instructive. He was, in truth, an improvisatore. Quick perception, an almost intuitive insight into character, an inexhaustible fund of fresh, original thought and incident, the happiest illustrations, and a memory that never faltered in recalling what he had once read or seen, easy self-control, and ardent sympathies, all conspired to give him this pre- eminence. Without effort or any appearance of incongruity he could in turn be grave and gay, playful and serious. This came of the utter sincerity and genuineness of his character. There was nothing artificial about him ; nature and grace had full play and, so to say, constantly ran into each other. A keen observer, who knew him well, both in private and in public, testifies: "His facetiousness indeed was ever a near neighbor to his piety, if it was not a part of it ; and his most cheerful conversations, so far from putting his mind out of tune for acts of religious worship, seemed but a happy prepa- 1 Prof. Calvin E. Stowe, D.D. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 7 ration for the exercise of devotional feelings.' * This co. existence of serious with playful elements is often found in natures of unusual depth and richness, just as tragic and comic powers sometimes co-exist in a great poet. The same qualities that rendered him such a master of con- versation, lent a potent charm to his familiar religious talks in the prayer-meeting, at the fireside, or in the social circle. Always eager to speak for his Master, he knew how to do it with a wise skill and a tenderness of feeling that disarmed prejudice and sometimes won the most determined foe. Even in administering reproof or rebuke there was the happiest union of tact and gentleness. " What makes you blush so ? " said a reckless fellow in the stage, to a plain country girl, who was receiving the mail-bag at a post office from the hand of the driver. ''What makes you blush so, my dear?" "Per- haps," said Dr. Payson, who sat near him and was unobserved till now, " Perhaps it is because some one spoke rudely to hei when the stage was along here the last time." Edward Payson was graduated at Harvard College in tho class of 1803. In the autumn of that year he took charge o? an academy then recently established in Portland. Resigning this position in 1806, he returned home and devoted himself to the study of divinity under his father's care. He was licensed to preach in May, 1807, and a few months later re- ceived a unanimous call to Portland, where he was ordained in December of the same year. On the 8th of May, 18 11, he was married to Ann Louisa Shipman, of New Haven, Conn. An extract from a m:i:ily letter to Miss Shipman, written a few weeks after their engagement, will show the spirit which inspired him both as a lover and a husband : When I wrote my first letter after my late visit, I felt almost angry with you and quite so with myself. And why angry with you ? Because I be- gan to fear you would prove a dangerous rival to my Lord and Master, and draw away my heart from His service. My Louisa, should this be the case, I should certainly hate you. I am Christ's ; I must be Christ's ; He has purchased me dearly, and I should hate the mother who bore me, it she proved even the innocent occasion of drawing me from Him. I feared 1 The late Rev. Absalom Peters, D.D. % THE UFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. that you would do this. For a little time the conflict of my feelings was dreadful beyond description. For a few moments I wished I had never seen you. Had you been a right hand, or a right eye, had you been the life-blood in my veins (and you are dear to me as either) I must have given you up. had I continued to feel as I did. But blessed be God, He has shown mc my weakness only to strengthen me. I now feel very differently. 1 still love you dearly as ever, but my love leads me to Christ and not/rom Him. Dr. Payson received repeated invitations to important churches in Boston and New York, but declining them all, continued in the Portland pastorate until his death, which oc- curred October 22, 1827, in the forty-fifth year of his age. The closing months of his life were rendered memorable by an extraordinary triumph of Christian faith and patience, as well as of the power of mind over matter. His bodily suffer- ing and agonies were indescribable, but, like one of the old martyrs in the midst of the flames, he seemed to forget them all in the greatness of his spiritual joy. In a letter written shortly after his death, Mrs. Payson gives a touching account of the tender and thoughtful concern for her happiness which marked his last illness. Knowing, for example, that she would be compelled to part with her house, he was anxious to have a smaller one purchased and occupied at once, so that his presence in it for a little while might make it seem more liome-like to her and to her children after he was gone. "To tell you (she adds) what he was the last six memorable weeks would be altogether beyond my skill. All who beheld him called his countenance angelic." She then repeats some of his farewell words to her. Begging that she would " not dwell upon his poor, shattered frame, but follow his blessed spirit to the. realms of glory," he burst forth into an exultant song of delight, as if already he saw the King in His beauty ! The well-known letter to his sister Eliza, dated a few weeks before l)is di'[)nrtiirr. breathes the same spirit. Here is an extract Iroin it : Wrrf I to adopt the figurative language of Bunyan, I might date this letter from the land of IJculah. of which I have been for some weeks a happy inhahitaiu. The celestial city is full in my view, its glories beam Upon nic, ili buivt-. fan uk, ili odufb arc walLud lo mc, its bounds strike THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. g upon my ear, and its spirit is breathed into my heart. Nothing separates me from it but the river of death, which now appears but as an insignifi- cant rill, that may be crossed at a single step, whenever God shall give permission. The Sun of Righteousness has been gradually drawing nearer and nearer, appearing larger and brighter as He approached, and now He fills the whole hemisphere, pouring forth a flood of glory, in which I seem to float like an insect in the beams of the sun, exulting yet almost trem- bling while I gaze on this excessive brightness, and wondering, with unut- terable wonder, why God should deign thus to shine upon a sinful worm. A single heart and a single tongue seem altogether inadequate to my wants ; I want a whole heart for every separate emotion, and a whole tongue to express that emotion. But why do I speak thus of myself and my feelings ? why not speak only of our God and Redeemer ? It is because I know not what to say — when I would speak of them my words are all swallowed up. And thus, gazing already upon the Beatific Vision, he passed on into glory. What is written concerning his Lord and Master might with almost literal truth have been inscribed over his grave : T/ie zeal of Thy house hath eaten me tip. II. Birth and Childhood of Elizabeth Payson. Early Traits. Devotion to her Father. His Influence upon her. Letters to her Sister. Removal to New York. Reminiscences of the Payson Family. Elizabeth Payson was born " about three o'clock " — so her father records it — on Tuesday afternoon, October 26, 18 18. She was the fifth of eight children, two of whom died in in- fancy. All good influences seem to have encircled her natal hour. In a letter to his m.othcr, dotted October 27, Dr Payson enumerates six special mercies, by which the happy event had been crowned. One of them was the gratification of the mother's " wish for a daughter rather than a son." Another was God's goodness to him in sparing both the mother and the child in spite of his fear that he should lose them. This fear, strangely enough, was occasioned by the unusual religious peace and comfort which he had been enjoying. He had a presentiment that in this way God was forearming him for 10 THE LIFE OF MRS. PREXTISS. some extraordinary trial; and tlic loss of his wife seemed tc him most likely to be that trial. *' God has been so gracious to me in spiritual things, that I thought He was preparing me for Louisa's death. Indeed it may be so still, and if so His will be done Let Him take all— and if He leaves us Himself we still have all and abound." The next day he writes : Still God is kind to us. Louisa and the babe continue as well as we could desire. Truly, my cup runs over with blessings. I can still scarcely help thinking that God is preparing me for some severe trial ; but if He will grant me His presence as He does now, no trial can seem severe. Oh, could I now drop the body, I would stand and cry to all eternity without being wear>' : God is holy, God is just, God is good ; God is wise and faith- ful and true. Either of His perfections alone is sufficient to furnish mattei for an eternal, unwearied song. Could I sing upon paper I should break forth into singing, for day and night I can do nothing but sing -'Let the saints be joyful," etc., etc. But I must close. I can not send so much love and thankfulness to my parents as they deserve. My present happiness, all my happiness I ascribe under God to them and their prayers. Surely, a home inspired and ruled by such a spirit was a sweet home to be born into ! The notices of Elizabeth's childhood depict her as a dark- eyed, delicate little creature, of sylph-like form, reserved and shy in the presence of strangers, of a s\vcet disposition, and very intense in her sympathies. " Until I was three years old mother says I was a little angel," she once wrote to a friend. Her constitution was feeble, and she inherited from her father bis high-strung nervous temperament. " I never knew what it was to feel well," she wrote in 1 840. Severe pain in the side, fainting turns, the sick headache, and other ailments troubleti her, more or less, from infancy. She had an eye wide open to the world about her, and quick to catch its varying aspects of light and beauty, whether on land or sea. The slii|)s and wharves not far from her father's house, the observ- atory anil fort on the hill overlooking Casco Bay, the White Mountains far away in the distance, Deering's oaks, the rope- walk, and the ancient bur>ing-ground— these and other famil- iar objects of "the dear old town," commemorated by Long- fellow in his poem entitled " My Lost Youth," were indelibly fixed in her memory and followed her wherever she went, to THE CHILD AND THE GH^L. 1 1 the end of her days. In her movements she was light-footed, venturesome to rashness, and at times wild with fun and frolic! Her whole being was so impressionable that things pleasant and things painful stamped themselves upon it as with the point of a diamond. Whatever she did, whatever she felt, she felt and did as for her life. Allusion has been made tc the intensity of her sympathies. The sight or tale of suffer- ing would set her in a tremor of excitement ; and in her eager- ness to give relief she seemed ready for any sacrifice, however great. This trait arrested the observant eye of her father, and he expressed to Mrs. Payson his fear lest it might some day prove a real misfortune to the child. *' She will be in danger of marrying a blind man, or a helpless cripple, out of pure sympathy," he once said. But by far the strongest of all the impressions of her child- hood related to her father. His presence was to her the hap- piest spot on earth, and any special expression of his affection would throw her into an ecstasy of delight. When he was away she pined for his return. " The children all send a great deal of love, and Elizabeth says, Do tell Papa to come home," wrote her mother to him, when she was six years old. Her recollections of her father were singularly vivid. She could describe minutely his domestic habits, how he looked and talked as he sat by the fireside or at the table, his delight in and skillful use of carpenters' tools, his ingenious devices for amusing her and diverting his own weariness as he lay sick in bed, e.g., tearing up sheets of white paper into tiny bits, and then letting her pour them out of the window to " make be- lieve it snowed," or counting all the bristles in a clothes-brush, and then as she came in from school, holding it up and bid- ding her guess their number — his coolness and efficiency in the wild excitements of a conflagration, the calm deliberation with which he walked past the horror-stricken lookers on and cut the rope by which a suicide was suspended; these and other incidents she would recall a third of a century after his death, as if she had just heard of or just witnessed them. To her child's imagination his memory seemed to be invested with the triple halo of father, hero, and saint. A little picture ,2 THE T.IFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. of him was always near her. She never mentioned his name without tender affection and reverence. Nor is this at all stran^^e. She was almost nine years old when he died ; and his influence, diring these years, penetrated to her inmost iK-ing. She once said that of her father's virtues one only- punctuality— had descended to her. But here she was surely wrong. Not only did she owe to him some of the most strik- ing peculiarities of her physical and mental constitution, but her piety itself, if not inherited, was largely inspired and shaped by his. In the whole tone and expression of her ear- lier religious life, at least, one sees him clearly reflected. His devotional habits, in particular, left upon her an indelible im- l)rcssion. Once, when four or five years old, rushing by mis- take into his room, she found him prostrate upon his face — completely lost in prayer. A short time before her death, .speaking of this scene to a friend, she remarked that the re- membrance of it had influenced her ever since. What some- body said of Sara Coleridge might indeed have been said with no less truth of Elizabeth Payson : "Her father had looked down into her eyes and left in them the light of his own." The only records of her childhood from her own pen con- sist of the following letters, written to her sister, while the lat- ter was passing a year in Boston. She was then nine years old. Portland, May i8, 1828. Mv Dr.AR SisTKR : — I thank you for writing to such a little pirl as I am, when you have so little time, I was going to study a little catechism which Miss Martin has got, but she said I c«>uiil not learn it. I want to learn it. I do not like to stay so long at school. Wc have to write composition by dictation, as Miss Martin calls it. She reads to us out of a book a sentence at a time. We write it and then we write it again on our slates, l.cf.Misc wi' do not always get the whole; then we write it on a pjif.- of paj)rr. Miss Martin says I may say my Sunday-school (k-ss(.)n] lin-rc. Mi. Miti:luil lias had a great many new books. I have been sitk. Dodor Cununiiigs has been here and says E. is belter and he thinks he will not have a fever G. goes to school to Miss Libby, and II. goes to Master Jackson. H sends his love. Good-bye. Your affectionate sister, E. Pavson. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 13 Sepfc-mber 2(), 1S28, Mv Dk.\r Sister : — I think you were very kind to write to nie, when you have so little time. I began to go to Mrs. Petrie's school a week ago 3^esterday. I stay at home Mon. days in the morning to assist in taking care of Charles or such little things as I can do. G. goes with me. When mother pui Charles and him to bed, as soon as she had done praying \\\\.h them, G. said. Mother, will this world be all burnt up when we are dead ? She said, Yes, my dear, it will. What, and all the dishes too ? will they melt like lead ? and will the ground be burnt up too ? O what a nasty fire it will make. I saw the North- ern lights last night. I sleep in a very large pleasant room in the bed with mother I have a very pleasant room for my baby-house over the porch which has two windows and a fire- place in it, and a little cupboard too. E. Wood and I are as intimate as ever. I suppose you know that Mr. Wood is build- ing him a brick house. Mrs. Merril's little baby is dead. It w^as buried yesterday afternoon. Mr. Mussey lives across the street from us. He has a great many elm trees in his front yard. His house is three stories high and the trees reach to the top. We have heard two or three times from E. since he went away. Yesterday all the Sabbath-schools walked in a procession and then went to our meeting-house and Mr. William Cutter addressed them. I am your affectionate sister, E. Payson. Her feeble constitution exposed her to severe attacks of disease, and in May, 1830, she was brought to the verge of the grave by a violent fever. Her mother was deeply moved by this event, and while recording in her journal God's good- ness in sparing Elizabeth, wonders whether it is to the end that she may one day devote herself to her Saviour and do something for the *' honor of religion." In the latter part of 1830 Mrs. Payson removed to New York, where her eldest daughter opened a school for girls. It was during this resi- dence in New York that Elizabeth, at the age of twelve years, made a public confession of Christ and came to the Lords table for the first time. She was received into the Bleeckcr street — now the Fourth avenue — Presbyterian church, then under the pastoral care of the Rev. Erskine Mason, D.D., 14 THE LITE OF MRS. PRENTISS. May I, 1 83 1. Toward the close of the same year the family returned to Portland. In a letter addressed to her liusband, one of Mrs. Prentiss' oldest friends now living, Miss Julia D. Willis, has fur. nishcd the following reminiscences of her early years. While they confirm what has been said about her childhood, they arc especially valuable for the glimpses they give of hei father and mother and sister. The Willis and Payson families were very intimate and warmly attached to each other. Mr. Nathaniel Willis, the father of N. P. Willis the poet, was well known in connection with " The Boston Recorder," of which he was for many years the conductor and proprietor. Both Mr. and Mrs. Willis cherished the most affectionate veneration for the memory of Dr. Payson. So long as she lived their house was a home to Mrs. Payson and her daughters, whenever they visited Boston. As a preacher Dr. Payson could not fail to make a strong impression even on a child. Years ago in New York I once told Mrs. Prentiss, who w.is too young, at her father's death, to remember him well in the pulpit, that the only public speaker who ever reminded me of him, was Edwin lioolh in Hamlet. I surprised, and, I am afraid, a little shocked her, but it was quite true. The slender figure, the dark, brilliant eyes, the deep earnestness of tone, the rapid utterance combined with perfect distinctness of enunciation, in spite of surroundings the best calculated to repel such an association, recalled him vividly to my memory. My father's connection with the religious press after his removal from Portland to Boston, brought many clergymen to our house, who often, in the kindni-ss of their hearts, requited hospitality by religious conversation with the children, not church members, and presumably, therefore, impen- itent. I did not always appreciate this kinrlness as it desen'ed, and often exercised considerable ingenuity to avoid being alone with them. In Dr. Payson's case, I soon learned, on the contraiy, to seek such occasions. I was sure that before long he would look up from his book, or his manu- •cript. and have something pleasant or playful to say to me. His general conversation, however, was oftener on religious than on any other subjects, hut it was so evidently from the fullness of his heart, and his vivid imagina- lion afforded hitn such a wealth of illustration, that it was delightful even lo an " impenitent " child. Years afler^vard when I read in his Memoir ol h.s desponding temperament, of his seasons of gloom, of the sense of sin under which he was bowed down, it seemed impossible to me that it could »"• "M Dr. Payson. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 1 5 I visited Portland and was an inmate of his family, at the commence- ment of the illness that finally proved fatal. He was not contined to his bed, or to his room, but he was forbidden, indeed unable, to preach, unable to write or study ; he could only read and think. Still he did not shut hiai self up in his study with his sad thoughts. I remember him as usually seated with his book by the side of the fire, surrounded by his family, ai il he would enjoy their society as long as possible, and the children's play was never hushed on his account. Nor did he forget the young visitor. When the elder daughter, to whom my visit was made, was at school, he would care for my entertainment by telling a story, or propounding a rid- dle, or providing an entertaining book to beguile the time till Louisa's return. Among the group in that cheerful room, I remember Lizzy well, a beau- tiful child, slender, dark-eyed, light-footed, very quiet, evidently observant, but saying little, affectionate, yet not demonstrative. One evening during my visit, Mrs. Payson not being quite well, the elders had retired early, leaving Louisa and myself by the side of the fire, she preparing her school lesson and I occupied in reading. The lesson fin- ished, Louisa proposed retiring, but I was too much interested in my book to leave it and promised to follow soon. She left me rather reluctantly, and I read on, too much absorbed in my book to notice the time, till near midnight, v/hen I was startled by hearing Dr. Payson's step upon the stairs. I expected the reproof which I certainly deserved, but though evidently surprised at seeing me, he merely said, "You here? you must be cold. Why did you let the fire go out ? " Bringing in some wood he soon re- kindled it, and began to talk to me of the book I was reading, which was one of Walter Scott's poems. He then spoke of a poem which he had been reading that day, Southey's " Curse of Kehama. " He related to me with perfect clearness the long and rather involved story, with that wonder- ful memory of his, never once forgetting or confusing the strange Oriental names, and repeating word for word the curse : I charm thy life, from the weapons of strife, From stone and from wood, from fire and from flood, From the serpent's tooth, and the beasts of blood, From sickness I charm thee, and time shall not harm thee, etc., etc. I listened, intent, fascinated, forgot to ask why he was there instead of in his bed, forgot that it was midnight instead of mid-day. It was not till on bidding me good night he added, " I hope you will have a better night than I shall," that it occurred to me that he must be suffering. The next day I learned from his wife that when unable to sleep on account of his racking cough, he often left his bed at night, the cough being more endura- ble when in a sitting posture. I never saw Dr. Payson after that visit, nor for several years any of the family, except Louisa, who spent a year with us while attending school in Boston to fit herself as a teacher to aid in the l6 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. support of her younger brothers and sister. When I was next with them, Louisa was already at the head of a school in which her young sister was the brightest pupil, and to the profits of which she laid no personal claim all going untouched into the family purse. Several young girls, Louisa's pupils, had been received as boarders in the family, and occasionally a clcrgN'man was added to the number. It was during this visit that I first 'earned to appreciate Mrs. Payson. Now that she stood alone at the head of the household, either her fine qualities were in bolder relief, or I being older, was better able to estimate them. The singular vivacity of her in- tellect made her a delightful companion. Then her youth had been passed in the literary circles of New Haven and Andover, and she had much to tell of distinguished people known to me only by reputation. 1 admired her firm yet gentle rule, so skilfully adapted to the varying natures under her charge ; her conscientious study of that homelv virtue economv. ro distasteful to one of her naturally lavish temper, always ready to give to those in need to an extent which called forth constant remonstrances from more pnident friends ; her alacrity also in all household labors, which the more excited my wonder, knowing the little opportunity she could have had to practise them amid the wealth of her father's house before the Embargo, which later wrecked his fortune with those of so many other New England merchants. She was, indeed, of a most noble nature, hating all meanness and injustice, and full of helpful kindness and sympathy. No woman ever had warmer or more devoted friends. Both at this time and in subsequent visits, as she advanced from child- hood to girlhood, I remember Lizzy well; although my attention was chiefly absorbed by the elder sister of my own age, my principal com- panion when present, and correspondent when absent. The two sisters were strongly contrasted. Louisa, as a child, was afflicted with a sensitive, almost morbid shyness and reserve, and an incapacity for enjoying the so- ciety of other children whose tastes were uncongenial with her own. The shyne!is passc- as a cn'e. " The mind is its own place." With all the inconveniencie? of the. house I would not cxchanjre it at present for any other in the city. The situation is per- fectly dcli[.'htful. Casco Bay and part of Deering's Oaks lie in full view.^ The Oaks arc within'a few minutes' walk. Back-Cove is seen beyond, and rising far above the dJuf While Mountains. The Arsenal stares us in the face, if we look out the end win- dows and the Westbrook meeting-house is nearer than Mr. Vail's by a quarter of a mile. I never believed there was anything half so fine in this region. I tliink nothing of walk- Jnc anywhere now. One day, after various domestic duties, I worked in my tiny garden four hours, and in the afternoon a party of girls came up for me to go with them to Branilull's hill. We walked from three till half past six, came back and ate a hasty, with some of us a furious supper, and then all paraded down to second parish to sing- ing-school. I expect to live out in the air most of the summer. I mean to have as pleasant a one as possible, because we shall never live so near the Oaks and other pretty places another summer. If you were not so timid I should wish you were here to run about with me, but who ever heard of E. T. running? Now, Ellen, I never was ineant to be dignified and sometimes — yea, often — I run, skip, hop, and once I did climb over a fence I Very unladylike, I know, but I am not a lady. In the fall of 1S37 Mrs. Payson moved again. The incident deserves mention, as it brought Lizzy into daily intercourse with the Rev. Mr. French and his wife. Mr. French was rector of the Episcopal church in Portland, and afterward Professor and Chaplain at West Point. He was a man of firTe literary culture and Mrs. French was a very attractive woman. In a letter dated "Night before Thanksgiving," and addressed to the early friend already mentioned, Lizzy refers to this removal and also gives a glimpse of her active home life : I have been busy all day and am so tired I can scarcely hold a pen. Amidst the beat- ing of eggs, the pounding of spices, the furious rolling of pastry of all degrees of short- ness, the filling of pies with pumpkins, mince-mcat, apples, and the like, the stoning of raisins and washing of currants, the beating and baking of cake, and all the other iiigSy (in all of which I have had my share) thoughts of your ladyship have somehow squeezed Ihcmsclvcs in. We have really bidden adieu to " Pumpkin Place," as Mrs. Willis calls h, and established ourselves in a house formerly occupied by old Parson Smith— and »ery snug and comfortable we are, I assure you. In the midst of our " moving," after I had packed and stov/ed and lifted, and been elbowed by all the sharp comers in the house, and had my hands all torn and scratched, I spied the new •• Knickerlxjcker" 'mid a heap of rubbish and v/as tempted to peep into k. I^ and bcholfl, ijjc first thing that met my eye was the Lament of the Last Peach.' I didn't care 13 read more and forthwith returned to fitting of carpets and arranging » I can see the breezy dome of groves, The sharlows of Decring's Woods ; And the fricndsliips old and the early loves Come back with a Sabbath sound, as of doves In quiet neiphborh(KKls. And the verse of that sweet old song, It flutters .ind murmurs still : •' A l)oy's will is the wind's will, A' I •».- thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.;" — LONGKKLLOW'S My Lost Youth. •"The I-v:u:,t ,., u,c Ust Poach "had boon written by her a year before when in THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. ■3 tables and chairs and bureaus — but all the while meditating how I should be revenged upon you. As t > 's request I am sorry to answer nay ; for I feel it would be the greatest presumption in me to think of writing for a magazine hke that. I do not wish to publish anything, anywhere, though it would be quite as wise as to entrust my scraps to your care. My mother often urges me to send little things which she happens to fancy, to this and that periodical. Without her interference nothing of mine would evei have found its way into print. But mammas look with rose-colored spectacles on the actions and performances of their offspring. Have you laughed over the Pickwick Papers ? We have almost laughed ourselves to death over them. I have not seen Lirzy D. for a long time, but hear she is getting along rapidly. If I could go to school two years more, I should be glad, but of course that is out of the question It is easier for you to write often than it is for me. You have not three tearing, growing brothers to mend and make for. I am become quite expert in the arts of patching and darning. I am going to get some pies and cake and raisins and other goodies to send to our girl's sick brother. If I had not so dear and happy a home, I should envy you yours. You say you do not remember whether I love music or not. I love it extravagantly sometimes — out have not the knowledge to enjoy scientific performances. The simple melody of a single voice is my delight. Mrs. French, the Episcopal minister's wife, who is a great friend of ours and lives next door (so near that she and sister talk togetlier out of their windows), has a baby two days old with black curly hair and black eyes, and I shall have nice time with it this winter. Do you love babies ? The question with which this letter closes, suggests one of Lizzy's most Brooklyn, and her friend's brother had sent it to '* The Knickerbocker," the populai Magazine of that day. Here it is : LAMENT OF THE LAST PEACH. In solemn silence here I live, A lone, deserted peach ; So high that none but birds and winds My quiet bough can reach. And mournfully, and hopelessly, I think upon the past ; Upon my dear departed friends. And I, the last— the last. My friends ! oh, daily one by one I've seen them drop away ; Unheeding all the tears and prayers That vainly bade them stay. And here I hang alone, alone — While life is Heeing fast ; And sadly sigli that I am left The last, the last, the last. Farewell, then, thou my little world My home upon tlie tree, A sweet retreat, a quiet home Thou mayst no longer be ; The willow trees stand weeping nigh. The sky is overcast. The autumn winds moan sadly by, And say, the last — the last I ^^ THE LIFE OF MRS. FRENTTSS. slrikm.ir and loveliest traits. She had a perfect passion for babies, and reveled in tending, kissing, and playing with them. Here are some pretty lines in one of her girlish contributions to " The Youth's Companion," which express her feeling about them : WHiat are little babies for ? Can they walk upon their feet ? Say I say ! say I Say ! say ! say 1 Are they good-for-nothing things ? Can they even hold themselves ? Nay nay ! nay ! Nay ! nay ! nay ! Can they speak a single word ? What are little babies for ? Say ! say ! say ! Say ! say ! say ! Can they help their mothers sew ? Are they made for us to love ? Nay ! nay ! nay 1 y^a! Yea ! ! YEA ! ! ! In the fall of 1838 Mrs. Payson purchased a house in Cumberland street, whicii continued to be her residence until the family was broken up. You remember the charming little room Lizzy had fitted up over the hall in this house, how nicely she kept it. and how happy she w^as in it. One of the \^ indows looked out on a little flower garden and at the close of the long summer days the sunset could be enjoyed from the west window. She had had some tine books given her, which, added to the previous store, made a somewhat rare collection for a young girl in tho-e days. About this time, having been relieved of her part of domestic service by the coming into the family of a young relative — whose devotion to her was unbounded — she opened in the house a school for little girls. It consisted at first of perhaps eight or ten, but their number increased until the house could scarcely hold them. She was a born teacher and her young pupils fairly idolized her.' In this year, too, she took a class in the Sabbath- school composed of nearly the same group who surrounded her on the week-days, and tlicy remained under her care as long as she lived in Portland. The Rev. Mr. Vail having retired from the pastorate of the second parish in the autumn of 1837, Cyrus Hamhn, just from the Theological .Seminary at IJangor. became the stated supply for some months. His prc.nching attracted the young people and during tlie winter and spring ihcrc was much interest in all the Congregational churches. Following I he example of the other pastors, Mr. Hamlin invited persons seriously dis- pciscil to nu-rt him for religious conversation. Elizabeth besought me, with all possible earnestness and alTection, to "go to Mr. Hamlin's meeting." ( )nc day she came to sec me a short time before the hour, saying that I was ever on her mind and in her prayers, that she had talked with Mr. Hamlin al>out mc, nor would she leave me until I had promised to attend the mcelinjr. 1 did so ; and from that time we were united in the strong jonds of Christian love and sympathy. What a spiritual helper she was • •• I>ar Liizy is in her little sc1uk»1. I ler pupils love her dearly. She will have about Ih.rly in Ihc summer.*— z:«.//^r 0/ Mrs. Payson, Match 2S, 1S39. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 2$ to me in those days ! What precious notes I was all the time receiving from her! The memory of her tender, faithful friendship is still fresh and delightful, after the lapse of more than forty years.' In the summer of 1838 the Rev. Jonathan B. Condit, D.D., was calico from his chair in Amherst College and installed pastor of our church. He was a man of very graceful and winning manners and wonderfully mng- netic. He at once became almost an object of worship with the enthu- siastic young people. The services of the Sabbath and the weekly meetings were delightful. The young ladies had a praying circle which met every Saturday afternoon, full of life and sunshine. Indeed, the exclusive inter- est of the season was religious ; our reading and conversation were relig- ious ; well-nigh the sole subject of thought was learning something new of our Saviour and His blessed service. All Lizzy's friends and several of her own family were rejoicing in hope. And she herself was radiant with joy. For a little while it seemed almost as if the shadows in the Christian path had fled away, and the crosses vanished out of sight. The winter and spring of 1840 witnessed another period of general religious interest in Portland. Large numbers were gathered into the churches. Lizzy was greatly impressed by the work, her own Christian life was deepened and widened, she was blessed in guiding several members of her beloved Sun- day-school class to the Saviour, and was thus prepared, also, for the sharp trial awaiting her in the autumn of the same year, when she left her home and mother for a long absence in Richmond. From her earliest years she was in the habit of keeping a journal, and she must have filled several volumes. I wonder that she did not preserve them as mementos of her childhood and youth. Perhaps because her after- life was so. happy that she never needed to refer to such reminiscences of days gone by. I have thus given you, in a very informal manner, some recollections of her earlier years. I have been astonished to find how vividly I recalled scenes, events and conversations so long past. I was startled and shocked when the news came of her sudden death. But I can not feel that she was called to her rest too soon. She seemed to me singularly happy in all the relations of life ; and then as an author, hers was an exceptional case ol full appreciation and success. I have ever regarded her as " fovored among women" — blessed in doing her Master's will and testifying for Him, blessed in her home, in her friends, and in her work, and blessed in her death. Portland, December 31, 1878. » Three years later Elizabeth thus referred to this period in the life of her friend :— •' During the time in which she was seeking the Saviour with all her heart, I was much with her and had an opportunity to see every variety of feeling as she daily set the whole before me. The affection thus acquired is, I believe, never lost. If I live forever, I shall not lose the impressions which I then received— the deep anxiety I felt lest she should finally come short of salvation, and tlien the happiness of having her lost in contempla- tion of the character of Him whom she had so often declared it impossible to love." 26 TIN- LHF. OF MRS. PRENTISS. IV. Hic Dnmin.-int Tj-pc of Religious Life and Thoup:lit in New England in the First Hall of this Centuiy. Literary Influences. Letter of Cyrus Hamlin. A Strange Coin- cidence. A IJRIKF notice of the general type of religious life and thought, which prevailed at this time in New England, will throw light upon both the preceding and following pages. Elizabeth's early Christian character, although largely shaped by that of her father, was also, like his, vitally affected by the religious spirit and methods then dominant. Several distinct elements entered into the piety of New^ England at that period, (i.) There was, first of all, the old Puritan element which the Pilgrim Fathers and their immediate successors brought witii them from the mother-country, and which had been nourished by the writings of the great Puritan divines of the seventeenth century — such as Baxter, Howe, Bunyan, Owen, Matthew Menry, and Flavcl — by the '' Imitation of Christ," and Bishop Taylor's " Holy Living and Dying," and by such writers as Doddridge, Watts, and Jonathan Edwards of I lie last century. This lay at the foundation of the whole structure, giving it strength, solidity, earnestness, and power. (2.) But it was modified by the so-called Evangelical element, which marked large sections of the Church of England and most of tlie Dissenting bodies in Great Britain during the last half of the eighteenth and the early part of the nineteenth ccntur>'. The writings of Jolm Newton, Richard Cecil, Han- nah More, Thomas Scott, Cowper, Wilberforce, Leigh Rich- mond. John Foster, Andrew Fuller, and Robert Hall— not to mention others— were widely circulated in New England and had };reat influence in its pulpits and its Christian homes. Their admirable spirit infused itself into thousands of lives, and helped in many ways to improve the general tone both of theological and devotional sentiment. (3.) But another ele- ment still was the new Evangelistic spirit, which inaugurated nnd still informs those great movements of Christian benevo- ience, both at home and abroad, that are the glory of the age. THE CHILD AND THE CTRL. 2; Dr. Payson's ministiy began just before the formation of the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions, and before his death mission-work had come to be regarded as quite essential to the piety and prosperity of the Church. The Lives of David Brainerd, Henry Martyn, Harriet Newell, and others like them, were household books. (4.) Nor should llie " revival " element be omitted in enumerating the forces thai then shaped the piety and religious thought of New England. The growth of the Church and the advancement of the cause of Christ were regarded as inseparable from this influence. A revival was the constant object of prayer and effort on the part of earnest pastors and of the more devout among the people. Far more stress was laid upon special seasons and measures of spiritual interest and activity than now — less upon Christian nurture as a means of grace, and upon the steady, normal development of church life. Many of the most eminent, devoted, and useful servants of Christ, whose names, during the last half century, have adorned the annals of American faith and zeal, owed their conversion, or, if not their conversion, some of their noblest and strongest Christian impulses, to "revivals of religion." (5.) To all these should, perhaps, be added another element — namely, that of the new spirit of reform and the new ethical tone, which, during the third and fourth decades of this century especially, wrought with such power in New England. Of this influence and of the philanthropic idea that inspired it, Dr. Channing may be regarded as the most eminent representative. It brought to the front the humanity and moral teaching of Christ, as at once the pattern and rule of all true progress, whether individual or social; and it was widely felt, even where it was not distinctly recognised or understood. What^ ever errors or imperfections may have belonged to it, this in- fluence did much to soften the dogmatism of opinion, to arouse a more generous, catholic type of sentiment, to show that the piety of the New Testament is a principle of universal love to man, as well as of love to God, and to emphasise the sovereign claims of personal virtue and social justice. These truths, to be sure, were not new; but in the great moral- 28 'II IK i.iri: ov mks. prentiss. reform niDvcmciits and conflicts— to a certain extent even i' ihcological discussions— that marked the times, they were as sorted and applied with extraordinary clearness and energy ol conviction ; and, as the event has proved, they were harbinger-j of a new era of Christian thought, culture and conduct, both in private and public life. Such were some of the religious influences which surrounded Mrs. Prentiss during the first twenty years of her life, and which lielpcd to form her character. She was also strongly affected, especially while passing from girlhood into early womanhood, by the Hterary influences of the day. Poetry and fiction were her delight. She was very fond of Words- worth, Temiyson, and Longfellow; while the successive vol- umes of Dickens were read by her with the utmost avidity. Mrs. l*ayson's house was a good deal visited by scholars and men of culture. Her eldest daughter had already become somewhat widely known by her writings. In the extent, variety and character of her attainments she was, in truth, a marvel. Indeed, she quite overshadowed the younger sister by her learning and her highly intellectual conversation. And yet Elizabeth also attracted no little attention from some who had been first drawn to the house by their friendship for Louisa.' Among her warmest admirers was Mr. John Neal, tiicn well known as a nian of letters; he predicted for her a bright career as an author. Still, it was her personal character that most interested the visitors at her mother's house. This may be illustrated by an extract from a letter of Mr. Hamlin to a friend of the family in New York, written in April, 1838, while he was their temporary pastor. Mr. Hamlin has since become known throughout the Christian world by his remaik- ablc career as a missionary in Turkey, and as organiser of Robert College. A few months after the letter was written he .set sail for Constantinople, accompanied by his wife, whose ' Old friends of her fall,cr also became much interested in her. Amon- them v.os S. n..M Crecnlc.if. the cniincnl writer on the law of evidence, and Jud^re Story's successor •l Harvard. On removing to Cambridge, in 1833, be gave her vith his autograpli a Ut- ile volnmc entitled, •• Hours for Heaven ; a small but clioice selection of prayers, from eminent D.v.nc^ of U.e Church of England," which long continued to be one cf he, t»>ok!> ol dcvoUua. THE CHILD AND THE GIRL. 29 early death was the cause of so much grief among all who knew her.' I should like to write a long letter about clear Elizabeth. I have seen lier more since Louisa left and 1 love her more. She has a peculiar charn. for me. I think she has a quick and excellent judgment, refined senrihll- itics, and an ijistinctivc perception of what is fit and proper It seems to me there is a great deal of purity— of the spiyitiiclle — about her feelings. But I can not tell you exactly what it is that makes me think so highly of her. It is a nameless something resulting from her whole self, from her sweet face and mouth, her eye full of love and soul, her form and motion. I do not think she likes me much, 1 have paid so much attention to Louisa and so little to herself. Yet she is not one of those who claim attention, but rather shrinks from it. She may have faults of which 1 have no knowledge. But I am charmed with everything I have seen of her. How strange are the chance coincidences of human life ! In another letter to the same friend in New York, in which Mr. Hamlin refers in a similar manner to Elizabeth, occur these words : In a few weeks I hope to be in Dorset, among the Green Mountains, where my thoughts and feelings have their centre above all places on this eardi. 1 wish you could be present at my wedding there on the third of September. How little did he dream, when penning these words, or did his friend dream while reading them, that, after the lapse of more than forty years, the '' dear Elizabeth " would find her grave near by the old parsonage in which that wedding was to be celebrated, while the dust of the lovely daughter of Dorset would be sleeping on the distant shores of the Bos- phorus ! 1 See the touching memorial of lier, " Light on the Dark River," prepared by he» sarly friend, Mrs. Lawrence. CHAPTER II. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 1 840-1 841. I. A Memorable Experience. Letters to her Cousin. Goes to Richmond as a Teacler, Mr. Persico's School. Letters. Miss P.vvson was now in her twenty-first year, a period which she always looked back to as a turning-point in her spiritual history. The domestic influences that encompassed her childhood, her early associations, and the books of devo- tion which she read, all conspired to imbue her with an earnest sense of divine things, and while yet a young girl, as we have seen, she publicly devoted herself to the service of her God and Saviour. For several years her piety, if marked by no special features, was still regarded by her young friends, and by all who knew her, as of a decided character. But during the ^'cneral religious interest in the winter of 1837-8, even while absorbed in solicitude for others, she began herself to question its reality. " l'(^r some months I had no hope that I was a Christian, and />nWi^ made me go on just as if I felt myself perfectly safe. Nothing could at that time have made me ^villi^g to have any eye a witness to my daily struggles." And yet she "often longed for the sympathy and assistance of Christian friends," and to her unwillingness to confide in Ihcm she afterwards attributed much of the suffering that fol- lowed. •• I do not know exactl\- how I passed out of that 8ca.son. but my school commenced in April, and I became so interested in it that 1 lud less time to tliink of and to watch myself. The next winter most of mv schol:u-s were deeply THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 3I impressed by divine things, and, of course, I could not look on without having my own heart touched. It was my privilege to spend many delightful weeks in watching the progress of minds earnestly seeking the way of life and early consecrat- ing themselves to their Saviour." ' But after a while a se- vere reaction set in and in the course of the summer she be- came careless in her religious habits, shrank from the Lord's table as a "place of absolute torture," and while spending a fortnight in Boston in the fall, entirely omitted all exercises of private devotion. She had now reached a crisis which was to decide her course for life. During the winter of 1839-40, she passed through very deep and harrowing exercises of soul. Her spiritual nat- ure was shaken to its foundation, and she could say with the Psalmist, Out of the depths have I cried imto Thee, O Lord. For several months she was in a state similar to that which the old divines depict so vividly as being " under conviction." Her sense of sin, and of her own unworthiness in the sight of God, grew more and more intense and oppressive. At times she abandoned all hope, accused herself of having played the hypocrite, and fancied she was given over to hardness of heart. At length she sought counsel of her pastor and confided to him her trouble, but he *' did not know exactly what to do with me." In the midst of her distress, and as its effect, no doubt, she was taken ill and confined to her room, where in solitude she passed several weeks seeking rest and finding none. " Sometimes I tried to pray, but this only increased my distress and made me cry out for annihilation to free 've from the agony which seemed insupportable." With a single interval of comparative indifference, this state of mind c^.n- tinued for nearly four months. She thus describes it : It was in vain that I sought the Lord in any of the lofty jialli- ways through which my heart wished to go. At last I found il ^ She lefers to this, doubUess, in a note to Mr. Hamlin, dated March 28, 1839. Mr. H. was then in Constantinople. " It seems as if a letter to go so far ought to be a good one, so I am afraid to write to you. But we '■ tliink to yon' every day, and hope you think of us sometimes. I have been so happy all winter that I have some liappincii ic Epare, and if you need any you bhall have as much as you want." ,3 TIIK lAVE OF MRS. PRENTISS. impossible to carry on the struggle any longer alone. I would Klacllv liavc put mvself at the feet of a little child, if by so do- iuo- I'could have found peace. I felt so guilty and the charac- ter of God appeared so perfect in its purity and holiness, that I kncxv not which way to turn. The sin which distressed me most of all was the rejection of the Saviour. This haunted me constantly and made me fly first to one thing and then another, in the hope of finding somewhere the peace which I would not accept from Him. It was at this time that I kept reading over the first twelve chapters of Doddridge's " Rise and Progress,"— I he rest of the book I abhorred. So great was my agony that I can only wonder at the goodness of Him who held my life in His hands, and would not permit me in the height of my de- spair to throw myself away. It was in tills height of despair that thoughts of the infinite grace and love of Christ, which she says she had hitherto re- pelled, began to irradiate her soul. A sermon on His ability to iuive " unto the uttermost " deeply affected her.' "While listening to it my weary spirit rested itself, and I thought, Vsurcly it can not be wrong to think of the Saviour, although He is not mine.' With this conclusion I gave myself up to admire, to love and to praise Him, to wonder why I had never done so before, and to hope that all the great congregation around me were joining with mc in acknowledging Him to be chief among ten thousand and the One altogether lovely." On going home she could at first scarcely believe in her own ident- ity, the feeling of peace and love to God and to all the world was so unlike the turbulent emotions that had lone: a^ritated licr soul. ** From this time my mind went slowly onward, examining the way step by step, trembling and afraid, yet filled with a calm contentment which made all the dealings of God with mc appear just right. I know myself to be per- fectly liclpless. I can not promise to do or to be anything; but I do want to put everything else aside, and to devote myself entirely to the service of Christ." Her account of this memorable experience is dated August 28, 1840. "While writing it," she adds, ''I have often laid ' Tl>c sermon wa« n'cachcd by her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Condit, April 19th. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 33 aside my pen, to sit and think over in silent wonder the way in wliich the Lord has led me." How in later years she regarded certain features of this ex- perience, is not fully known. The record passed at once out of her hands, and until after her death was never seen by any- one, excepting the friend for whose eye it was written. Many of its details had, probably, faded entirely from her memory. It can not be doubted, however, that she would have judged her previous state much less severely, would hardly have charged it with hypocrisy, or denied that the Saviour had been graciously leading her, and that she had some real love to Him, before as well as after this crisis. So much may be inferred from the record itself and from the narrative in the preceding chapter. Her tender interest in the spiritual wel- fare of her friends and pupils, the high tone of religious senti- m.ent that marks her early writings, the books she delighted in, her filial devotion, the absolute sincerity of her character, all forbid any other conclusion.' The indications, too, are very plain that her morbidly-sensitive, melancholy tempera- ment had much to do with this experience. Her account of it shows, also, that her mind was unhappily affected by cer- tain false notions of the Christian life and ordinances then, and still, more or less prevalent — notions based upon a too narrow and legal conception of the Gospel. Hence, her shrinking ' There is one thing I recall as showing the very early religious tendency of Lizzy's mind. It was a little prayer -meeting which she held with a few little friends, as long ago as her sister kept school in the large parlor of the house on Middle street, before the death of her father. It assembled at odd hours and in odd places. I also remember her interest in the spiritual welfare of her young companions, after the return of the family from their sojourn in New York. She showed this by accompanying some of us, in tlie way of encouragement, to Dr. Tyler's inquiry-meeting. Then during the special relig- ious interest of 1838, she felt still more deeply and entered heartily into the rejoicing of those of us who at that time found " peace in believing." The next year I accompanied my elder sister Susan to Richmond, and during my absence she gave up her Christian hope and passed through a season of great darkness and despondency, emerging, how- ever, into the light upon a higher plane of religious experience and enjoyment. She sometimes thought this the very beginning of the life of faith in her soul. Put as I used to say to her when the next year we were together at Richmond, it seemed to me quite impossible that any one who had not already received the grace of God, con/J hav- felt what she had felt and expressed. I do not doubt in the least that for years she had been a ti-ue follower of Christ.— Ze proper to say hen-, that wliile but few of her letters are given entire, it has oot l»ccn deemed needful siiecially to indicate all the omissions. In some instances, also, whsre two letters, or passa-cs of letter-;. r-Uite to the same subject, they have been conv billed. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 3S in their solitary walks and rides to hold, all the time, commun- ion with God. I can very seldom do this. Yesterday I was obliged to take a long walk alone, and it was made very de- lightful in this way ; so that I quite forgot that I was aione. ... I am beginning to feel, that I have enough to do with- out looking out for a great, wide place in which to work, and to appreciate the simple lines : "The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask ; Room to deny ourselves ; a road To bring us daily nearer God." Those words " daily nearer God " have an inexpressible charm for me; I long for such nearness to Him that all other objects shall fade into comparative insignificance, — so that to have a thought, a wish, a pleasure apart from Him shall be impossible. Sej>^. \2tJi. — At Sabbath-school this morning, while talking with my scholars about the Lord Jesus, my heart, which is often so cold and so stupid, seemed completely melted within me, with such a view of His wonderful, wonderful love for sinners, that I almost belived I had never felt it till then. Such a blessing is worth toiling and wrestling for a whole life. If a glimpse of our Saviour here upon earth can be so refresh- ing, so delightful, what will it be in heaven ! Sept. i-]th. — I have been reading to-day some passages from Nevins' " Practical Thoughts." ' Perhaps you have seen tliem ; if so, do you remember two articles headed, '' I must pray more," and "1 must pray differently"? They interested me much because in some measure they express my own feelings. I have less and less confidence in frames., as they are called. I am glad that you think it better to have a few books and to read them over and over, for my own inclination leads me to that. One gets attached to them as to Christian friends. D(j not hesitate to direct me over and over again, to go with dilti- culties and temptations and sin to the Saviour. I love to l)e led there and left there. Sometimes when the exceeding " sin- fulness of sin " becomes painfully apparent, there is nothing; else for the soul to do but to lie in the dust before God, without ' An excellent little work by Rev. William Nevins, D.D. Dr. Nevins was pastor o/ the first Presbyterian Cluirch in Baltimore, where he died in iSj5. at the age of thirty Beven. Me was one of the best preachers and most popular relij^ioas wiitors of his day. ^6 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. a word of excuse, and that feeling of abasement in His sight is worth more than all the pleasures in the world You will believe me if I own myself tired, when I tell you that I made, fourteen calls this afternoon. But even the unpleasant busi- ness of call-making has had one comfort. Some of the friends of whom I took leave, spoke so tenderly of Him whose name is so precious to His children that my heart warmed towards them instantly, and I thought it worth while to have parting hDurs, sad though they may be, if with them cam*, so naturally thoughts of the Saviour. Besides, I have been thinking since I came home, that if I did not love Him, it could not be so re- freshing to hear unexpectedly of Him I did not know that mother had anything to do with your father's conversion, and when I mentioned it to her she seemed much surprised and said she did not know it herself. Pray tell me more of it, will you ? I have felt that if, in the course of my life, I should be the means of leading one soul to the Saviour, it would be worth staying in this world for no matter how many years. Did you ever read Miss Taylor's " Display " ? Sister says the character of Emily there is like mine. I think so myself save in the best point. We come now to an important change In her outward life. She had accepted an invitation to become a teacher in Mr. Persico's school at Richmond, Virginia. Mr. Persico was an Italian, a brother of the sculptor of that name, a number of whose works are seen at Washington. He early became in- terested in our institutions, and as soon as he was able, came to this country and settled in Philadelphia as an artist. He married a lady of that city, and afterward on account of her health went to Richmond, wdiere he opened a boarding and day school for girls. There were four separate departments, one of which was under the sole care of Miss Payson. Her let- ters to her family, written at this time, have all been lost, but \ full record of the larger portion of her Richmond life is preserved in letters to her cousin, Mr. Shipman. The follow- ing extracts from these letters show with what zeal she de- voted herself to her new calling and how absorbed her heart was still in the things of God. They also throw light upon some marked features of her character. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 37 Boston, Septemht y 23. I had, after leaving home, an attack of that terrible pain, of which I have told you, and believed myself very near death. Et became a serious question whether, if God should so plea?e| I could feel willing to die there alone, for I was among entire strangers. I never enjoyed more of His presence than that night when, sick and sad and full of pain, I felt it sweet to put myself in His hands to be disposed of in His own way. The attack referred to in this letter resembled angina pec. toris, a disease to which for many years she was led to con- sider herself liable. Whatever it may have been, its effect was excruciating. - Mother was telling me the other day," she wrote to a friend, '' that in her long life she had never seen an individual suffer more severe bodily pain than she had often tried to relieve in me. I remember scores of such hours of real agony." In the present instance the attack was doubtless brought on, in part at least, by mental agitation. '' No words," she wrote a few months later, '' can describe the anguish of my mind the night I left home ; it seemed to me that all the agony I had ever passed through was condensed into a small space, and I certainly believe that I should die, if left to a higher degree of such pain." Richmond, September 2,0, 1S40 About twelve o'clock, when it was as dark as pitch, we were all ordered to prepare for a short walk. In single file then out we went. It seems that a bridge had been burned lately, and so we were all to go round on foot to another train of cars. There were dozens of bright, crackling bonfires lighted at short intervals all along, and as we wound down narrow, steep and rocky pathways, then up steps which had been rudely cut out in the side of the elevated ground, and as far as we could see before us could watch the long line of moving figures in all varieties of form and color, my spirits rose to the very tip- top of enjoyment. I wished you could have a picture of the whole scene, which, though one of real life, was to me at least exceedingly beautiful. We reached Richmond at one o'clock Mr. Persico was waiting for us and received us cordially iVhen I awoke at eight o'clock, I felt forlorn enough. Imagine, -S TH!" 1 IKK OK MRS. PRENTISS. if you can, the room in which I opened my eyes. It is in the attic, is very low and has two windows. My first thought was " t never can be happy in this miserable hole ; " but in a second this wicked feeling took flight, and I reproached myself for my ingratitude to Him who had preserved me through all my joiirney, had made much of it so delightful and profitable, and who still promised to be with me. Oct. 2. I will try to give you some account of our doings, al- though we are not fully settled. We have risen at six so far, but intend to be up by five if we can wake. As soon as we are dressed I take my Bible out into the entry, where is a window and a quiet corner, and read and think until Louisa' is ready to give me our room and take my place. At nine we go into school, where Miss Lord ' reads a prayer, and from that hour until twelve we are engaged with our respective classes. At twelve we have a recess of thirty minutes. This over, we re- turn again to school, where we stay until three, when we are to dine. All day Saturday we are free. This time we are to have Monday, too, as a special holiday, because of a great Whig convention which is turning the city upside-down. There is one pleasant thing, pleasant to me at least, of which I want to tell you. As Mr. Persico is not a religious man, I supposed we should have no blessing at the table, and was afraid I should get into the habit of failing to acknowledge God there. But I was much affected when, on going to dine the first day I came, he stood leaning silently and reverentially over his chair, as if to allow all of us time for that quiet lifting up of the heart which is ever acceptable in the sight of God. It is very impressive. Miss Lord reads prayers at night, and when Mrs. Persico comes home we are to have singing That passage in the 119th Psalm, of which you speak, is indeed delightful. I will tell you what were some of my medi- tations on it. I thought to myself that if God continued His fjithfulness toward me, I shall have afflictions such as I now know nothing more of than the name, for I need them co/i- stantly. I have trembled ever since I came here at the host of now dilficultics to which I am exposed. Surely I did again and again ask God to decide the question for me as to whether ' Miss Ann Louisa P. Lord. a T^Iiss Susan Lord. THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 35 f should leave home or not, and believed that He had chosen for me. It certainly was against my own inclinations Oct. \2th. — This morning I had a new scholar, a pale, thin little girl who stammers, and when I spoke to her, and she was obliged to answer, the color spread over her face and neck as if she suffered the utmost mortification. I was glad when re- cess came, to draw her close to my side and to tell her that I had a friend afflicted in the same way, and that consequently, I should know how to understand and pity her. She held my hand fast in hers and the tears came stealing down one after another, as she leaned confidingly upon my shoulder, and I could not help crying too, with mingled feelings of gratitude and sorrow. Certainly it will be delightful to soothe and to console this poor little thing You do not like poetry and I have spent the best part of my life in reading or trying to write it. N. P. Willis told me some years ago, that if my hus- band had a soul, he would love me for the poetical in m.e, and advised me to save it for him. Oct. 2']fh. — Sometimes when I feel almost sure that the Sav- iour has accepted and forgiven me and that I belong to Hivi^ I can only walk my room repeating over and over again, Ho7V looiiderful ! And then when my mind strives to take in this love of Christ, it seems to struggle in vain with its own little- ness and falls back weary and exhausted, to wonder again at the heights and depths which surpass its comprehension If there is a spark of love in my heart for anybody, it is for this dear brother of mine, and the desire to have his education thorough and complete has grown with my growth. You, who are not a sister, can not understand the feelings with which I regard him, but they are such as to call forth unbound- ed love and gratitude toward those who show kindness to him. Nov. 3^. — I have always felt a peculiar love for the passage that describes the walk to Emmaus. I have tried to analyse the feeling of pleasure which it invariably sheds over my heart when dwelling upon it, especially upon the words, "Jesus Him- self drew near and went with them," and these, " He made as though He would go further," but yielded to their urgent. "Abide with us." . . This is one of the comforts of the Christian ; God understands him full}^ whether he can explain his troubles or not. Sometimes I think all of a sudden that I 40 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. do not love the Saviour at all, and am ready to believe hat all my pretended anxiety to serve Him has been but a matter ol feeling and not of principle ; but of late I have been less dis- turbed by this imagination, as I find it extends to earthly friends who are dear to me as my own soul. I thought once yesterday that I didn't love anybody in the world and was per- fectly wretched in consequence. Nero. 12///.— The more I try to understand myself, the more I am puzzled. That I am a mixture of contradictions is the opinion I have long had of myself. I call it a compound of sincerity and reserve. Unless you see just what I mean in your own consciousness, I doubt whether I can explain it in words. With me it is both an open and a shut heart — open when and where and as far as I please, and shut as tight as a vise in the same way. I was probably born with this same mixture of frankness and reserve, having inherited the one from my mother and the other from my father I have often thought that, humanly speaking, it would be a strange, and surely a very sad thing if we none of us inherit any of our father's piety ; for when he prayed for his children it was, undoubtedly, that we might be very peculiarly the Lord's. H. was to be the missionary; but if he can not go himself, and is prospered in 'business, I hope he will be able to help send others. I have been frightened, of late, in thinking how little good I am doing in the world. And yet I believe that those who love to do good always find opportunities enough, wherever they are. Whether I shall do any here, I dare not try to guess. Dec. T,d. — How I thank you for the interest you take in my Bible class. They are so attentive to every word I say that it makes me deeply feel the importance of seeking each of those words from the Holy Spirit. Many of them had not even a Bible of their own until now, nor were they in the habit of reading it at all. Among others there are two grand-daughters of Patrick Henry. I wish I could give you a picture of them, as they sit on Sabbath evening around the table with their eyes fixed so eagerly on my face, that if I did not feel that the Lord Jesus was present, I should be overwhelmed with con- fusion at my unworthiness Mr. Persico is a queer man. Last Sabbath Miss L. asked him if he had been to church. "Qui, Mile.," said he; '' vous etiez a Teorlise de I'homme — 7noi THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 4I j'etais a I'eglise de Dieu— dans les bois." There is the bell for prayers ; it is an hour since I began to write, but I have spent a great part of it with my eyes shut because I happened to feel more like meditating than writing, if you know what sort of a feeling that is. Oh, that \vq might be enabled to go onward day by day — and 2ipward too. I have been making violent efforts for years to become meek and lowly in heart. At present I do hope that I am less irrita- ble than I used to be. It was no small comfort to me when sister was home last summer, to learn from her that I had suc- ceeded somewhat in my efforts. But though I have not often the last year been guilty of " harsh speeches," I have felt my pride tugging with all its might to kindle a great fire when some unexpected trial has caught me off my guard. I am per- suaded that real meekness dwells deep within the heart and that it is only to be gained by communion with our blessed Saviour, who when He was reviled, reviled not again. Sabbath Evenim::;, Wi. — I wanted to write last evening but had a worse pain in my side and left arm than I have had since I came here. While it lasted, which was an hour and a half, I had such pleasant thoughts for companions as would make any pain endurable. I was asking myself if, supposing God should please suddenly to take me away in the midst of life, whether I should feel willing and glad to go, and oh, it did seem delightful to think of it, and to feel sure that, sooner or later, the summons will come. Those pieces which you marked in the " Observer" I have read and like them exceedingly, especi- ally those about growth in grace You speak of the goodness of God to me in granting me so much of His pres- ence, while I am here away from all earthly friends. Indeed I want to be able to praise Him as I never yet have done, and I don't know where to begin. I have felt more pain in this sepa- ration from home on mother's account than any other, as I feel that she needs me at home to comfort and to love her. Since she lost her best earthly friend I have been her constant com- panion. I once had a secret desire for a missionary life, if God should see fit to prepare me for it, but when I spoke of it to mother she was so utterly overcome at its bare mention that I instantly promised I would never for any inducement leave or forsake her. I want you to pray for mc that if poor mother's ^2 THE LIFE Ol' MRS. TRENTISS. right hand is made forever useless/ I may after this year oe a right hand for her, and be enabled to make up somewhat to h<:r for the loss of it by affection and tenderness and sympathy. ... I don't remember feeling any way in particular, when I first began to "write for the press," as you call it. I never Ci.uld realise that more than half a dozen people would read my pieces. Besides, I have no desire of the sort you express, Jor fame. 1 care a great deal too much for the approbation cf tliose I love and respect, but not a fig for that of those I don'' like or don't know. II. Her Character as a Teacher. Letters. Incidents of School-Life. Relig:ious Struggles, Aims, and Hopes. Oppressive Heat and Weariness. Miss Payson had been in Richmond but a short time before she became greatly endeared to Mr. and Mrs. Persico, and to the whole school. She had a rare natural gift for teaching. Fond of study herself, she knew how to inspire her pupils with the same feeling. Her method was excellent. It aimed not merely to impart knowledge but to elicit latent powers, and to remove difficulties out of the way. While decided and thorough, it was also very gentle, helpful, and sympathetic. She had a quick perception of mental diversi- ties, saw as by intuition the weak and the strong points of individual character, and was skillful in adapting her influence, as well as her instructions, to the peculiarities of every one under her care. The girls in her own special department almost idolised her. The parents also of some of them, who belonged to Richmond and its vicinity, seeing what she was doing for their daughters, sought her acquaintance and showed her the most grateful affection. Although her school labors were exacting, she carried on a iargc correspondence, spent a good deal of time in her favor ite religious reading, and together with Miss Susan Lord, the ' Referring to a serious accident, by which her mother was for some time deprived of ilie use of her right hand. THK NEW TJKK IN CHRIST. 43 senior teacher and an old Portland friend, pursaed a course oi study in French and Italian. At the table Mr. Persico spoke French, and in this way she was enabled to perfect herself in the practice of that language. Of her spiritual history and of incidents of her school life during the new year, some extracts from letters to her cousin will give her own account. Richmond, January 3, 1S4T, If I tell you that I am going to take under my especial care and protection one of the family — a little girl of eleven years whom nobody can manage at all, you may wonder why. I found on my plate at dinner a note from Mrs. Persico saying that if I wanted an opportunity of doing good, here was one , that if Nannie could sleep in my room, etc., it might be of great benefit to her. The only reason why I hesitated was the fear that she might be in the way of our best hours. But 1 have thought all along that I was living too much at my ease, and wanted a place in which to deny myself for the sake of the One who yielded up every comfort for my sake. Nannie has a fine character but has been mismanaged at home, and since coming here. She often comes and puts her arms around me and says, "There is ofie in this house who loves me, I do kfiow** I receive her as a trust from God, with earnest prayer to Him that we may be enabled to be of use to her. From morning to night she is found fault with, and this is spoiling her temper and teaching her to be deceitful I have been reading lately the Memoir of Martyn. I have, of course, read it more than once before, but everything appears to me now in such a different light. I rejoice that I have been led to read the book just now. It has put within me new and peculiar de- sires to live wholly for the glory of God. Jan. i7,t/i. — I understand the feeling about wishing one's self a dog, or an animal without a soul. I have sat and watched a little kitten frisking about in the sunshine till I could hardly help killing it in my envy — but oh, how different it is now ! I have felt lately that perhaps God has something for me to do in the world. I am satisfied, indeed, that in calling me nearer to Himself He has intended to prepare me for His service. Where that is to be is no concern of mine as yet. I only wish to belong to Him and wait for His will, whatever it may be. 'W TIIK I.IFK C)V MRS. PrEN'TISS. /an. 14///.— I used to go tlirougli with prayer merely as i duty, but now I look forward to the regular time for it, and iKiil op|)()rtunitics for special seasons with such delight is 1 once knew nothing of. Sometimes my heart feels ready to break for the longing it hath for a nearer appro:ich to the Lord Jesus than I can obtain without the use of words, and there is not a corner of the house which I can have to myself. I think sometimes that I should be thankful for the meanest place in flic universe. You ask if I ever dream of seeing the Lord. N0--I never did, neither should I think it desirable ; but a few days ago, when I woke, I had fresh in my remembrance some precious words which, as I had been dreaming, He had spoken to me. It left an indescribable feeling of love and peace on my mind. I seemed in my dream to be very near Him, and th.at He was encouraging me to ask of Him all the things of which I felt the need. /(I//. 17///. — I did not mean to write so much about myself, for when I took out my letter I was thinking of things and be- ings far above this world. I was thinking of the hour when the Christian first enters into the joy of his Lord, when the first note of the " new song " is borne to his ear, and the first view of tlie Lamb of God is granted to his eye. It seems to me as if tlie bliss of that one minute would fully compensate for all the toils and struggles he must go through here ; and then to remember the ages of happiness that begin at that point I Oh, if the unseen presence of Jesus can make the heart to sing for joy in the midst of its sorrow and sin here, what will it be to dwell with Him forever! My Piible class, which consists now of eighteen, is every week more dear to me. I am glad that you think poor Nannie well off. She has an incpiiring mind, and though before coming here she had received no religious instruction and had not f\cn a nii)le, she is now constantly asking me questions which prove In r to be a first-rate thinker and reasoner. She went to ihc theatre last night and came home quite disgusted, saying to h Tself, '* I shouldn't like to die in the miist of such gayeties ns these." She urged me to tell her if I thought it wrong for her to go, but I would not, because I did not want her to stay away for my sake. I want her to settle the question fairly in h-r own mind and to be guided by her own conscience rather THE NEW LIEE IN CHRIST. 41, than mine. She is so grateful and happy tliat, if the sacrifice had been greater, we should be glad that we had made it. And then if we can do her any good, how much reason we shall have to thank God for having placed her here ! Feb. 11th. — My thoughts of serious things should, perhaps. be called prayers, rather than anything else. I have consta'U need of looking up to God for help, so -utterly weak ai^d igno- rant am I and so dependent upon Him. Sometimes in my walks, especially those of the early morning, I take a verse from the " Daily Food " to think upon ; at others, if my mind is where I want it should be, everything seems to speak and suggest thoughts of my Heavenly Father, and when it is other- wise I feel as if that time had been wasted. This is not " keep- ing the mind on the stretch," and is delightfully refreshing. All I wish is that I were always thus favored. As to a hasty temper, I know that anybody who ever lived with me, until with- in the last two or three years, could tell you of many instances of outbreaking passion. I am ashamed to say how recently the last real tempest occurred, but I will not spare myself. It was in the spring of 1838, and I did not eat anything for so long that I was ill in bed and barely escaped a fever. Mother nursed me so tenderly that, though she forgave me, I never shall forgive myself. Since then I should not wish you to suppose that I have been perfectly amiable, but for the last year I think I have been enabled in a measure to control my temper, but of that you know more than I do, as 3^ou had a fair specimen of what I am when with us last summer. It has often been a source of encouragement to me that everybody said I was gentle and amiable till my father's death, when I was nine years old. . . . While reading to-night that chapter in Mark, where it speaks of Jesus as walking on the sea, I was interested in thinking how frequently such scenes occur in our spiritual passage over the sea which is finally to land us on the shores of the home for which we long. "While they were toiling in rowing," Jesus went to them upon the water and "would have passed by" till He heard their cries, and then He manifested Himself unto them saying, "// is /." And when He came to them, the wind ceased and they "wondered." Surely we have often found in our toiling tliat Jesus was passing by and ready at the first irembling fear to speak the word of love and of consolation ^6 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. and to give us the needed help, and then to leave us itm'Jering indeed at the infinite tenderness and kindness so unexpectedly vouchsafed for our relief. Feb. 13M.— I do 7iot think we should make our enjoyment cl religion the greatest end of our struggle against sin. I never once had such an idea. I think we should fight against sin simply because it is something hateful to God, because it is something so utterly unlike the spirit of Christ, whom it is our privilege to strive to imitate in all things. On all points con- nected with the love I wish to give my Saviour, and the service I am to render Ilim, I feel that I want teaching and am glad to obtain assistance from any source. I hardly know how to answer your question. I do not have that constant sense of the Saviour's presence which I had here for a long time, neither do I feel that I love Him as I thought I did, but it is not always best to judge of ourselves by our feelings, but by the general principle and guiding desire of the mind. I do think that my prevailing aim is to do the will of God and to glorify Him in everything. Of this I have thought a great deal of late. I have not a very extensive sphere of action, but I want my con- duct, my every word and look and motion, to be fully under the influence of this desire for the honor of God. You can have no idea of the constant observation to which I am exposed here. Feb. 2isf. — I spent three hours this afternoon in taking care of a little black child (belonging to the house), who is very ill, and as I am not much used to such things, it excited and wor- ried me into a violent nervous headache. I finished Brain- erd's Life this afternoon, amid many doubts as to whether I ever loved the Lord at all, so different is my piety from that of this blessed and holy man. The book has been a favorite with me for years, but I never felt the influence of his life as I have while reading it of late. She alludes repeatedly in her correspondence to the delight which she found on the Sabbath in listening to that eminent preacher and divine, the Rev. Dr. Wm. S. Plumer, who was then settled in Richmond. In a letter to her cousin she writes : I have become much attached to him ; he seems "nore than THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 47 half in heaven, and every word is lull of solemnity and feeling, as if he had just held near intercourse with God. I wish that you could have listened with me to his sermons to-day. They have been, I think, blessed messages from God to my soul. All her letters at this time glow with religious fervor. " How wonderful is our divine Master!" she seemed to be always saying to herself. '^ It has become so delightful to me to speak of His love, of His holiness, of His purity, that when I try to write to those who know Him not, I hardly know what is vv^orthy of even a mention, if He is to be forgotten." And several years afterwards she refers to this period as a time when she '* shrank from everything that in the slightest degree interrupted her consciousness of God." The following letter to a friend, whose name will often re- cur in these pages, well illustrates her state of mind during the entire winter. , Your very welcome letter, my dear Anna, arrived this after- noon, and, as my labors for the week are over, I am glad Anna s. of a quiet hour in which to thank you for it. I do not Richmo)id, thank you simply because you have so soon answered Feb^ 26, j^y letter, but because you have told me what no one else could do so well about your own very dear self. When I wrote you I doubted very much whether I might even allude to the subject of religion, although I wished to do so, since that al- most exclusively has occupied my mind during the last year. I saw you in the midst of temptations to which I have ever been a stranger, but which I conceived to be decidedly unfavorable to growth in any of the graces which make up Christian character. It was not w^ithout hesitation that I ventured to yield to the promptings of my heart, and to refer to the only things wliich have at present much interest for it. I can not tell you how I do rejoice that you have been led to come out thus upon the Lord's side, and to consecrate yourself to His service. My own views and feelings have within the last year undergone such an en- tire change, that I have wished I could take now some such Stand in the presence of all who have known me in days past, as this which you have taken. My first and only wish is hence- forth to live but for Him, who has graciously drawn my wan- 48 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS derinrr affections to Himself You speak of the faintness of your heart — but " they who wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength," and I do believe the truth of these precious words; not only because they are those of God, but also be cause my own experience adds happy witness to them. I have lived many years with only just enough of hope to keep me fn)m actual despair. The least breath was sufficient to scatter it all and to leave me, fearful and afraid, to go over and over again the same ground ; thus allowing neither time nor strength for progress in the Christian course. I trust that you will not go through years of such unnecessary darkness and despondency. There is certainly enough in our Saviour, if we only open our eyes that we may see it, to solve every doubt and satisfy every longing of the heart; and He is willing to give it in full measure. When I contemplate the character of the Lord Jesus, I am filled with wonder which I can not express, and with unutterable desires to yield myself and my all to His hand, to be dealt with in His own way ; and His way is a blessed one, so that it is delightful to resign body and soul and spirit to Him, without a will opposed to His, without a care but to love Him more, without a sorrow which His love can not sanctify or remove. In following after Him faithfully and steadfastly, the feeblest hopes may be strengthened; and I trust that you will find in your own happy experience that "joy and peace" go hand in hand with love — so that in pro- portion to your devotion to the Saviour will be the blessedness of your life. When I begin I hardly know where to stop, and now I find myself almost at the end of my sheet before I have begun to say what I wish. This will only assure you that I love you a thousand times better than I did when I did not know that your heart was filled with hopes and affections like my own, and that I earnestly desire, if Providence permits us to enjoy intercourse in this or in any other way, we may never lose sight of the una great truth that we are ml our mv/i. I pi ay you sonietimes remember me at the throne of grace. The more I see of the Saviour, tiie more I feel my own weak- ness and helplessness and my need of His constant presence, and I can not help asking assistance from all those who love ^^in"* ^^'^ how sorry I am that I have come to the end ! \ wish I luid any faculty for expressing affection, so that I THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 49 might tell you how much I love and hew often I think of you. ., Her cousin having gone abroad, a break in the correspond^ ence with him occurred about this time and continued for sev- eral months. In a letter to her friend, Miss Thurston, dated April 2ist, she thus refers to her school: There are six of us teachers, five of them born in Maine — which is rather funny, as that is considered by most of the folks here as the place where the world comes to an end. Al- though the South lifts up its wings and crows over the Nortli, it is glad enough to get its teachers there, and ministers too, and treats them very well when it gets them, into the bargain. We have in the school about one hundred and twenty-five pu- pils of all ages. I never knew till I came here the influence which early religious education exerts upon the whole future age. There is such a wonderful difference between most of these young people and those in the North, that you might al- most believe them another race of beings. Mrs. Persico is beautiful, intelligent, interesting, and pious. Mr. Persico is just as much like John Neal as difference of education and of circumstances can permit. Mr. N.'s strong sense of justice, his enthusiasm, his fun and wit, his independence and self-esteem, his tastes, too, as far as I know them, all exist in like degree in Mr. Persico. The early spring, with its profusion of flowers of every hue, so far in advance of the spring in her native State, gave her the utmost pleasure ; but as the summer approached, her health began to suffer. The heat was very intense, and hot weather always affected her unhappily. *' I feel," she wrote, "as if I were in an oven with hot melted lead poured over my brain." Her old trouble, too — '' organic disease of the heart " it was now suspected to be — caused her much discomfort. " While writing," she says in one of her letters, " I am suffer- ing excruciating pain ; I can't call it anything else." Her physical condition naturally affected more or less her religious feelings. Under date of July 12th, she writes: 4 -O THE I.IM". <>1' MKS. PIIENTISS. The word cofijlict expresses better than any other my general state from day to day. I have seemed of late like a straw tloating ui)on the surface of a great ocean, blown hither and thither by every wind, and tossed from wave to wave without the rest of a moment. It was a mistake of mine to imagine that God ever intended man to rest in this world. I see that it is riglit and wise in Him to appoint it otherwise While s'^iffering from my Saviour's absence, nothing interests me. But I was somewhat encouraged by reading in my fa- ther's memoir, and in reflecting that he passed through far greater spiritual conflicts than will probably ever be mine. .... I see now that it is not air. ays best for us to have the light of God's countenance. Do not spend your time and strength in asking for me that blessing, but this— that I may be transformed into the image of Ciirist in His own time, in His own way. Early in August she left Richmond and flew homeward like a bird to its nest. HI. Extracts from her Richmond Journal. Were her letters to her cousin the only record of Miss Payson's Richmond life, one might infer that they give a com- plete picture of it ; for they were written in the freedom and confidence of Christian friendship, with no thought that a third eye would ever see them. But it had another and hid- di'u side, of which her letters contain only a partial record. Her early habit of keeping a journal has been already referred to. Slic kept one at Richmond, and was prevented several years later from destroying it, as she had destroyed others, by the entreaty of the only person who ever saw it. This jour- nal depicts many of her most secret thoughts and feelings both earthward and hea\enward. Some passages in it are of too personal a nature for Dublication, but the following ex- THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 5 tracts seem fairly entitled to a place here, as they bring out several features of her character with sunlike clearness, and so will help to a better understanding of the ensuing narrative • Richmond, October 2, 1840. How funny it seems here ! Everything is so different from home ! I foresee that I shan't live nearly a year under these new influences without changing my old self into something else. Heaven forbid that I should grow old because people treat me as if I were grown up ! I hate old young folks. Well ! whoever should see me and my scholars would be at a loss to know wherein consists the difference between them and me, I am only a little girl after all, and yet folks do treat me as if I were as old and as wise as Methusaleh. And Mr. Persico says, " Oui, Madame." Oh ! oh ! oh ! It makes me feel so ashamed when these tall girls, these damsels whose hearts are developed as mine won't be these half dozen years (to say nothing of their minds), ask me if they may go to bed, if they may walk, if they may go to Mr. So-and-so's, and Miss Such-a-one's to buy — a stick of candy for aught I know. Oh, oh, oh ! I shall have to take airs upon myself. I shall have to leave off little words and use big ones. I shall have to leave off sitting curled up on my feet, turkey-fashion. I shall have to make wise speeches (But a word in your ear, Miss — I wont). Oct. 27///. — This Richmond is a queer sort of a place and I should be as miserable in it as a fish out of water, only there is sunshine enough in my heart to make any old hole bright. In the first place, this dowdy chamber is in one view a perfect den — no carpet, whitewashed walls, loose windows that have the shaking palsy, fire-red hearth, blue paint instead of white, or rather a suspicion that there was once some blue paint here. But what do I care ? I'm as merry as a grig from morning till night. The little witches down-stairs love me dearly, every- body is kind, and — and — and — when everybody is locked out and I am locked into this same room, this low attic, there's not a king on the earth so rich, so happy as I ! Here is my little pet desk, here are my books, my papers. I can write and read and study and moralise, I don't pretend to say ///////.'— and then besides, every morning and every night, within these four walls, heaven itself refuses not to enter in and dwell— and I 52 THE I. IFF. OF MI^S. PRENTISS. may grow bettor and better and happier and happier in bless edness with which nothing may intermeddle. Mr. Persico is a man by himself, and quite interes ing to mo in one way, that is, in giving me something to puzzle out. I like him for his exquisite taste in the picture line and for hav- ing adorned his rooms with such fine ones — at least they're fine to my inexperienced eye ; for when I'm in the mood, I can go and sit and dream as it seemeth me good over them, and as I dream, won't good thoughts come into my heart ? As to Mrs. P., I hereby return my thanks to Nature for making her so beautiful. She has a face and figure to fall in love with. K. has also a fine face and a delicate little figure. Miss 1 shall avoid as far as I can do so. I do not think her opinions and feelings would do me any good. She has a fine mind and likes to cul- tivate it, and for that I respect her, but she has nothing natu- ral and girlish in her, and I am persuaded, never had. She liates little children ; says she hates to hear them laugh, thinks them little fools. Why, how odd all this is to me ! I could as soon hate the angels in heaven and hate to hear them sing. That, to be sure, is my way, and the other way is hers — but somehow it doesn't seem good-hearted to be so very, very su- perior to children as to shun the little loving beautiful crea- tures. I don't believe I ever s/ia// grow up ! But, Miss , I don't want to do you injustice, and Pm much obliged to you for all the flattering things you've said about me, and if you like my eyes and think there is congeniality of feeling betw^een us, why, I thank you. But oh, don't teach me that the wisdom of the world consisteth in forswearing the simple beauties with which life is full. Don't make me fear my own happy girlhood by talking to me about love — oh, don't ! Dtr. I.— I wonder if all the girls in the world are just alike ? Seems to me they might be so sweet and lovable if they'd leave off chattering forever and ever about lovers If mothers would keep their little unfledged birds under iheir own wings, wouldn't they make better mother-birds? Now some girls down-stairs, who ought to be thinking about all the beautiful things in life but just lovers, are reading novels, love stories and poetry, till they can't care for anything else. . . . Now, Lizzy Payson, where's the use of fretting so ? Go right to work reading Leighton and you'll forget that all the world THE NEW LIFE IX ClIRISl. 53 isn't as wise as you think you are, you little vain thing, you ! Alas and alas, but this is such a nice world, and the girls don't know it ! Dec. 2. — What a pleasant walk I had this rnorning on Ambler's tlill. The sun rose while I was there and I was so happy ' The little valley, clothed with white houses and completely en- circled by hills, reminded me of the verse about the mountains round about Jerusalem. Nobody was awake so early and I had all the great hill to myself, and it was so beautiful that 1 could have thrown myself down and kissed the earth itself. Oh, sweet and good and loving Mother Nature ! I choose you for my own. I will be your little lady-love. I will hunt you out whenever you hide, and you shall comfort me when I am sad, and laugh with me when I'm merry, and take me by the hand and lead me onward and upward till the image of tlie heavenly forceth out that of the earthly from my whole heart cind soul. Oh, how I prayed for a holy heart on that hillside and liow sure I am that I shall grow better ! and what companion able thoughts I've had all day for that blessed walk ! 2)th. — My life is a nice little life just now, as regular as clock work. We walk and we keep school, and our scholars kiss and love us, and we kiss and love them, and we read Lamartine and I worship Leighton, good, wise, holy Leighton, and we discourse about everything together and dispute and argue and argue and dispute, and I'm quite happy, so I am ! As to Lamartine, he's no great things, as I know of, but I want to keep up my knowledge of French and so we read twenty pages a day. And as to our discourses, r^y fidgety, moralising sort of mind wants to compare its doctrines with those of other people, though it's as stiff as a poker in its own opinions. You're a very con sistent little girl ! you call yourself a child, are afraid to ojxm. your mouth before folks, and yet you're as obstinate and proud as a little man, daring to think for yourself and act accord- ingly at the risk of being called odd and incomprcliensible. 1 don't care, though ! Run on and break your neck if you will. Vou're nothing especial after all. 9///. — To-night, in unrolling a bundle of v/ork I found a little note therein from mother. Whew, how I kissed it ! I thought I should fly out of my senses, I was so glad. But I can't Hy now-a-days, I'm growing so unetherial. Whv, I take up a lot 54 THE I!FK OF MRS. PRENTISS. of loom in the world and my frocks won't hold me. That's because my heart is so quiet, lying as still as a mouse, after all its tossings about and trying to be happy in the things of this life. Oh, I am so happy now in the other life ! But as for tell- ing other people so— as for talking religion — I don't see how I can. It doesn't come natural. Is it because I am proud ? But I pray to be so holy, so truly a Christian, that my life shall speak and gently persuade all who see me to look for the hid- den spring of my perpetual happiness and quietness. The only- question is : Do I live so? I'm afraid I make religion seem too grave a thing to my watching maidens down-stairs ; but, oh, I'm afraid to rush into their pleasures. 25///. — .... I've been "our Lizzy " all my life and have not had to display my own private feelings and opinions before folks, but have sat still and listened and mused and lived with- in myself, and shut myself up in my corner of the house and speculated on life and the things thereof till I've got a set of notions of my own which Aovit fit into the notions of anybody I know. I don't open myself to anybody on earth ; I can not ; there is a world of something in me which is not known to those about me and perhaps never will be ; but sometimes I think it would be delicious to love a mind like mine in some things, only better, wiser, nobler. I do not quite understand life. People don't live as they were made to live, I'm sure. . . . . I want soul. I want the gracious, glad spirit that finds the good and the beautiful in everything, joined to the manly, ex- alted intellect — rare unions, I am sure, yet possible ones. Lit- tle girl ! Do you suppose such a soul would find anything in yours to satisfy it ? No — no — no — I do not. I know I am a poor little goose which ought to be content with some equally poor little gander, but I ivont. I'll never give up one inch of the.se tlic demands of my reason and of my heart for all the truths you tell iiKr about myself — never ! But descend from your ele- vation, oh speculating child of mortality, and go down to school. Oil, no, no school for a week, and I guess I'll spend the week in fancies and follies. It won't hurt me. I've done it before and got back to the world as satisfied as ever, indeed 1 have. Jan. I, 1 84 1. —We've been busy all the week getting our pres- ents ready for the servants, and a nice time I've had this morning THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 55 seeing them show their ivory thereat. James made a little speech, the amount of which was, he hoped I wouldn't get mar- ried till I'd "done been" here two or three years, because my face was so pleasant it was good to look at it ! I was as proud as Lucifer at this compliment, and shall certainly look pleasant all day to-day, if I never did before. Monsieur and the j-est wished me, I won't say how many, good wishes, rushing at me as I went in to breakfast— and Milly privately informed Lucy that she liked Miss Payson " a heap " better than she did any body else, and then came and begged me to buy her ! I buy her ! Heaven bless the poor little girl. I had some presents and af- fectionate notes from different members of the family and from my scholars — also letters from sister and Ned, which delighted me infinitely more than I'm going to tell jw/, old journal. Took tea at Mr. P.'s and Mrs. P. laughed at her husband because he had once an idea of going to New England to get my little ladyship to wife (for the sake of my father, of course). Mr. P. blushed like a boy and fidgeted terribly, but I didn't care a snap — I am not old enough to be wife to anybody, and I'm not going to mind if people do joke with me about it. I've had better things to think of on this New Year's day — good, heaven; ward thoughts and prayers and hopes, and if I do not become more and more transformed into the Divine, then are prayers and hopes things of nought. Oh, how dissatisfied I am with myself. How I long to be like unto Him into whose image I shall one day be changed when I see Him as He is ! I believe nobody understands me on religious points, for I can not, and, it seems to me, need not parade my private feelings be- fore the world. Cousin G., God bless him ! knows enough, and yet my letters to him do not tell the hundredth part of tliat which these four walls might tell, if they would. I do not know that I am not wrong, but I do dislike the present style of talking on religious subjects. Let people pray — earnestly, fervently, not simply morning and night, but the whole day long^ making their lives one continued prayer ; but, oh, don't let them tell others of, or let others know half how much of communion with Heaven is known to their own hearts. Is it not true tluit those who talk most, go most to meetings, run hither and thither to all sorts of societies and all sorts of readings — is il not true that such people would not find peace and content 56 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. mcnt— yes, blessedness of blessedness— in solitary hours when to the Searcher of hearts alone are known their aspirations and their love ? I do not know, I am puzzled ; but I may say here, where nobody will ever see it, what I do think, and I say it to my own heart as well as over the hearts of others— there is not enough of real, true communion with God, not enough near- ness to Him, not enough heart-searching before Him ; and too much parade and bustle and noise in doing His work on earth. Oh, I do not know exactly what I mean— but since I have heard so many apparently Christian people ow^n that of this sense of nearness to God they know absolutely nothing— that they pray because it is their habit without the least expectation of meet- ing the great yet loving Father in their closets— since I have heard this I am troubled and perplexed. Why, is it not indeed true that the Christian believer, God's own adopted, chosen, beloved child, may speak face to face with his Father, humbly, reverently, yet as a man talketh with his friend ? Is it not true ? Do not I know that it is so ? Oh, I sometimes want the wisdom of an angel that I may not be thus disturbed and wearied. 1 4///._Now either Miss 's religion is wrong and mine rJglit, or else it's just the other way. I wrote some verses, funny ones, and sent her to-day, and she returned for answer that verse in Proverbs about vinegar on nitre, and seemed dis- tressed that I ever had such worldly and funny thoughts. I told her I should like her better if she ever had any but solemn ones, whence we rushed into a discussion about proprieties and I maintained that a mind was not in a state of religious health, it' it could not safely indulge in thoughts funny as funny could be. Siie shook her head and looked as glum as she could, and I'm really sorry that I vexed her righteous soul, though I'm sure I feel funny ever so much of the time, can not help saying funny things and cutting up capers now and then. I'll take care not to marry a glum man, anyhow; not that I want my future lord and master to be a teller of stories, a wit, or a par- ticularly funny man — but he shan't wear a long face and make nie wear a long one, though he may be as pious as the day is long and viust be, what's more. Oh, my ! I don't think I was so very naughty. I saw Miss laughing privately at these same verses, and she rushed in to Mrs. P. and read them to her tnd then copied them for her aunt and paid twenty-five cents THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 57 postage on the letter. I should like to know how she dared waste so much time in unholy employments ! As I was saying, and am always thinking, it's rather queer that people are so oddly different in their ideas of religion. Heaven forbid I should trifle with serious and holy thoughts of my head and heart— but if my religion is worth a straw, such verse-writing will not disturb it. January i6t/i. — I wonder what's got into me to-day — I feel cross, without the least bit of reason for so feeling. I guess I'm not well, for I'm sure I've felt like one great long sunbeam, I don't know how many months, and it doesn't come natural to be fretful. 17M. — I knew I wasn't well yesterday and to-day am half sick. We got through breakfast at twenty minutes to eleven, and as I was up at seven, I got kind o' hungry and out of sorts. This afternoon went to church and heard one of Dr. E.'s argu- mentative sermons. But there's something in those Prayer- book prayers, certainly, if men won't or can't put any grace into their sermons. I wish I had a perfect ideal Sunday in my head or heart, or both. If I'm very good I'm tired at night, and if I'm bad my conscience smites me — so any way I'm not very happy just now and I'm sick and mean to go to bed and so ! i8//^.— Had a talk with Nannie. She has a thoughtful mind and who knows but we may do her some good. I love to have her here, and for once in my life like to feel a little bit — just the least bit — old; that is, old enough to give a little sage advice to the poor thing, when she asks it. She says she won't read any more novels and will read the Bible and dear knows what else she said about finding an angel for me to marry, which heaven forbid she should do, since I'm too fond of being a little mite naughty, to desire anything of that sort. After she. was in bed she began to say her prayers most vehemently and among other things, prayed for Miss Payson. I had the strangest sensation, and yet an almost heavenly one, if I may say so. May it please Heaven to listen to her prayer for me, and mine for her, dear child. But suppose I do her no good w\i\\& she lives so under my wing? igf/i. — Up early — walked and read Leighton. Mr. P. amused us at dinner by giving a funny account in his funny way, of a mistake of E H. 's. She asked me the French for as. jg Tin- LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. "Aussi" cir.oth I. Thereupon she tucked a great O. C. mto her exercise and took it to him and they jabbered and sput- tered over it, and she insisted that Miss Payson said so and he put his face right into hers and said, Will you try to prove that Miss Payson is a fool, you little goose?" and at last Miss A understood and explained. Read Leighton after school and thirty-two pages of Lamartine-then Mr. P. calkd-then Mis- teased me" to love her and kept me in her paws till the bell rang for tea. Why can't I like her? I should be so ashamed if I should find out after all that she is as good as she seems, but I never did get cheated yet when I trusted my own mother wits, my instinct, or whatever it is by which I know folks— and she is found wanting by this something. 28M.— Mrs. Persico has comforted me to-day. She says Mr. T. came to Mr. P. with tears in his eyes (could such a man shed tears?) and told him that I should be the salvation of his child— that she was already the happiest and most altered creature, and begged him to tell me so. I was ashamed and happy too— but I think Mr. P. should have told him that if good has been done to Nannie, it is ^j- much— to say the least- owing to Louisa as to me. L. always joins me in everything I do and say for her, and I would not have even an accident de- prive her of her just reward for anything. Nannie sat on the floor to-night in her night-gowm, thinking. At last she said, " Miss Payson ? " " Well, little witch ? " " You wouldn't care much if you should die to-night, should you?" "No, I think not." "Nor I," said she. "Why, do you think you should be better off than you are here?" "Yes, in heaven," said she. " Why how do you know you'll go to heaven ? " She looked at me seriously and said, "Oh, I don't know— I don't know— I don't think I should like to go to the other place." We had then a long talk with her and it seems she's a regular little believer in Purgatory — but I wouldn't dispute with her. I jruess there's a way of getting at her heart better than that. .... Why is it that I have such a sensitiveness on religious points, sucli a dread of having my own private aims and emc»- tions known by those about me ? Is it right? I should like to be just what the Christian ought to be in these relations. Miss expects me to make speeches to her, but I can ?iot. If 1 thought I knew ever so much, I could not, and she annoys me Till-: NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. jg SO. Oh, I wish it didn't hurt my soul so to touch it ! It's just like a butterfly's wing-people can't help tearing off the very invisible down, so to speak, for which they take a fancy to it if they get it between fingers and thumb, and so I have to suffer foi their curiosity's sake. Am I bound to reveal my heart-life to everybody who asks } Must I not believe that the heavenly love may, in one sense, be hidden from outward eye and out- ward touch .? or am I wrong ? Feb. I, 1841.— Rose later than usual— cold, dull, rainy morn- ing. Read in Life of Wilberforce. Defended Nannie with more valor than discretion. This evening the storm departed and the moonlight was more beautiful than ever ; and I was so sad and so happy, and the life beyond and above seemed so beautiful. Oh, how I have longed to-day for heaven within my own soul ! There has been much unspoken prayer in my heart to-night. I don't know what I should do if I could have my room all to myself— and not have people know it if even a good thought comes into my mind. I shall be happy in heaven, I know I shall— for even here prayer and praise are so infinitely more delightful than anything else. 3^.— Woke with headache, got through school as best I could, then came and curled myself up in a ball in the easy- chair and didn't move till nine, when I crept down to say good-bye to poor Mrs. Persico. Miss L. and Miss J. received me in their room so tenderly and affectionately that I was ashamed. What makes them love me .? I am sure I should not think they could. 10//..— I wonder who folks think I am, and what they think? Sally R sent me up her book of autographs with a request that I would add mine. I looked it over and found very great names, and did not know whether to laugh or cry at her funny request, which I couldn' t have made up my mouth to grant. How queer it seems to me that people won't let me be a little gin and will act as if I were an old maid or matron of ninety- nine ! Poor Mr. Persico is terribly unhappy and walks up and down perpetually with such a step. ^^^f ~" I am sure that in these little thin^rs God's hand is just as clearly to be seen as in His wonderful worl<^ of power, and tried to make Miss see this, but she either couldn't or wouldn't. It seems to me that God is my Father 6o TIIK LIFE OF MRS. ITIENTISS. my own Father, and it is so natural to turn right to Hun, ever> minute almost, with cither thank-offerings or petition., that I never once stop to ask if such and such a matter is sufficiently great for 1 1 is notice. Miss seemed quite astonished when I said so. . . w ^(^th— I've been instituting an inquiry into myselt to-day and have been worthily occupied in comparing myself to an onion, though in view of the fragrance of that highly useful vegetable, I hope the comparison won't go on all tours But I have as many natures as an onion has— what d'ye call 'em— coats ? First the outside skin or nature— kind o' tough and ugly ; ^//vbody may see that and welcome. Then comes my next nature— a little softer— a little more removed from curious eyes ; then my inner one— myself— that 'ere little round ball which nobody ever did or ever will see the w^hole of— at least, s'pose not. Now most people see only the outer rind— a brown, red, yellow, tough skin and that's all ; but I tJiink there's something inside that's better and more truly an onion than might at first be guessed. And so I'm an onion and that's the end. jy/// _Mi-s. P.'s birthday, in honor of which cake and wine. Mr. P. was angry with us because we took no wine. If he hac asked me civilly to drink his wife's health, I should probably have done so, but I am not to be frightened into anything. I made a funny speech and got him out of his bearish mood, and then we all proceeded to the portico to see if the new President had arrived — by which means we obtained a satis- factory view of two cows, three geese, one big boy in a white apron and one small one in a blue apron, three darkies of femi- nine gender and one old horse ; but Harrison himself we saw not. Mr. Persico says it's Tyler's luck to get into office by the dcalh of his superior, and declares Harrison must inf^iUibly die to secure John Tyler's fate. It's to be hoped this w^on't be the case. ' i^farch 6t/i. — Miss L. read to us to-day some sprightly and amusing little notes written her years ago by a friend with whom she still corresponds. I was struck with the contrast between these youthful and light-hearted fragments and her present letters, now that she is a wife and mother. I wonder > But, singularly enoiip:!), it was. President Harrison died April 4, 1S41, just a niuuth liter liis inaui;uialit>n, and Mi. I'yler succeeded liiui. ^ THE NEW LIFE IN CHRIST. 6l if there is always this difference between the girl and woman ^ If so, heaven forbid I should ever cease to be a child ! iSt/i. — Headache — Nannie sick ; held her in my arms twa or three hours ; had a great fuss with her about taking her medicine, but at last out came my word ??iiist, and the little witch knew it meant all it said and down went the oil in a jitfy, while I stood by laughing at myself for my pretension of dig- nity. The poor child couldn't go to sleep till she had thankcil me over and over for making her mind and for taking care of her, and wouldn't let go my hand, so I had to sit up until very late — and then I was sick and sad and restless, for I couldn't have my room to myself and the day didn't seem finished with- out it. It is a perfect mystery to me how folks get along with so little praying. Their hearts must be better than mine, or some- thing. What is it ? But if God sees that the desire of my whole heart is to-night — has been all day — towards Himself, will He not know this as prayer, answer it as such ? Yes, prayer is certainly something more than bending of the knees and earnest words, and I do believe that goodness and mercy will descend upon me, though with my lips I ask not. 2^th. — Had a long talk with Mr. Persico about my style of governing. He seemed interested in what I had to say about appeals to the conscience, but said my youthful entkusias??i would get cooled down when I knew more of the world. I told him, very pertly, that I hoped I should never know the world then. He laughed and asked, "You expect to make out of these stupid children such characters, such hearts as yours ? " " No — but better ones." He shook his head and said I had put him into good humor. I don't know what he meant. I've been acting like Sancho to-day — rushing up stairs two at a time, frisking about, catching up Miss J in all her maiden dignity and tossing her right into the midst of our bed. Who's going to be " schoolma'am " out of school ? Not I ! I mean to l)e jubt as funny as I please, and what's more I'll make Miss funny, too, — that I will ! She'd have so much more health — Christian health, I mean — if she would leave off trying to gel to heaven in such a dreadful bad "way." I can't think rcii^^ion makes such a long, gloomy face. It must be that she is wrong or else I am. I wonder which? Why it's all sunshine to me— and all clouds to her ! Poor Miss , you might be so happy 52 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. April 9M.— Holidav. We all took a long walk, which I en 'oved hi^rhly I was in a half moralising mood all thp way wanted to be by myself very much. We talked more than usual about home and I grew so sad. Oh, I wonder if any. body loves me as Hove! I wonder ! I long for mother, and if I could just see her and know that she is happy and that she will be well again ! It is really a curious question with me, whether provided I ever fall in love (for V\\ fall in love, else not go in at all) I shall leave off loving mother best of any- body in the world ? I suppose I shall be in love sometime or other, but that's nothing to do with me now nor I with it. I've got my hands full to take care of my naughty little self. i7///,_Mrs. Persico got home to-night' and what a meeting we had ! what rejoicing ! How beautiful she looked as she sat in her low chair, and we stood and knelt in a happy circle about her ! A queen— an angel— could not have received love and homage with a sweeter grace. Sue Irvine cried an hour for joy and I wished I were one of the crying sort, for I'm sure 1 was glad enough to do almost anything. Beautiful woman ! We sang to her the Welcome Home, Miss F. singing as much with her eyes as with her voice, and Mr. and Mrs. Persico both cried, he like a little child. Oh, that such evenings as this came oftener in one's life ! All that was beautiful and good in each of our hidden natures came dancing out to greet her at her coming, and all petty jealousies were so quieted and— why, what a rhapsody I'm writing ! And to-morrow, our good better natures tucked away, dear knows where, we shall de- scend with business-like airs to breakfast, wish each other good morning, pretend that we haven't any hearts. Oh, is this life ! I won't l)elieve it. Our good genius has come back to us ; now all things will again go on smoothly ; once more I can be a little girl and frolic up here instead of playing Miss Dignity down-stairs. Max itli. — This evening I passed unavoidably through Miss 's room. She was reading Byron as usual and looked sc 'vretched and restless, that I could not help yielding to a lov- ing impulse and juitting my hand on hers and asking why she was so sad. She told me. It was just what I supposed. She is trying to be happy, and can not find out how; reads Byron ' From riiikiilelphia, where she had undergdue a surgical operation. THE NEW LIFE I\ CHRIST. 63 and gets sickly views of life; sits up late dreaming about love and lovers; then, too tired to pray or think good thoughts, tosses herself down upon her bed and wishes herself dead. She did not tell me this, to be sure, but I gathered it from her story. I alluded to her religious history and present hopes She said she did not think continued acts of faith in Christ necessary ; she had believed on Him once, and now He would save her whatever she did; and she was not going to torment herself trying to live so very holy a life, since, after all, she should get to heaven just as well through Him as if she had been particularly good (as she termed it). I don't know whether a good or a bad spirit moved me at that minute, but I forgot that I was a mere child in religious knowledge, and talked about my doctrine and made it a very beautiful one to my mind, though I don't think she thought it so. Oh, for what would I give up the happiness of praying for a holy heart —of striving, struggling for it! Yes, it is indeed true that we are to be saved simply, only, apart from our own goodness, through the love of Christ. But who can believe himself thus chosen of God — who can think of and hold communion with Infinite Holiness, and not long for the Divine image in his own soul ? It is a mystery to me — these strange doctrines. Is not the fruit of love aspiration after the holy? Is not the act of the new-born soul, when it passes from death unto life, that of desire for assimilation to and oneness with Him who is its all in all ? How can love and faith be one act and then cease ? I dare not believe — I would not for a universe believe — that my very sense of safety in the love of Christ is not to be just the sense that shall bind me in grateful self-renunciation wholly to His service. Let me be sure of final rest in heaven — sure that at this moment I am really God's own adopted child ; and I believe my prayers, my repentings, my weariness of sin, would be just what they now are; nay, more deep, more abundant. Oh, it is because I believe — fully believe that I shall be saved through Christ — that I want to be like Him here upon earth It is because I do not fear final misery that I shrink from sin and defilement here. Oh, that I could put into that poor be- wildered heart of hers just the sweet repose upon the ever present Saviour which He has given unto me! The quietnessi with which my whole soul rests upon Him is such blessed qui etness ! I shall not soon forget this strange evening. CHAPTER III. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 184I-1845. I. At Home aj^ain. Marriaf;:e of her Sister. Ill-Health. Letters. Spiritual Aspiration and Conflict. Perfectionism, " Very, very Happy." Work for Christ what makes Life attractive. Passages from Her Journal. A Point of Difficulty. Not long after Elizabeth's return from Richmond, her sis- ter was married to the Rev. Albert Hopkins, Professor in Williams College. The wedding had been delayed for her coming. " I would rather wait six years than not have you present," her sister wrote. This event brought her into inti- mate relations with a remarkable man ; a man much beloved in his day, and whose name will often reappear in these pages. The next two or three months show^ed that her Richmond life, although so full of happy experiences, had yet drawn licavily upon her strength. They were marked by severe nen^- ous excitement and fits of depression. This, however, passed away and she settled down again into a busy home life. But it was no longer the home life of the past. The year of ab- sence had left a profound impression upon her character. Her mind and heart had undergone a rapid development. She was only twenty-two on her return, and had still all the fresh, artless simplicity of a young girl, but there was joined to it now the maturity of womanhood. Of the rest of the year o record is preserved in letters to her cousin. These letters give many little details respecting her daily tasks and the life she led In the family and in the world ; but they are chiefly inter- PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 05 esting for the light they shed upon her progress heavenward. Her whole soul was still absorbed in divine things. At times her delight in them was sweet and undisturbed ; then again, she found herself tossed to and fro upon the waves of spiritual conflict. Perfectionism was just then much discussed, and the question troubled her not a little, as it did again thirty years later. But whether agitated or at rest, her thoughts all cen- tered in Christ, and her const :mt prayer was for more love to Him. Portland, Sept. 15, 1841. The Lord Jesus is indeed dear to me. I can not doubt it. His name is exceedingly precious. Oh, help me, my dear cousin, to love Him more, to attain His image, to live only for Him ! I blush and am ashamed when I consider how inadequate are the returns I am making Him ; yet I can praise Him for all that is past and trust Him for all that is to come. I can not tell you how delightful prayer is. I feel that in it I have com- munion with God — that He is here — that He is mine and that I am His. I long to make progress every day, each minute seems precious, and I constantly tremble lest I should lose one in returning, instead of pressing forward with all my strength. No, not my strength, for I have none, but with all which the Lord gives me. How can I thank you enough that you pray for me ! Sept. iS>th. — I am all the time so nervous that life would be insupportable if I had not the comfort of comforts to rejoice in. I often think mother would not trust me to carry the dishes to the closet, if she knew how strong an effort I have to make to avoid dashing them all to pieces. When I am at the head of the stairs 1 can hardly help throwing myself down, and I believe it a greater degree of just such a state as this which induces the suicide to put an end to his existence. It was never so bad with me before. Do you know anything of such a feeling as this? To-night, for instance, my head began to feel all at once as if it were enlarging till at last it seemed to fill the room, and I thought it large enough to carry away the house. Then every object of which I thought enlarged in proportion. Wlien this goes off the sense of the contraction is equally singular. My head felt about the size of a pin's head ; our church and every- body in it appeared about the bigness of a cup, etc. These 5 56 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. Strange sensations terminate invariably with one still more sin- gular and particularly pleasant. I can not describe it-it is a sense of smoothness and a little of dizziness. If you never had such feelings this will be all nonsense to you, but if you have and can explain them to me, why I shall be indeed thankful. I have been subject to them ever since I can remember. I never ma with a physician yet who seemed to know what is the mat- ter with me, or to care a fig whether I got well or not. All they do is to roll up their eyes and shake their heads and say, " Oh !".... As to the wedding, we had a regular fuss, so that I hardly knew whether I was in the body or out of it. The Professor was here only two days. He is very eminently holy, his friends say, and from what I saw of him, I should think it true. This was the point which interested sister in him. As soon as the wedding was over my spirits departed and fled. It is true enough that "marriage involves one union, but majiy separations y Q^t iy//^._\Ve had a most precious sermon this afternoon from the Baptist minister on the words, " Christ is all and in all." I longed to have you hear the Saviour thus dwelt upon. I did not know how full the Apostles were of His praise— how constantly they dwelt upon Him, till it was spread before me thus in one delightful view. Oh, may He become our all— our beginning and our ending— our first and our last ! I do love to hear Him thus honored and adored. Let us, dear cousin, look at our Saviour more. Let us never allow aught to come between our hearts and our God. Speak to me as to your own soul, urging me onward, and if you do not see the fruits of your faithfulness here, may you see when sowing is turned to reaping. Oct. 24M. — I must call upon you to rejoice with me that I have to-day got back my old Sunday-school class. I wondered a . their being so earnest about having me again, yet I trust that God has given me this hold upon their affections for some good purpose I do not know exactly how to discrimi- nate between the suggestions of Satan and those of my own heart, but for a week past, even \vhile my inclinations and my will were set upon Christ, something followed me in my down- sittings and my ujirisings, urging me to hate the Lord Jesus asking if 11 i^ strict requirements were n-^t too strait to be en- TASSING FROM (GIRLHOOD INTO WOMAXTIOOD. 67 dured ; and it has grieved me deeply that such a thought could find its way into my mind. " I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not " is my last refuge. How graciously did Jesus provide a separate consolation for each difficulty which lli! foresaw could meet His disciples on their way. Nov. 2>t/i. — Mother has been sick. The doctor feared inflam- mation of the brain ; but she is better now. I have had my first experience as a nurse, and Dr. Mighels says I am a good one. Whenever I think of God's wonderful, luonderftd goodness to me and of my own sinfulness, I want to find a place low at the foot of the cross where I may cover my face in the dust, and yet go on praising Him. You do not know how all things have been made new to me within less than two years. Still, I struggle fiercely every hour of my life. For instance, my de- sire to be much beloved by those dear to me, is a source of constant grief. Some weeks ago, a person, who probably did not know this, told me that I was remarkably lovable and that everybody said so. I was so foolish, so wicked, as to be more pleased by this than I dare to tell — but enough so to give me after-hours of bitter sorrow. Sometimes it seem.s to me that I grow prouder every day, and I wanted to ask mother if she did not think so ; but I thought perhaps God is showing me my pride as I had never seen it that I may wage war against this. His enemy and mine. I do not believe anybody else has such an evil nature as I. But let us never rest till we are satis- fied with being counted as nothing, that our Saviour may be all in all. It seems no small portion of the joy I long for in heaven, to be thus self-forgetful in love to Christ. How strange that we do not now supremely love Him. How I do long to live with those who praise Him. I long to have every Chris- tian with whom I meet speak of Him with love and exalt Him.' Nov. \2th. — I have been very unwell and low-spirited. The cause of this, folks seem to agree, was over-exertion during mother's sickness. To tell the truth, I was so anxious about her that I did not try to save my strength at all, and excite- > ya7i. I, 1S45.— I used never to confide my religious feelinf;:s to any one in the world- [ went on my toilsome, comfortless way quite by myself. But when at the tnd cf tills long-, gloomy way, I saw and knew and rejoiced in Christ, then I forgot myself and my pride and my reserve, and wa5 glad if a little child would hear me say " I love Him I "- glad if the. most ignorant, the most hitherto despised, would speak of Him. 68 TTIK UFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. mcnt Vcpt mc up, so that I was not conscious of any special fa tiiruc till all was over and the reaction came, when I just went into a dead-and-alive state and had the "blues" outrageously It seemed as if I could do nothing but fold my hands and cry. Sister is coming home this winter. I would like you to see this letter of hers. She is as nearly a perfectionist now as your father is. She begs me to read the New Testament and to pray for a knowledge of the truth. And so I have for a year and a half, and this is what I learn thereby : "The heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked "—at least such I find mine to be. To be sure, that I am not perfect is no proof that I may not become so ; however, I feel most sympathy with those who, like Martyn, Brainerd, and my father, had to fight their way through. Yet her remarks threw my mind into great confu- sion at first and I knew not what to do; thereupon I went at once with my difficulties to the Lord and tried to seek thetruth^ whatever it might be, from Him. It seems to me that I am safe while in His hands, and that if those things are essential. He will not withhold them from me. Truly, if there is a royal road to holiness, and if in one moment of time sin may be crushed and forever slain, I of all others should know it ; for at present the way is thronged with difficulties.' It seems to inr that I am made of wants — I need everything. At the same time, how great is the goodness of God to me ! I long to have mv heart so filled with the one single image of my Redeemer, that it shall ever flow in spontaneous adoration. Such a Sav- iour! I am pained to the very depths of my soul because I love Him so little If I am only purified and made en- tirely the Lord's, let Him take His own course and make the re- fining process ever so painful. " WHicn the shore is won at last, Who will count the billows past?" Dec. \(ith. — Do you remember what father said about losing • \a\vx slf writes : "I have had a lonp: talk with sister to-day about Leighton. She cbiins him. as all the I'crfectiotiists do, as one of their number; thougfh, by the way, in thr cnmn.oii acceptation of the woixl, she is nr t a Perfectionist herself, but only on the lx>unHar>--linc of the enchanted ground. I am completely puzzled when I think on such BU>)j«Hns. I doubt if sister is ri^'ht, yet know not where she is wrong. She does not ob- tnide her peculiar opinions on any one, and I be£;an the conversation this afternoon my- PASSING FROM GIRLHOCM^ INTO WOMANHOOD. 69 his will when near the close of his life? That remark has al- ways made the subject of a lost will interesting to me. There is another place where he wishes he had known this blessedness twenty years before/ Dec. 18///. — I am very, very happy; and yet it is hardly a happiness which I can describe. You know what it is to re- joice in the sweet consciousness that there is a Saviour — a near and a present Saviour ; and thus am I now rejoicing ; grateful to Him for His holy nature, for His power over me, for His dealings with me, for a thousand things which I can only try to express to Him. Oh, how excellent above all treasures does He now appear ! One minute of nearness to the Lord Jesus contains more of delight than years spent in intercourse with any earthly friend. I could not but own to-night that God can make me happy without a right hand or a right eye. Lord, make me Thine, and I will cheerfully give Thee all. Dec. lid. — As to my Italian and Tasso, I am ashamed to tell you how slow I have been. Between company and housework £ind sewing I have my hands about full, and precious little time for reading and study. Still, I feel that I live a life of too much ease. I should love to spend the rest of my existence in the actual service of the Lord, without a question as to its ease and comfort. Reading Brainerd this afternoon made me long for his loose hold on earthly things. I do not know how to attain to such a spirit. Is it by prayer alone and the consequent sense of the worth of Divine things that this deadness to the world is to be gained — or, by giving up, casting away the treasures which withdraw the heart or have a tendency to with- draw it from God? This is quite an interesting question to me now, and I should really like it settled. The thought of living a])art from God is more dreadful than any affliction I can think of. ^ " Oh, what a blessed thing it is to lose one's will ! Since I have lost my will I havfl found happiness. There can be no such thing as disappointment to me, for 1 liave node- sires but that God's will may be accomplished." " Christians might avoid much trouble if >:liey would only believe what they profess, viz. : that God is able to make them liappy without anything but Himself. They imagine that if such a dear friend were to die, or buch and such blessings to be removed, they should be miserable ; whereas God can make them a thousand times happier without them. To mention my own case : God lias been depriving me of one blessing after another ; but as ever>' one was removed, H« has come in and filled up its place ; and now, when I am a cripple and not able tn move, I am happier than ever I was in my life before or ever expected to be ; and if I had be Ueved this twenty years ago, I might have been spared mucli anxiety " 70 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. Here are some passages from two leaves of her journal which escaped the flames. They touch upon another side oi her life at this period. December i, 1841. — I went to the sewing-circle this afternoon and had such a stupid time ! Enough gossip and nonsense was talked to make one sick, and I'm sure it wasn't the fault of my head that my hair didn't stand on end. Now my mother is a very sensible mother, but when she urges me into company and exhorts me to be more social, she runs the risk of having me become as silly as the rest of 'em. She fears I may be harmed by reading, studying and staying with her, but heaven forbid I should find things in books worse than things out ol them. I can't think the girls are the silly creatures they make themselves appear. They want an aim in life, some worthy object ; give them that, and the good and excellent which, 1 am sure, lies hidden in their nature, will develop itself at once. When the young men rushed in and the girls began looking unutterable things, I rushed out and came home. I can't and won't talk nonsense and flirt with those boys ! Oh, what is it I do want ? Somebody who feels as I feel and thinks as I think ; but where shall I find the somebody? 7///. — Frolicked with G., rushed up stairs with a glass-lamp in my hand, went full tilt against the door, smashed the lamp, got the oil on my dress, on two carpets, besides spattering the wall. First consequence, a horrible smell of lamp-oil ; Second, jjrrcat quakings, shakings, and wonderings what my ma would say when she came home ; Third, ablutions, groanings, iron- ings ; Fourth, a story for the Companion long enough to pay for that 'ere old lamp. Letting alone that, I've been a very good girl to-day ; studied, made a call, went to see H. R. with books, cakes, apples, and what's more, my precious tongue wherewith I discoursed to licr. i.j///.— P,usy all day. Carried a basket full of "wittles" to old Ma'am liurns, heard an original account of the deluge from the poor woman, wished I was as near heaven as she seems to he, studied, sewed, taught T. and E., tried to be a good girl and didn't have the blues once. 20///.— Spent most of the afternoon with Lucy, who is sick. She held my hand in hers and kissed it over and over, and ex- pressed so much love and gratitude and interest in the Sunday- school that I felt ashamed. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 7 1 24//^. — Helped mother bake all the morning, studied in the afternoon, got into a frolic, and went out after dark with G. tc shovel snow, and then paddled down to L 's with a Christ- mts-pudding, whereby I got a real backache, legachc, neck- ache, and all-overache, which is just good enough for me. 1 was in the funniest state of mind this afternoon ! I guess anybody, who had seen me, would have thought so ! 25///, Saturday. — Got up early and ran down to Sally John- son's with a big pudding, consequence whereof a horrible pain in my side. I don't care, though. I do love to carry puddings to good old grannies. Jan. I, 1842. — Began the New Year by going to see Lucy, fainting, tumbling down flat on the floor and scaring every- body half out of their wits. I don't think people ought to like me, on the whole, but when they do, aint I glad ? I wonder if perfectly honest-hearted people want to be loved better than they deserve, as in one sense I, with yet a pretty honest heart, do? I wonder how other folks think, feel inside? Wish I knew ! Most of the year 1842 was passed at home in household duties, in study, and in trying to do good. Never had she been busier, or more helpful to her mother ; and never more in- terested in the things of God. It was a year of genuine spiritual growth and also of sharp discipline. The true ideal of the Christian life revealed itself to her more and more distinctly, while at the same time she had opportunity both to learn and to practise some of its hardest lessons. A few extracts from letters to her cousin will give an inkling of its character. March 19, 1842.— Sometimes I have thought my desire to live for my Saviour and to labor for Him had increased. It certainly seems wonderful to me now that I could ever have wished to die, as I used to do, when I had done nothing for God. The way of life which appears most attractive, is that spent in persevering and unwearying toil for Him. There was a warmth and a fervency to my religious feelings the first year after my true hope which I do not find now and often sigh for; but I think my mind is more seriously determined for God tlian it was then, and that my principles arc more fixed. Slill I am 73 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. less than t'e least of all I have read not quite five can tos of Tasi>o. You will think me rather indolent, but I have had a great deal to do, which has hindered study and reading. J/ijj 3*/.— The Christian life was never dearer to me thaff it is now, l)ut it throngs with daily increasing difficulties. You, vho have become a believer in perfection, may say that this Conflict is not essential, and indeed I have been so weary, of iaie, of struggling that I am almost ready to fly to the doctrine myself. I have certainly been made more willing to seek knowd- edgc on this point from the Holy Spirit. Sf/>f. 30///. — You speak of indulging unusually, of late, in your natural vivacity and finding it prejudicial. Here is a point on which I am completely bewildered. I find that if for a month or two I steadily set myself to the unw^earied pursuit of spirituality of mind and entire weanedness from the world, a sad reaction wi// follow. My efforts slightly relax, I indulge in mirthful or worldly (in the sense of not religious) conversa- tion, delight in it, and find my health and spirits better for it. But then my spiritual appetites at once become less keen, and from conversation I go to reading, from reading to writing, and then comes the question : Am I not going back ? — and I turn from all to follow hard after the Lord. Is this a part of our poor humanity, above which we can not rise ? This is a hard world to live in ; and it will prove a trying one to me or I shall love it dearly. I have had temptations during the last six months on points where I thought I stood so safely that there was no danger of a fail. Perhaps it is good for us to be allowed to go to certain lengths, that we may see what wonderful sup- plies of grace our Lord gives us every hour of our lives. October \st.—\ have had two or three singular hours of ex- citement since I left writing to you last evening. If you were here I should be glad to read you a late passage in my history which has come to its crisis and is over with— thanks to Him, who so wonderfully guides me by His counsel. If I ever saw Lhc hand of God distinctly held forth for my help, I have ^een r Ih re, ('■.iniiig in the right time, in the right way, «// right. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 73 II. Returns to Richmond. Trials there. Letters. IHness. School Experiences. "To the Year 1843." Glimpses of her daily Life. Why her Scholars love her so. Home- sick. A Black Wedding. What a Wife should be. "A Presentiment." Notes from her Diary. In Novembej of this year, at the urgent soHcitation of Mr. Persico, Miss Payson returned to Richmond, and again became a teacher in his school. But everything was now changed, and that for the worse. Mr. Persico, no longer under the influence of his wife, who had fallen a prey to cruel disease, lost heart, fell heavily in debt, and became at length hopelessly insolvent. Later, he is said to have been lost at sea on his way to Italy. The whole period of Miss Payson's second residence in Rich- mond was one of sharp trial and disappointment. But it brought out in a very vivid manner her disinterestedness and the generous warmth of her sympathies. At the peril of her health she remained far into the summer of 1843, faithfully performing her duties, although, as she well knew, it was doubtful if she would receive any compensation for her ser- vices. As a matter of fact, only a pittance of her salar>' was ever paid. Of this second residence in Richmond no otlicr record is needed than a few extracts from letters written to a beloved friend who was passing the winter at the South, and whose name has already been mentioned. A sentence in the first of these letters deserves to be noted as affording a key to one side of her character, namely : '* the depressing sense of inferiority which was born with me." All her earlier years were shadowed by this morbid feeling : nor was she ever quite free from its influence. It was, probably, at once a cause and an effect of the sensitive shyness that clung to her to the last. Perhaps, too, it grew in part out of her irrepressible craving for love, coupled with utter incn'du- lity about herself possessing the qualities which rendered her so lovable. *'It is one of the faults of my character," ^he wrote, '^ to fancy that nobody cares for me." When, dear Anna, I had taken my last look at the last famil y^ THE LIFE OF MRS. I'RENTISS. iar face in Portland (I fancy you know whose face it yUimi's. was) I became quite as melancholy as I ever desire to Rkhmond ^^) even on the principle that *'by the sadness of the Nov. 26, ' countenance the heart is made better." I dare say you '^''' never had a chance to feel, and therefore will not. be able to understand, the depressing sense of inferiority which was born with me, which grew with my growth and strengthen- ed with my strength, and which, though somewhat repressed of late years, gets the mastery very frequently and makes me be- lieve myself the most unlovable of beings. It was with this feeling that I left home and journeyed hither, wondering why I was made, and if anybody on earth will ever be a bit the hap- pier for it, and whether I shall ever learn where to put myself in the scale of being. This is not humility, please take notice —for humility is contented, I think, with such things as it hath. When I reached Richmond last night, tired and dusty and stupefied, I felt a good deal like crawling away into some cran- ny and staying there the rest of my life ; but this morning, when I had remembered mother's existence and yours and that of some one or two others, I felt more disposed to write than anything else. Your note was a great comfort to me during two and a half hours at Portsmouth, and while on my journey. I thought pages to you in reply. How I should love to ha\e you here in Richmond, even if I could only see you once c. month, or kiWiL' only that you were here and never see you ! With many most kind friends about me, I still shall feel very keenly the separation from you. There is nobody here to whom I can speak confidingly, and my hidden spirit will have to sit with folded wings for eight months to come. To whom shall I talk about you, pray ? On the way hither I fell in love with a little girl who also fell in l)ve with me, and as 1 sat with her over our lonely firt; at Philadelphia and in Washington, I could not help speaking of you now and then, till at last she suddenly looked up and asked me if you hadn't a brother, which ques- tion effectually shut my mouth. In a religious point of view I am sadly off here. There is a different atmosphere in the house f.'om what there used to be, and I look forward with some an.xiety to the luture. The "liitlc L:irl " referred to received soon after a lettei PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INK) WOMANHOOD. 75 from Miss Payson. In enclosing it to a friend, more than thirty-seven years later, she wrote : " I cried bitterly when she left us for Richmond. She was out and out good and true When my father was taking leave of us, the last night in Washington, she proposed that as we had enjoyed -o much together, we should not separate without a prayer of thanks and blessing-seeking, a proposal to which my father most heartily responded." Here is an extract from the letter: When I look over my school-room I am frequently reminded of you. for my thirty-six pupils are, most of them, about your age I have some very lovable girls under my wing. I should be too happy if there were no "unruly members" among these good and gentle ones ; but in the little world where 1 shall spend the greater part of the next eight months, as well as m the great and busy one, which as yet neither you or I know much about, I fancy there are mixtures of "the just and the uniust," of "the evil and the good." We have a very pleas- ant family this year. The youngest (for I omit the black baby in the kitchen) we call Lily. She is my pet and playthmg, and is quite as affectionate as you are. Then comes a damsel named Beatrice, who has taken me upon trust just as you did. You may be thankful that your parents are not like hers, for she is to be educated/^;- the world; music, French and Italian crowd almost everything else out of place, and as for religious influences, she is under them here for the first time. How thankful I feel when I see such cases as this, that God gave me pious parents, who taught me from my very birth, that 11 is fear is the beginning of wisdom ! My room-mate we call Kate. She is pious, intelligent, and very warm-hearted, and I love her dearly. She is an orphan-Mrs. Persico's daughter. .... I am rather affectionate by nature, if not in practice, and though I know that nearness to the Friend, whom I hope J have chosen, could make me happy in any circumstances, I do not pretend to be above the desire for earthly friends, prc^ idcd He sees fit to give them to me. I Relieve m^^ father .edo say that we could not love them too much, if -- ^^ > f ;^ Him the first place in our hearts. Let us — est!) seek U, make Him our all in all. It is delight ul, in the -^^^ll^'^^ versitles and trials, to be able to say " There is none upon earth ^6 TIIK LIFE OF MRS. rR?:NTISS. that I desire besides Thee," but it requires more grace, I think to be able to use such language when the world is bright about us. You have known little of sorrow as yet, but if ycu have given vour whole, undivided heart to God, you will not need affliction, or to have your life made so desolate that '' weariness must loss you to His breast." There is a bright side to re- ligion, and I love to see Christians walking in the sunshine. I trust you have found this out for yourself, and that your hope in Christ makes you happy in the life that now is, as well as gives you promise of blessedness in that which is to come. Before she had been long in Richmond she was seized with an illness which caused her many painful, wearisom.e days and nights. Referring to this illness, in a letter to Miss Prentiss, she writes: It is dull music being sick away from one's mother, but I have a knack at submitting myself to my fate ; so my spirit was a contented one, and I was not for a moment unhappy, except for the trouble which I gave those who had to nurse me. I thought of you, at least two-thirds of the time. As my little pet, Lily L., said to me last night, when she had very nearly squeezed the breath out of my body, " I love you a great deal harder than I hug you " ; so I say to you— I love you harder than I tell, or can tell you. A happy New-Year to you, dear Anna. How much and how little in those few old words! Consider yourself kissed and good-night. The "New Year" was destined to be a very eventful one alike to her friend and to herself. She seemed to have a pre- sent inient of it, at least in her own case, as some lines written on a blank leaf of her almanac for that year attest : With mingling hope and trust and fear 1 bid thee welcome, untried year ; The paths before me pause to view ; Which shall I shun and which pursue? . I read my fate with serious eye ; I see dear hopes and treasures fly, nehold thee on thy opening wing Now grief, now joy, now sorrow bring. God grant me grace my course to run With one blest prayer~///j- will be done. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. Jl A little journal kept by her during the following months gives bright glimpses of her daily life. The entries are ver^' brief, but they show that while devoted to the school, she alsa spent a good deal of time among her books, kept up a lively correspondence with absent friends, and contributed her fuU share to the entertainment of the household by *•' holding ;oi rees " in her room, ''reading to the girls," writing stories foi them, and helping to ''play goose" and other games. Thanks to the Father of his Country for choosing to be born in Virginia ! for it orives us a holiday, and I can write To Miss ^ , ^ °, Tr -, , , Anna s. to you, dearest of Annas. You don t know how de- lUrhmond, lighted I was to get your long-watched-for letter Feb. 22, You very kindly express the wish that you could bear some of my school drudgery with me. I would not give you that, but you should have love from some of these warm-hearted damsels, which would make you happy even in the midst of toil and vexation. I can't think what makes my scholars love me so. I'm sure it is a gift for which I should be grateful, as coming from the same source with all the other blessings which are about me. I believe my way of governing is a more fatiguing one than that of scolding, fretting, and pun- ishing. There is a little bit of a tie between each of these hearts and mine— and the least mistake on my part severs it forever ; so I have to be exceedingly careful what I do and say. This keeps me in a constant state of excitement and makes my pulse lly rather faster than, as a pulse arrived at years of dis- cretion, it ought to do. I come out of school so happy, though half tired to death, wishing I were better, and hoping I shall become so ; for the more my scholars love me, the more I am ashamed that I am not the pink of perfection they seem to fancy me. Evening. — I have just come up here to my lonely room (which, if I hadn't the happiest kind of a heart in the world, would look right gloomy) and have read for the third time youi' dear, good letter, and all I wish is that I could tell you how I love you, and how angry I am with myself that I did not know and love you sooner. It seems so odd that we should have been born and " raised " so near each other and yet apart. Vou say you are a believer in destiny. So am I— particularly 78 Tin: I.IFI-: of mrs. PTiEXTiss. in affairs of the heart; and I hope that we are made friends now for something more than the satisfaction which we find in loving. I am in danger of forgetting that I am to stay in this world only a little while and \.\i&n go home. Will you help me to bear it in mind ? . . . . How must the "Pilgrim's Progress " interest a mind that has never learned the whole book by rote in childhood. I have often wished I could read it as a first-told tale, and so I wish about the xiv. of John and some other chap- ters in the Bible. Your incidental mention that you have family prayers every evening produced a thousand strange sensations in my mind. I hardly know why. Did I ever tell you howl love and admire the new Bishop Johns? and how if I am a "good Presby- terian," as they say here, I go to hear him whenever and wherever he preaches. I don't think him a^§-;r^z^ man, but he has that sincerity and truthfulness of manner w^hich win your love at once.' .... What nice times you must have studying German ! I dreamed the night I read your account of it that I was with you, and that you said I w^as as stupid as an owl. I have the queerest mind somehow. It won't work like those of other people, but goes the farthest way round when it wants to go home, and I never could do anything with it but just let it have its own way, and live the longer. They are having a nice time down in the parlor worshipping Miss Ford, the light and sunshine of the house, who leaves to-morrow for Natchez, and I am going down to help them. So, good-night. Since I wrote you last we have all had a good deal to put our patience and philosophy and faith to the test, and I To the ^ ^ , , ^ 1 / same, must own that I have been for some weeks about as A[ni^. n,i(;,,,-,ifortablc as mortal damsel could be. Every- thing went wrong with Mr. Persico, and his gloom extended to all of us. I never spent such melancholy weeks in my life, and became so homesick that I could hardly drag myself into school. In the midst of it, however, I made fun for the rest, as believe I should do in a dungeon ; and now.it is all over, I look back and laugh still. • The Ri^ht Rev. John J.ihiis, Bishop of the Protestant Episcopal Church of Virginia, was a man of .ijiostolic simplicity and zeal, and universally beloved. An almost ideal friendship existed between him arid Dr. Charles Hod{je, of Princeton. Dear, blessed, ola Joint, Dr. \\. Cvdlotl him when he was seventy-nine years old. See Life of Dr. Hudge», pp. 364-56.> Pisliup \)hns dieil in 1S76. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 79 We had a black wedding — a very black one — in my school- room the other night ; our cook having decided to take to her- self a lord and master. It was the funniest affair I evei saw. Such comical dresses ! such heaps of cake, wine, coffee, and candy ! such kissings and huggings ! The man who performed the ceremony prayed that they might obey each other ^ wherein I think lie showed his originality and good sense, too. Then he held a book upsidj down and pretended to read, dear knows what ! but the Professor — that is to say, Mrs. P. — laughed so loud when he said, " Will you take this 7w-man to be your wed- ded husband V that we all joined in full chorus, whereupon the poor priest (who was only the sexton of St. James') was so con- fused that he married them over twice. I never saw a couple in their station in life provided with a tenth part of the luxu- ries with which they abounded. We worked all day Saturday in the kitchen, making and icing cake for them, and a nice frolic we had of it, too. Do you love babies ? We have a black one in the lot whom I pet for want of something on which to expend my love. When I find anything that will interest the whole family, I read it aloud for general edification. The girls persuaded me into writing a story to read to them, and locked me into my room till it was done. It was the first love-story I ever wrote for hitherto 1 have not known enough about such things to be able to do it. This reminds me that you asked if I intend for- getting you after I am married. I have no sort of idea what I shall do, provided I ever marry. But if I ever fall in love I dare say I shall do it so madly and absorbingly as to become, in a measure and for a season, forgetful of everything and everybody else. Still, though I hate professions, I don't see how I can ever cease to love you, whatever else I forget or neg- lect. There is a restlessness in my affection for you that I don't understand — a half wish to avoid enjoyment now, that I may in some future time share it with you. And yet I have a pjesentiment-that we may have sympathy in trials of which I now know nothing. I am ashamed of myself, of late, that these subjects of love and matrimony find a place in my thoughts which I never have been in the habit of giving them, but people here talk of little else and I am borne on with the current. I think that to givt 8o THE LIFK OF MRS. PRENTISS. nappincss in married life a woman should possess oceans of sclf-sacriticiiig love and I, for one, haven't half of that self-for- getting spirit wliicli I think essential. I am glad you like the " Christian Year," and I see you are quite an Episcopalian. Well, if you arc like the good old En- glish divines, nobody can find fault with your choice. Mr, I'ersico was brought up a Catholic but professes to be a noth^ ingarian now. For myself, this only I know that I earnestly wish all the tendencies of my heart to be heavenward, and I believe that the sincere inquirer after truth will be guided by the Infinite Mind. And so on that faith I venture myself and feel safe as a child may feel, who holds his father's hand. Life seems full of mysteries to me of late — and I am tempted to strange thoughtfulness in the midst of its gayest scenes. How true was the ''presentiment " described in this letter, will appear in her correspondence with the same friend more than a quarter of a century later. I believe you and I were intended to know each other bet- To ittna ^^^- I have found a certain something in you that I ^. Pri-ntiss, have been wantins: all my life. While I wish 3'ou to June I, know me just as I am, faults and all, I can t bear to *^-^' think of ever seeing anything but the good and the beautiful in your character, dear Anna, and I believe my heart would break outright should I find you to be otherwise than just that which I imagine you are. I don't know why I am saying this ; but I have learned more of the world during the last year than in any previous half dozen of my life, and the result is dissatisfaction and alarm at the things I see about me. I wish I could always live, as I have hitherto done, under the shelter of my mother's wing I ought to ask your pardon for writing in this horrid style, but I was born to do things by steam, I believe, and can't do them moderately. As I write to, so I love you, dear Anna, with all my interests and energies tending to that one point. I was amused the other day with a young lady who came and sat on my bed when I was sick (for 1 am just getting well from a quite serious illness), and after some half dozen sighs, wished she were Anna Prentiss that she might be loved as intensely as she desired. This is a round- PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INK) WOMANHOOD. 81 about way of saying how very dear you are to me. What chat- ter-boxes girls are ! I wonder how many times I've stopped to say "My dear, don't talk so much"— for I am writing in school June 27///.— Mr. brought "The Home" to me and I !iave laughed and cried over it to my heart's content. Out of pure self-love, because they said she was like me, I liked poor Petra with the big nose, best of the bunch— though, to be sure, they liken me to somebody or other in every book we read till I begin to think myself quite a bundle of contradic- tions. I have a thousand and one things to say to you, but I wonder if as soon as I see you I shall straightway turn into a poker, and play the stiffy, as I always do when I have been separated from my friends. I am writing in a little bit of a den which, by a new arrangement, I have all to myself. What if there's no table here and I have to write upon the bureau, sit- ting on one foot in a chair and stretching upwards to reach my paper like a monkey ? What do I care ? I am writing to you, and your spirit, invoked v.^hen I took possession of the premises, comes here sometimes just between daylight and dark, and talks to me till I am ready to put forth my hand to find yours. Oh! Anna, you must be everything that is pure and good, through to the very depths of your heart, that mine may not ache in finding it has loved only an imaginary being. Not that I expect you to be perfect— for I shouldn't love you if you were immaculate— but pure in aim and intention and desire, which I believe you to be. 29///.- Do you want to know what mischief I've just been at.? There lay poor Miss , alias "Weaky" as we call her taking her siesta in the most innocent manner imaginable, with a babe-in-the-wood kind of air, which proved so highly attrac- tive that I could do no less than pick her up in my arms and pop her (I don't know but it was //^-^^ first), right into the bath- ing-tub which happened to be filled with fresh cold water. Poor, good little Weaky ! There she sits shaking and shiver- ing and laughing with such perfect sweet humor, that I am positively taking a vow never to do so again. Well, I had some- thing quite sentimental to say to you when I began writing, but as the spirit moved me to the above perpetration of nonsense, I've nothing left in me but fun, and for that you've no relish, have you ? 6 g2 Tin-: I.IFE OF MRS. FilKNTlSS. I made out to cry yesterday and thereby have so refreshed mv '^oiil as to be in the best possible humor just now. The whv and wherefore of my tears, which by the way I don't shed once in an age, was briefly the withdrawal from school of one of n-v scholars, one who had so attached herself to me as to have become almost a part of myself, and whom I had taught to love you, dear Anna, that I might have the exquisite satis- faction of talking about you every day— a sort of sweet inter- lude between grammar and arithmetic which made the dull hours of school grow harmonious. She had a presentiment that her life was to close with our school session, from which I couldn't move her even when her health was good, and she says that she prays every day, not that her life may be length- ened, but that she may die before I am gone. I am supersti- tious enough to feel that the prayer may have its answer, now that I sec her drooping and fading away without perceptible disease. The only time I ever witnessed the rite of confirma- tion was when the hands of the good bishop rested upon her head, and no wonder if I have half taken up arms in defense of this "laying-on of hands," out of the abundance of my heart if not from the wisdom of my head. Well, I've lost my mirthful mood, speaking of her, and don't know when it will come again. I have taken it into my head that you will visit Niagara on your way home from the South and have half a mind to go there myself. Did your brother bring home the poems of R. M. Milnes? I half hope that he did not, since I want to see you enj(\v them for the first time, particularly a certain " House- hold Brownie " story, with which I fell in love when President Woods sent us the volume. Here follow a few entries in her diary: May I. — Holiday. Into the country all of us, white, black, and gray. Sue Empie devoted herself to me like a lover and sc did Sue Lewis, so I was not at a loss for society. My girls made a bower, wherein I was ensconced and obliged to tell stories to about forty listeners till my tongue ached. July 18///.— -Left Richmond. Au\;. 2d. — Left Reading for Philadelphiiu 5///. — W illiamstown and saw mother, sister and baby. xdth. — President Hopkins' splendid address before the Alumni — alsc that of Dr. Robl)ins. 18//-. — Left Williamstown and reached PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 83 Nonantum House at night. Saw Aunt Willis, Julia, Sarah, Ellen, etc. 22^. — Came home, oh so very happy ! Dear, good home ! 23^. — Callers all day, the second of whom was Mr. P There have been nineteen people here and I'm tired ! 25//;. — What didiit I hear from Anna P. to-day! 31^/. — Rode v\iili Anna P. to Saccarappa to see Rev. Mr. and Mrs. H. B. Smith- took tea at the P.s and went with them to the Preparatory Lecture. I do nothing but go about from place to place. Sept. \st. — Just as cold as cold could be all day. Spent evening at Mrs. B.'s, talking with Neal Dow. 9///. — Cold and blowy and disagreeable. Went to see Carrie H. Came home and found Mr. P. here ; he stayed to tea — read us some interesting things — told us about Mary and William Howitt. 10///. — Our church was re-opened to-day. Mr. Dw4ght preached in the morning and Mr. Chickering in the afternoon, September nth she marked with a white stone and kept ever after as one of the chief festal days of her life, but of the reason why there is here no record. The diary for the rest of the year is blank with the exception of a single leaf which contains these sentences: " Celle qui a besoin d'admirer ce qu'elle aime, celle, dont le jugement est penetrant, bien que son imagination exalte'e, il n'ya pour elle qu'un objet dans I'univers." '' Celui qu'on aime, est le vengeur des fautes qu'on a commis sur cette terre ; la Divinite lui prete son pouvoir." Mad. de Stael. III. Her Views of Love and Courtship. Vi?it of her Sister and Child. Letters. Sickncsi and Death of Friends. Ill-IIeallh. Undergoes a Surfjical Operalion. iler Forti- tude. Study of German. Feuelon. The records of the next year and a half are very abundant, in the form of notes, letters, verses and journals; but they are mostly of too private a character to furnish materials for this narrative, belon^in^ to what she called " the deep story ot my 34 nil-: l-ll'H <'!•■ M1k for mc those graces of the Spirit which I so long for. In- deed, I have had lately such heavenward yearnings ! . . . . Why do you ask // I pray for you, as if I could love you and /ic/Jt praying for you continually and always. I have no light sense of the holiness a Christian minister should possess. I half wish there were no veil upon my heart on this point, that you might PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 87 see how, from the very first hour of your return from abroad, my interest in you went hand-in-hand with this looking iipwaj-d. Jan. 22d. — We have all been saddened by the repeated trials with which our friends the Willises are visited this winter. Mrs. Willis is still very ill, and there is no hope of her recovery ; and Ellen, the pet of the whole household — the always happy, lovin^r, beautiful young thing — who had been full of deligh. in the hope of becoming a mother, lies now at the point of death ; having lost her infant, and with it her bright anticipations. For fourteen years there had not been a physician in their house, and you may imagine how they are all now taken, as it were, by surprise by the first break death has threatened to make in their peculiarly happy circle. Our love for ail the family has grown with our growth and strengthened with our strength, and what touches them we all feel. Feb. 8///. — How is it that people who have no refuge in God live through the loss of those they love? I am very sad this morning, and almost wish I had never loved you or anybody. Last night we heard of the death of Julia Willis' sister, and this morning learn that a dear little girl in whom we all were much interested, and whom I saw on Saturday only slightly unwell, is taken away from her parents, who have no manner of consolation in losing this only child. There is a great cloud throughout our house, and we hardly know what to do with ourselves. When I met mother and sister yesterday on my re- turn from your house, I sav. that something was the matter of which they hesitated to tell me ; and of whom should I natur- ally think but of you— you in whom my life is bound up ; and, when mother finally came to put her arms around me, I suf- fered for the moment that intensity of anguish which I should feel in knowing that something dreadful had befallen you. She told me, however, of poor Ellen's death, and I was so lost in re- covering you again that I cared for nothing else all the even- ing, and until this morning had scarcely thought of the aching, aching hearts she has left behind. Her poor young husband, v\ho loved her so tenderly, is half-distracted. Oh, I have blessed God to-day that until He had given me a sure and certain hold upon Himself, He had not suffered me to love as I love now ! It is a mystery wliich I can not under- stand, how the heart can live on through the moment which 88 iiii: i.iKi: <>r mrs. prkntiss. rends it asunder froin that of which it has become a part, ex- cept t)y hiding itself in God. I have felt Ellen's death the more, because she and her husband were associated in my mind with you. I hardly know how or why ; but she told me much of the history of her heart when I saw her last summer on my way h .-me from Richmond, at the same time that she spoke much of you. She had seen you at our house before you went abroad, and seemed to have a sort of presentiment that we should love each other. But I ought to beg you to forgive me for sending you this gloomy page ; yet I was restless and wanted to tell you the thoughts that have been in my heart towards you to-day — the serious and saddened love with which I love you, when I think of you as one whom God may take from me at any moment. I do not know that it is unwise to look this truth in the face sometimes — for if ever there was heart tempted to idolatry, to giving itself up fully, utterly, with perfect abandonment of every other hope and interest, to an earthly love, so is mine tempted now. Feb. 13//^. — Mother is going to Boston with sister on Satur- day, provided I am well enough (which I mean to be), as Mrs. Willis has expressed a strong wish to see her once more. We heard from them yesterday again. Poor Ellen's coffin was placed just w^here she stood as a bride, less than eight months ago, and her little infant rested on her breast. There is rarely a death so universally mourned as hers ; she was the most w^in- ning and attractive young creature I ever saw. Feb. 2ist. — Are you in earnest? Are you in earnest? Are you really coming home in March ? I am afraid to believe, afraid to doubt it. I am crying and laughing and writing all at once. You would not tell me so unless you really were com- ws^ I know And you are coming home ! (How madly my heart is beating ! lie still, w^ill you ?) I almost feel that you a-e h:rc and that you look over my shoulder and read while I write. Are you sure that you will come ? Oh, don't repent and send me another letter to say that you will wait till it is pleas- antcr weather ; it is pleasant now. I walked out this morning, and the air was a spring air, and gentlemen go through the streets with their cloaks hanging over their arms, and there is a constant plashing against the windows, of water dripping PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 89 down from the melting snow ; yes, I verily believe that it is warm, and that the birds will sing soon — I do, upon my word .... I wouldn't have the doctor come and feel my pulse thij afternoon for anything. He would prescribe fever powders or fever drops, or something of the sort, and bleed me and send me to bed, or to the insane iiospital ; I don't know which. [ could cry, sing, dance, laugh, all at once. Oh, that I knew exactly when you will be here — the day, the hour, the minute, that I might know to just what point to govern my impatient heart — for it would be a pity to punish the poor little thing too severely. I have been reading to-day something which delighted me very much ; do you remember a little poem of Goethe's, in which an imprisoned count sings about the flower he loves best, and the rose, the lily, the pink, and the violet, each in turn fancy themselves the objects of his love.' You see I put you in the place of the prisoner at the outset, and I was to be the flower of his love, whatever it might be. Well, it was the " For- get-me-not." If there were a flower called the "Always-loving," maybe I might find out to what order and class I belong. Dear me ; there's the old clock striking twelve, and I verily meant to go to bed at ten, so as to sleep away as much of the time as possible before your coming, but I fell into a fit of lov- ing meditation, and forgot everything else. You should have seen me pour out tea to-night ! Why, the first thing I knew, I had poured it all out into my own cup till it ran over, and half filled the waiter, which is the first time I ever did such a ridicu- ous thing in my life. But, dearest, I bid you good night, pray- ing you may have sweet dreams and an inward promptin^^ to write me a long, long, blessed letter, such as shall make me dance about the house and sing. Feb. 22d. — Oh, I am frightened at myself, I am so happy ! It seems as if even this whole folio would not in the least con- rey to you the gladness with which my heart is dancing and jinging and making merry. The doctor seems quite satisfied with my shoulder, and says ^^ li's first-rate j" so set your heart at rest on that point. I hope there'll be nobody within two miles of our meeting. Suppose you stop in some out of the way place just out of town, and let me trot out there to see you ? Oh, are you really coming? ' Das Elumlcin Wunderschon. Lied des ge/angenen Cra/etr, is the title of tiie poem Goetlie'= Samtliche Werke. Vol. I., p. 151, . » ^ THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. I must write a few lines to tell you, my dear cousin, that 1 am thinking of and praying for you on your birth- '^%?archt day. I have but one request to offer either for you '^^' or for myself, and that is for more love to our Re- deemer. I bless God that I have no other want I do not know why it is, but I never have thought so much of death and of the certainty that I, sooner or later, must die, as within a few months past. I am not exactly superstitious, but this daily and hourly half-presentiment that my life will not be a long one, is singularly subduing, and seems to lay a restraining hand upon future plans. I am not sorry, whatever may be the event, that it is so. I dread clinging to this world and seeking my rest in it. I am not afraid to die, or afraid that anything I love may be taken from me ; I only have this serious and lh.)ughtful sense of death upon my mind. You know how we have loved the Willis family, and can imagine how w^e felt the death of their youngest daughter, who was dear to everybody. And Mrs. Willis is, probably, not living. This has added to my previous feeling on the subject, which was, perhaps, first occasioned by the sudden and terrible loss of my poor friend Mr. Thatcher, a year ago this month.' God forbid I should ever forget the lessons He saw I needed, and dare to feel that there is a thing upon earth which death may not touch. Oh, in how many ways He has sought to w^in my whole heart for His own I March 22d.—\ was interrupted last night by the arrival of G. L. P., after his four months' absence in Mississippi, im- prc^'cd in health, and in looks, and in spirits, and quite as glad to see me, I believe, as even you, in your goodness of heart, say my lover ought to be. But I will tell you the truth, my dear cousin, I am afraid of love. There is no other medium, save that of the happiness of loving and being loved, by which my affections could be effectually turned from divine to earthier tilings. Am I not then on dangerous ground? Yet God merci- fully sIkjws me that it is so, and when I think how He has saved mc hitherto through sharp temptations, it seems wicked dis- trust of Him, not to feel that He will save me through those to come. I know now there are some of the great lessons of \ife yet to be learned ; I believe I must suffer as long as I have ' See appendix A, p. 533. PASSING FROM CIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD. 91 an earthly existence. Will not then God mal' brave at first and wouldn't leave the room, but I found myself so faint that I feaied falling: and luid to po. Lizzy behaved like a heroine indeed, so that even the doctors ad- mired her fortitude. She never spoke, but was deadly faint, so that they were obliged to lay Imr down that tlie dreadful wound migfht bleed ; tlien there was an artery to be taken up and lied ; then six stitches to be taken with a great bif,' needle. Most providentially dsat Julia Willis came in about ten minutes before the doctors and though she was Krealy distressed, she never faints, and stail till Lizzy was laid in bed She was ill^t like .1 marble slatuo, but even more beautiful, while the blood stained her slioulders and bosom. You couldn't have looked on such suffering without fainting, man that you %TQ.—rrovt a letter of Mrs. Payson, dated Boston, Sept. 2, 18^4. " Her friend, Miss Prentiss, had been man led, in the previous autumn, to the Rev lonathan V. Stearns, of Xewburyport. PASSING FROM GIRLHOOD INT(.) WOMANHOOD. 93 deal to be thankful for. On Wednesday, to my infinite sur- prise and gladness, George pounced down upon me from New York, having been quite cut to the heart by the account mother gave him. Everybody is so kind, and I have had so many let tcrs, and seen so many sympathising faces, and "dear Lizzy' sounds s^ sweet to my insatiable ears ; and yet — and yet — 1 would rather die than live through the forty-eight hou .i again which began on Monday morning. Somebody must have prayed for me, or I never should have got through. An extract from another of her letters, dated Portland, September nth, belongs here: I must tell you, too, about Dr. Warren (the old one). When mother asked him concerning the amount he was to receive from her for his professional services, he smiled and said : " I shall not charge/^// much, and as for Miss Payson, when she is married and rich, she may pay me and welcome — but not till then." I told him I never expected to be rich, and he replied, with what mother thought an air of contentment that said he knew all about it: "Well, we can be hap|)y without riches," and such a good, happy smile shone all over his face as I have seldom been so fortunate as to see in an old man. As for the young one, he seemed as glad when I was dressed on Sunday with a clean frock and no shawl, as if it were really a matter of consequence to him to see his patients looking comfortable and well. I am getting along finely ; there is only one spot on my shoulder which is troublesome, and they ordered me on a very strict diet for that — so I am half-starved this blessed min- ute. We went to Newbury port on Monday, and stayed there with Anna till yesterday afternoon. I think the motion of the cars hurt me somewhat, but by the time you get here I do hope I shall be quite w^ell. Evening. — .... I have had such happy thoughts and pi-ayers to-night ! You should certainly have knelt with me in my little room, where, for the first time a year ago this even- ing, I asked God to bless us j and you too, perhaps, then began first to pray for me. Oh, what a wonderful time it was ! . . . . I hope you have prayed for me to-day — I don't mean as you al- ways do, but with new prayers wherewith to begin tlic new year. God bless you and love you ! p4 THF. I-IFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. But this period was also one of large mental growth. It was marked especially by two events that had a shaping influ- ence upon both her intellectual and religious character. One was the study of German. She was acquainted already with French and Italian ; she now devoted her leisure hours to the language and works of Schiller and Goethe. These opened to her a new world of thought and beauty. Her correspondence contains frequent allusions to the progress of her German read- ing. Here is one in a letter to her cousin : I have read George Herbert a good deal this winter. I have also read several of Schiller's plays — William Tell and Don Carlos among the rest — and got a great deal more excited over them than I have over anything for a long while. George has a large German library, but I don't suppose I shall be much the wiser for it, unless I turn to studying theology. Did you read in Goethe's Wilhelm Meister, the " Bekenntnisse einer schonen Seele " ? I do think it did my soul good when I read it last July. The account she gives of her religious history reminded me of mine in some points very strongly. The other incident was her introduction to the writings of Fenelon — an author whom, in later years, she came to regard as an oracle of spiritual wisdom. In the letter just quoted, she writes: '* I am reading Fenelon's ' Maximes des Saints,' and many of his ideas please me exceedingly. Some of his • Lettres Spirituelles ' are delicious — so heavenly, so child-like in their spirit." ' ' " Kxplication dcs Maximes des Saints snr la Vie Interieure" is the full title of the famous little work first named. It appeared in January, 1697. If measured by the storm it raised in France and at Rome, or by the attention it attracted throughout Eu- roix-, its publication may be said to have been one of the most impoilant thet)logical events f)f that day. The eloquence of Possuet and the power of Louis XIV. were t(v f:cther exerted to the utmost in order to brand its illustrious author as a heretical Qui- Kist ; and, tluough their almost frantic efforts, it was at last condemned in a papal biief. But. for nil tliat, the little work is full of the noblest Christian sentiments. It pushes the scK.triiie :)f pure love, perhaps, to a perilous extreme, but still an extreme that leans to the side of the liip^hcst virtue. After its condemnation the Pope, Innocent XII., wrote to the trench prelates, who had been most prominent in denouncing Fenelon: Peccavit ex- cesiu amuris divitii, sed vos peccdstis dc/ectu amoris proxiini—i.e.^ " He has erred bj too much love cf God, but ye have erred by too litUe love of your neighbor." CHAPTER IV. THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. 1845-1850. I. Marriage and Settlement in New Bedford. Reminiscences. Letters. Birth of her Firsl Child. Death of her Sister-in-Law. Letters. On the 1 6th of April, 1845, Miss Payson was married to the Rev. George Lewis Prentiss, then just ordained as pastor of the South Trinitarian church in New Bedford, Mass. Here she passed the next five and a half years ; years rendered memoTable by precious friendships formed in them, by the birth of two of her children, by the death of her mother, and by other deep joys and sorrows. New Bedford was then known, the world over, as the most important centre of the whale-fishery. In quest of the leviathans of the deep its ships traversed all seas, from the tumbling icebergs of the Arctic Ocean to the Southern Pacific. But it was also known nearer home for the fine social qualities of its people. Many of the original settlers of the town were Quakers, and its character had been largely shaped by their friendly influence. Hus- bands and wives, whether young or old, called each other ev- erywhere by their Christian names, and a charming simplicity marked the daily intercourse of life. Into this attractive so- ciety Mrs. Prentiss was at once welcomed. The Arnold fam- ily in particular — a family representing alike the fricndl}' si)irit, the refinement and taste, the wealth, and the generous hospi- tality of the place — here deserve mention. Their kindness was unwearied; flowers and fruit came often from their splen- did garden and greenhouses ; and, in various other wa}'s, they (95) 96 THi: I.IFi; OF MKS. PRENTISS. contributed from the moment of her coming to render New Bedford a pleasant home to her. But it was in her husband's parish that she found her chief interest and joy. His people at first welcomed her in the warmest manner on her sainted father's account, but they soon learned to love her for her own sake. She early began to manifest among them that wonderful sympathy, which made her presence like sunshine in sick rooms and in the house of mourning, and, in later years, endeared her through her writings to so many hearts. While her natural shyness and reserve caused her to shrink from everything like public ity, and even from that leadership in the more private activi- ties of the church which properly belonged to her sex and sta- tion, any kind of trouble instantl} aroused and called into play all her energies. The sickness and death of little children wrought upon her w^ith singular powder ; and, in ministering aid and comfort to bereaved mothers, she seemed like one specially anointed of the Lord for this gentle ofifice. Now, after the lapse of more than a third of a century, there are tliose in New Bedford and its vicinity who bless her memory, as they recall scenes of sharp affliction cheered by her pres- ence and her loving sympathy. The following reminiscences by one of her New Bedford friends, written not long after her death, belong here : Oh, ihat I had the pen of a ready writer ! How gladly would I depict her just as she came to New Bedford, a youthful bride and our pastor's wife, more than a third of a century ago ! My remembrances of her are still frrsh and ilclightful ; l)ut they have been for so many years silent mrmori.-s that 1 feci (|uite unable fully to express them. And yet I will try to j(ivc you a fi-w simple details. Several things strike me as I recall her in those d.iys. Our early experiences in the struggle of life had been somewhat sitnilar and this drew us near to each other. She was naturally very shy and in the presence of strangers, or of uncongenial persons, her reserve was almost painful ; but with her friends— especially those of her own sex— all this vanished and she was full of animated talk. Her conversation abound- ed in bright, pointed sayings, in tine little touches of humor, in amusing anecdart- ed to be with Christ, there was no better man in all the State to follow after him. THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. lO; ner, Sophia went down and got her. At first she set up a la- mentable scream, but we huddled on her cloak and put her witli our baby into the carriage and gave them a ride. She is a proper heavy baby, and my legs ache well with trotting round the streets after the carriage. Think of me as often as you can and pray for me, and I will think of you and pray for you all the time. Tuesday Evening. — You see I am writing you a sort of little journal, as you say you like to know all I do while you are away. Our sweet baby makes your absence far less intolerable than it used to be before she came to comfort me I have felt all soul and eis if I had no body, ever since your precious letter came this morning. I have so pleased myself with im- agining how funny and nice it would be if I could creep in un- perceived by you, and hear your oration ! I long to know how you got through, and what Mr. Stearns and Mr. Smith thought of it. I always pray for you more when you are away than I do when you are at home, because I know you are interrupted and hindered about your devotions more or less when journey- .ng. I have had callers a great part of to-day, among them Mrs. Leonard, Mrs. Gen. Thompson, Mrs. Randall, and Capt. Clark.i Capt. C. asked for nobody but the baby. The little creature almost sprang into his arms. He was much gratified and held her a long while, kissing and caressing her. I think it was pretty work tur you to go to reading your oration to your mother and old Mrs. Coe, when you hadn't read it to me. I felt a terrible pang of jealousy when I came to that in your letter. I am going now to call on Miss Arnold. Friday, Sept. 3^/.— Yesterday forenoon I \\2.s perfectly wretched. It came over me, as things will in spite of us, "Suppose he didn't get safely to Brunswick ! " and for several hours I could not shake it off. It had all the power of reality, and made me so faint that I could do nothing and fairly had to go to bed. I suppose it was very silly, and if I had not tried in every way to rise above it might have been even wicked, but it frightened i One of a number of old whaling captains in her husband's coni^rej^ation. in whcni she was interested greatly. They belonged to a class of men sui genn-is-n\^n who had traversed all oceans, had visited many lands, and were as remarkable f.ir their jovia. urgc-heailed, social qualities, when at home, as for their indomitable energy, Yankee push, and adventurous seamanship, when hunting the monsters of the deep on the olhei aide of the globe. no THE TJFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. me to find how much I am under the power of mere feeling and fancy. But do not laugh at mc. Sometimes I say to myself, *' What MADNESS to love any human being so intensely ! What would become of you if he were snatched from you ? " and then I think that though God justly denies us comfort and support for the future, and bids us lean upon Him now and trust Him for the rest, He can give us strength for the endurance of His most terrible chastisements when their hour comes. Saturday.— I am a mere baby when I think of your getting sick in this time of almost universal sickness and sorrow and death Yesterday Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Leonard took me, with Sophia and baby, to the cemetery, and on a long ride of three hours— all of w^hich was delightful. In the afternoon baby had an ill-turn which alarmed me excessively, because so many children are sick, but I gave her medicine and think she will soon be well again. Mrs. Gibbs and Mrs. Randall and others sent me yesterday a dozen large peaches, two melons, a lot of shell-beans and tomatoes, a dish of blackberries and some fried corn-cakes — not an atom of the whole of wdiich shall I touch, taste, handle, or smell ; so you need not fear my killing myself Mrs. Capt. Delano, where the Rev. Mr. Brock from England stayed, has just lost two children after a few days' illness. They were buried in one coffin. Old Gideon Howland, the richest man here, is also dead. The papers are full of deaths. Our dear baby is nine months old to-day, and may God, if He sees best, spare her to us as many more ; and if He does not, I feel as if I could give her up to Him — but w^e don't know what we can do till the time comes. I hear her sweet little voic(i down stairs and it sounds happy, so I guess she feels pretty omfortable. Sabbath Evening:;. — The baby is better, and I dare say it is my imagination that says she looks pale and puny. She is now asleep in your study, where too I am sitting in your chair. I came down as soon as I could this morning, and have stayed here all day. It is so quiet and pleasant among your books and papers, and it was so dull up-stairs ! I thought before your let- ter came, while standing over the green, grassy graves of Wi/ac Read, Mary Rodman, and Mrs. Cad well,' how I should love to have dear Abby in such a green, sweet spot, where we could ' Twu brijjht girls and a young mother, wiio had died not long before. Till-: VolJNC. WIFE AND MOTHER. m sometimes go together to talk of her. I must own I should like to be buried under grass and trees, rather than cold stone and heavy marble. Should not you ? 11. Birth of a Son. Death of her Mother. Her Grief. Letters. Eddy's Illness and hei own Cares. A Family Gathering at Newburj'port. Extracts from Eddy's Journal. Passing over another year, which w^as marked by no inci- dents requiring special mention, we come again to a birth and a death in close conjunction. On the 22d of October, 1848, her second child, Edward Payson, was born. On the 17th of November, her mother died. Of the life of this child she her- self has left a minute record, portions of which will be given later. In a letter to his sister, dated New Bedford, Novem- ber 2 1st, her husband thus refers to her mother's departure: We have just received the sad intelligence of Motlier Payson's death. She passed away very peacefully, as if going to sleep, at half-past five on Friday afternoon. Dear Lizzy was at first quite overwhelmed, as I knew she would be— for her attachment to her mother was uncommonly tender and devoted ; but she is now perfectly tranquil and will soon, I trust, be able to think of her irreparable loss with a melancholy pleasure even. There is much in the case that is peculiarly fitted to produce a cheerful resignation. Mrs. Payson has been a severe sufferer ; and since the break- ing up of her home in Portland, she has felt, I think, an increasing detach- ment from the world. I was exceedingly struck with this during her visit here last winter. She seemed to me to be fast ripening for heaven. It is such a comfort to us that she was able to name our little boy ! ' 1 Her sickness lasted six weeks, dating from the day of herbeingentirely confi'ied tobed. Her life was prolonged much beyond what her physicians or any one else who saw her, had believed possible. During the last week her sufferings were less, and she lay quiel part of the time. Friday morning she had an attack of faintness, in the course of which i-lie remarked " I am dying." She recovered and before noon sank into a somnolent state (rom which she never awoke. Her breathing became softer and fainter till it ceased at h-ilf-past five in the afternoon. Oh, what a transition was that ! from pain and weari- r.^ss and woe to the world of light ! to the presence of the Saviour ! to unclouded blLss 1 felt, and so I beheve did all assembled round her bed, that it was time for exultation rather than grief. We could not think of ourselves, so absorbed were we in contempla- tion of her happiness. She was able to say scarcely anything during her sickness, and 112 Tin-: LI1T-: of mrs. prentiss. Mis. Payson died in the 65th year of her age. She was a woman of most attractive and admirable qualities, full ol cheerful life and energy, and a whole-hearted disciple of Jesus. A few extracts from Mrs. Prentiss' letters will show how deep, ly she felt her loss. To her youngest brother she writes : How gladly I would go, if I could, to see you all, and talk over with you the thousand things that are filling our minds and hearts ! We can not drain this bitter cup at one draught and then go on our way as though it had never been. The loss of a mother is never made up or atoned for ; and ours was such a mother ; so peculiar in her devotion and tenderness and sympathy ! I can not mourn that her sorrowful pilgrimage is over, can not think for a moment of wishing she were still on earth, weeping and praying and suffering — but for myself and for you and for all I mourn with hourly tears. She has sacri- ficed herself for us. To her friend, Miss Lord, she writes, Jan. 31: It seems to me that every day and hour I miss my dear mother more and more, and I feel more and more painfully how much she suffered during her last years and months. Dear Louise, I thought I knew that she could not live long, but I never realised it, and even now I keep trying to hope that she has not really gone. Just in this very spot where I now sit writing, my dear mother's great easy-chair used to sit, and here, only a year ago, she was praying for and loving me. O, if I had only known she was dying then, and could have talked with her about heaven till il had grown to seeming like a home to which she was going, and whither I should follow her left not a single message for the absent children, or directions to those who were present. Her extreme weakness, and the distressing effect of every attempt to speak, made her abandon all such attempts except in answer to questions. But the tenor of her replies to all inquiries was uniform, expressing entire acquiescence in the will of God, confidence in Him through Christ, and a desire to depart as soon as He should permit. Tranquillity and peace, unclouded by a single doubt or fear, seem to have filled her mind. There were several reasons which led us to decide that the interment should take place hcie ; but on the following Saturday a gentleman arrived from Portland, sent by the Second Parish to remove the remains to tliat place, if we made no objection. As we made none, the body was disinterred and taken to P., my brother G. accompanying it So that her mortal remains now rest with those of my dear father. — Letter f-rom Mrs Hoj^kins to her aunt in New Haven, dated IVilliamstown^ Dec. i, 1S4S. THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. i j -> sooner or later! But it is all over and I would not have her here again, if the shadow of a wish could restore her to us. I only earnestly long to be fitting, day by day, to meet her again in heaven. God has mingled many great mercies with this affliction, and I do not know that I ever in my life so felt the delight of praying to and thanking Him. When I begin to pray I have so much to thank Him for, that I hardly know how to stop. I have always thought I would not for the universe be left unchastised— and now I feel the smart, I still can say so. Lotty's visit was a great comfort and service to me, but I Vi^as very selfish in talking to her so much about my own loss, while she was so great a sufferer under hers. Since she left my little boy has been worse than ever and pined away last week very rapidly. You can form no idea, by any description of his sufferings, of what the dear little creature has undergone since his birth. I feel a perfect longing to see Portland and mother's many dear friends there, especially your mother and a few like her. I am very tired as I have written a great part of tliis with baby in my lap — so I can write no more. Dear little Eddy has found life altogether unkind thus far. To Mrs. ^""^ ^ \\^\'^ had many hours of heartache on his ac- fJ^iTis'q^^""^ ' ^^^ ^ ^^P^ ^^ ^^^y weather the storm and 'come out safely yet. The doctor examined him all over yesterday, particularly his head, and said he could not make him out a sick child, but that he thought his want of flesh owing partly to his sufferings but more to the great loss of sleep occasioned by his sufferings. Instead of sleeping twelve hours out of the twenty-four, he sleeps but about seven and that by means of laudanum. Isn't it a mercy that I have been able to bear so well the fatigue and care and anxiety of these four hard months? I feel that I have nothing to complain of, and a great deal to be thankful for. On the whole, notwith- standing my grief about my dear mother's loss, and my per- plexity and distress about baby, I have had as much real hap- piness this winter as it is possible for one to glean in such un- favorable circumstances. By far the greatest trial I have to contend with, is that of losing all power to control m}' time. A little room all of my own, and a regular hour, morning and night, all of my own would enable me, I think, to say, ^^ Now let life do its worst ! " 8 J, 4 TlIK LllK ni- MRS. TRENTISS. 1 am no stran-er, I assure you, to the misgivings you de scribe in your last letter ; I think them the result of the wish without the unll to be holy. We pray for sanctification and then arc afraid God will sanctify us by stripping us of our idols and feel distressed lest we can not have them and Him too. Reading the life of Madame Guyon gave me great pain and anxiety, I remember. I thought that if such spiritual darkness and trial as she was in for many years, was a necessary attend- ant on eminent piety, I could not summon courage to try to live such a life. Of all the anguish in the world there is noth- ing like this— the sense of God, without the sense of nearness to' Him. I wish you would always "think aloud" when you write to me. I long to see you and the children and Mr. S., and so does George. Poor G. has had a very hard time of it ever since little Eddy's birth— so much care and worry and sleeplessness and labor, and how he is ever to get any rest I don't see. These are the times that try our souls. Let nobody condole with me about our bodies. It is the struggle to be patient and gentle and cheerful, when pressed dowm and worn upon and distracted, that costs us so much. I think when I have had all my children, if there is anything left of me, I shall write about the " Battle of Life " more eloquently than Dickens has done. I had a pleasant dream about mother and Abby the other night. They came together to see me and both seemed so well and so happy ! I i^€\. perfectly happy now, that my flear mother has gone home. ' I used to think it hard to be sick when I had dear mother hanging over me, doing all she could for my relief, \llyn^x%^i but it is harder to be denied the poor comfort of being let alone and to have to drag one's self out of bed to take care of a baby. Mr. Stearns must know how to pity me, ffir my real sick headaches are very like his, and when racked with pain, dizzy, faint and exhausted with suffering, starvation and sleeplessness, it is terrible to have to walk the room with a crying child ! I thought as I lay, worn out even to childish- ness, obliged for the baby's sake to have a bright sunlight streaming into the chamber, and to keep my eyes and ears on the alert for the same cause, how still we used to think the house must be left when my father had these headaches and how mnthcr busied herself all day long about him, and how THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. 1 15 nice his little plate of hot steak used to look, as he sat up to eat it when the sickness had gone — and how I ^m suffering here all alone with nobody to give me even a look of encour- agement. George was out of town on my sickest day. When he was at home he did everything in the world he could do to keep the children still, but here they must be and I must direct about every trifle and have them on the bed with me. I am getting desperate and feel disposed to run furiously in the traces till I drop dead on the way. Don't think me very wicked for saying so. I am jaded in soul and body and hardly know what I do want. If T. comes, George, at all events, will get relief and that will take a burden from my mind I want Lina to come this summer. There is a splendid swing on iron hooks under a tree, at the house we are going to move into. Won't that be nice for Jeanie and Mary's other children, if they come ? I wish I had a little fortune, not for myself but to gather my " folks " together with. I shall not write you, my dear, another complaining letter ; do excuse this. This letter shows the extremity of her trouble ; but it is a picture, merely. The reality was something beyond descrip- tion ; only young mothers, who know it by experience, can understand its full meaning. Now, however, the storm for a while abated. The young relative, whose loving devotion had ministered to the comfort of her dying mother, came to her own relief and passed the next six months at New Bed- ford, helping take care of Eddy. In the course of the spring, too, his worst symptoms disappeared and hope took the place of fear and despondency. Referring to this period, his mother writes in Eddy's journal: On the Saturday succeeding his birth, we heard of my dear mother's serious illness, and, when he was about three weeks old, of her death. We were not surprised that his health suf- 1 r?red from the shock it thus received. He began at once to be affected with distressing colic, which gave him no rest day or night. His father used to call him a "little martyr," and such indeed he was for many long, tedious months. On the i6th of February, the doctor came and spent two hours in carefully in- vestigating his case. He said it was a most trying condition of Ij6 the life of MRS. PRENTISS. things, and he would gladly do something to relieve me, as he thought I had been through " enough to kill ten men:' .... When Eddy was about eight months old, the doctor deter- mined to discontinue the use of opiates. He was now a fine, healthy baby, bright-eyed and beautiful, and his colic was re- ducing itself to certain seasons on each day, instead of occupy- ing the whole day and night as heretofore. We went through fire and water almost in trying to procure for him natural sleep. We swung him in blankets, wheeled him in little carts, walked the room with him by the hour, etc., etc., but it w^as w^onderful how little sleep he obtained after all. He always looked wide awake and as if he did not need sleep. Flis eyes had gradually become black, and when, after a day of fatigue and care with him he would at last close them, and we would flatter ourselves that now we too should snatcli a little rest, we would see them shining upon us in the most amusing manner with an expres- sion of content and even merriment. About this time he was l-)aptized. I well remember how in his father's study, and be- fore taking him to church, we gave him to God. He was very good while his papa was performing the ceremony, and looked so bright and so well, that many who had never seen him in his state of feebleness, found it hard to believe he had been aught save a vigorous and healthy child. My own health was now so broken down by long sleeplessness and fatigue, that it became necessary for me to leave home for a season. Dr. Mayhew promised to run in every day to see that all went well with Eddy. His auntie was more than willing to take this care uj^on herself, and many of our neighbors offered to go often to sec liim, promising to do everything for his safety and comfort if I would only go. Not aware how miserable a state I w^as in, I resolved to be absent only one week, but was away for a whole month. A part of the month, with her husband and little daugh- ter, she passed at Ncwburyport. His brother, S. S. Prentiss — wliose name was then renowned all over the land as an ora- tor and patriot— had come North for the last time, bringing his wife and chiUlrcn with him. It was a never-to-be-forgotten family gathering under the aged mother's roof. On my retiiin (she continues in Eddy's journal) I found him TIIK VOUNG WIFK AXI.) MOTHER. 117 looking finely. He had had an ill-turn owing- to teethini^ which they had kept from me, but had recovered from it and looked really beautiful. His father and uncle S. S. had been to see him once during our vacation, and we were now expecting them again with his Aunt Mary and her three children and his giandmother. We depended a great deal on seeing Eddy and Una together, as she was his tiviii cousin and only a few hours older than he. But on the very evening of their arrival he was taken sick, and, although they all saw him that night looking like himself, by the next morning he had changed sadly. He grew ill and lost flesh and strength very fast, and no remedies seemed to have the least effect on his disorder, which was one induced by teething For myself I did not believe any- thing could now save my precious baby, and had given him to God so unreservedly, that I was not conscious of even a wish for his life When at last w^e saw evident tokens of re- turning health and strength, we felt that we received him a sec- ond time as from the grave. To me he never seemed the same child. My darling Eddy was lost to me and another — and yei the same — filled his place. I often said afterward that a little stranger was running about my nursery , not mine, but God's. Indeed, I can't describe the peculiar feelings with which I al- ways regarded him after this sickness, nor how the thought constantly met me, "He is not mine; he is God's." Every night I used to thank Him for sparing him to me one dav longer ; thus truly enjoying him a day at a time. An extract from a letter to Miss Lord, written on the anni- versary of her mother's death, will close the account of this year. If I were in Portland now, I should go right down to sec you I feel just like having a dear, old-fashioned talk with you. I was thinking how many times death had entered that old Richmond circle of which you and I once formed a part ; Mrs Persico, Susan, Charlotte Ford, Kate Kennedy, and now our own dearest Lotty, all gone. I can not tell you how much I miss and grieve for Lotty." I can not be thankful enough that I went to Portland m the summer and had that last week » The wife of her brother Mr. Henry M. I'ayson. Il8 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. with her, nor for her most precious visit here last winter Whenever you think of any little thing she said, I want you tc write it down for me. no matter whether it seems worth writ- ing or not. I know by experience how precious such things are. This is a sad day to me. Indeed, all of this month has been so, recalling as it has done, all I was suffering at this time last year, and all my dear mother was then suffering. I can hardly realise that she has been in heaven a whole year, and that I feel her loss as vividly as if it were but yesterday — in- deed, more so. I do not feel that this affliction has done me the good that it ought to have done and that I hoped it would. As far as I have any excuse it lies in my miserable health. I want so much to be more of a Christian ; to live a life of constant devotion. Do tell me, when you write, if you have such tnmbled thoughts, and such difficulty in being steadfast and unmovable ? Oh, how I sigh for the sort of life I led in Rich- mond, and which was more or less the life of the succeeding years at home ! My husband tries to persuade me that the dif- ference is more in my way of life, and that then being my time for contemplation, now is my time for action. But I know, mvself, that I have lost ground. You must bear me in mind when you pray, my dear Louise, for I never had so much need of praying nor so little time or strength for it. III. Further Extracts from Eddy's Journal. Ill-health. Visit to Newark. Death of her Brother-in-law, S. S. Prentiss. His Character. Removal to Newark. Letters. The record of the new year opens with this entry in Eddy's journal : January^ 1850. — Eddy is now fourteen months old, has six teeth, and walks well, but with timidity. He is, at times, really beautiful. He is very affectionate, and will run to meet me, throw his little arms round my neck and keep pat-pat-patting me, with delight Miss Arnold sent him, at New Year's, a pretty ball, with which he is highly pleased. He rolls it about THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. II9 by knocking it with a stick, and will shout for joy when he sees it moving. He is crazy to give everybody something, and when he is brought down to prayers, hurries to get the Bible for his father, his little face all smiles and exultation, and his body in a quiver with emotion. He is like lightning in all his move- ments, and is never still for an instant. It is worth a good deal to see his face, it is so brimful of life and sunshine and gladness. Her letters, written during the winter and spring, show how in the midst of bodily suffering, depression, and sorrow her views of life were changing and her faith in God growing stronger. Three of her brothers were now in California, seek- ing their fortunes in the newly-discovered gold mines. To one of them she writes, March loth : I was delighted yesterday by the reception of your letter. I do not wonder that Lotty's death affected you as it did — but however sharp the instruments by which these lessons come to us, they are full of good when they do come. As I look back to the time w^hen I did not know what death was doing and could do, I seem to myself like a child who has not yet been to school. The deaths of our dear mother and of Lotty have taken fast hold of me. Life is entirely changed. I do not say this in a melancholy or repining temper, for I would not have life ap- pear otherwise than in its true light. All my sickly, wicked disgust with it has been put to the blush and driven away. I see now that to live for God, whether one is allowed ability to be actively useful or not, is a great thing, and that it is a won- derful mercy to be allowed to live and suffer even, if thereby one can glorify Him. I desire to live if it is God's will, though I confess heaven looks most attractive when either sin, sorrow, or sickness weary me. But I must not go on at this rate, for I could not in writing begin to tell you how different everything looks as I advance into a knowledge of life and see its awful sorrows and sufferings and changes and know that I am sub- ject to all its laws, soon to take my turn in its mysterious close. My dear brother, let us learn by heart the lessons we are learn- ing, and go in their strength and wisdom all our days Our children are well. Eddy has gone to be weighed (he 120 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. weighed t .enty-four pounds). He is a fine little fellow. 1 have his nurse still, and ought to be in excellent health, but am a nervous old thing, as skinny and bony as I can be. I can think of nothing but birds' claws when I look at my hands. But I have so much to be thankful for in my dear husband and my r veet little children, and love all of you so dearly, that I believe I am as rich as if I had the flesh and strength of a giant. I am going this week to hear Miss Arnold read a manuscript novel. This will give spice to my life. Warmest love to you all. Again, May loth, she writes: It would be a great pleasure to me to keep a journal for you if I were well enough, but I am not. I have my sick headache now once a week, and it makes me really ill for about three days. Towards night of the third day I begin to brighten up and to eat a morsel, but hardly recover my strength before I have another pull-down. Just as I had got to this point the door-bell rang, and lo ! a beautiful May-basket hanging on the latch for "Annie," full of pretty and good things. I can hardly wait till morning to see how her eyes will shine and her little feet fly when she sees it. George has been greatly distressed about S. S., and has, I think, very little, if any, hope that he will recover. Dr. Tappan ' spent Tuesday night here. We had a really delightful visit from him. He spoke highly of your classmate, Craig, who is just going to be mar- ried. He told us a number of pleasant anecdotes about father. Eddy has got big enough to walk in the street. He looks like a little picture, with his great forehead and bright eyes. He is in every way as large as most children are at two years His supreme delight is to tease A. by making believe strike her or m some other real boy's hateful way. She and he play to- gether on the grass-plat, and I feel quite matronlv as I sit watching them with their balls and wheel-barrows and what- MOts. Tins little scamp has, I fear, broken my constitution to pieces. It makes me crawl all over when I think of vou three fagging all day at such dull and unprofitable labor. But I ar sure Providence will do what is really best for you all. W ^^^V^^JZ:'^ "•"•' - ^'' ''-^' °^ ^- ^^^-'^ -d one of the pa am e THE YOUXr, WIFE AND MOTHER. 121 think and talk of and pray for you every day and more than once a day, and, in all my ill-health and sufferings, the remem- brance of you is pleasant and in great measure refreshing. J depend more upon hearing from you all than I can describe. What an unconquerable thing family affection is ! She thus writes, May 30th, to her old Portland friend, Miss Lord : I have written very few letters and not a line of anything else the past winter, owing to the confusion my mind is in most of the time from distress in my head. Three days out of every seven I am as sick as I well can be — the rest of the time languid, feeble, and exhausted by frequent faint turns, so that I can't do ttie smallest thing in my family. I hardly know what it is so much as to put a clean apron on to one of my children. To me this is a constant pain and weariness ; for our expense in the way of servants is greater than we can afford and everything is going to destruction under my face and eyes, while I dare not lift a finger to remedy it. I live in constant alternations of hope and despondency about my health. Whenever I feel a little better, as I do to-day, I am sanguine and cheerful, but the next ill-turn depresses me ex- ceedingly. I don't think there is any special danger of my dy- ing, but there is a good deal of my getting run down beyond the power of recovery, and of dragging out that useless exist- ence of which I have a perfect horror. But I would not have you think I am not happy ; for I can truly say that I am, most of the time, as happy as I believe one can be in this world. All my trials and sufferings shut me up to the one great Source of peace, and I know there has been need of every one of them. I have not yet made my plans for the summer. Our doctor urges me to go away from the children and from the salt water, but I do not believe it would do me a bit of good. I want you to see my dear little boy. He is now nineteen months old and as fat and well as can be. He is a beautiful little fellow, we think, and very interesting. He is as gallant to A. as you please, and runs to get a cushion for her when their supper is carried in, and won't eat a morsel himself till he sees her nicely fixed. George has gone to Boston, and I am lonely enough. I would write another sheet if I dared, but I don't dare. 122 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. What she here says of her happiness, amidst the trials o( the previous winter, is repeated a little later in a letter to her husband : I can truly say I have not spent a happier winter since our marriage, in spite of all my sickness. It seems to me I can never recover my spirits and be as I have been in my best days, but what I lose in one way perhaps I shall gain in an- other. Just think how my ambition has been crushed at every point by my ill-health, and even the ambition to be useful and a comfort to those about me trampled underfoot, to teach me what I could not have learned in any other school ! In the month of June she went on a visit to Newark, New Jersey, where her husband's mother and sister now resided: Dr. Stearns having in the fall of 1849 accepted a call to the First Presbyterian church in that city. While she was in New- ark news came of the dangerous illness, and, soon after, of the death at Natchez of her brother-in-law, Mr. S. S. Prentiss. The event was a great shock to her, and she knew that it would be a crushing blow to her husband. Pier letters to him, written at this time, are full of the tender love and sym- pathy that infuse solace into sorrow-stricken hearts. Here is an extract from one of them, dated July nth: I can't tell you how it grieves and distresses me to have had this long-dreaded af^iction come upon you when you were alone. Though I could do so little to comfort you, it seems as it' I mil si be near you But I know I am doing right in staying here — doing as you would tell me to do, if I could have your direct wish, and you don't know how thankful I am that it has pleased God to let me be with dear mother at a time when she so needed constant affection and sympathy. Yes there arc wonderful mercies with this heavy affliction, and we all see and feel them. Poor mother has borne all the dreadful suspense and then the second blow of to-day far better than any of us dared to hope, but she v/eeps incessantly. Anna is with her all she can possibly be, and Mr. Stearns is an angel of mercy. I have prayed for you a great deal this week, and 1 THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. I23 know God is with you, comforts you, and will enable you to bear this great sorrow. And yet I can't help feeling that I want to comfort you myself. Oh, may we all reap its blessed fruits as long as we live ! Let us withdraw a while from everything else, that we may press nearer to God. We were in a state of terrible suspense all day Tuesday, all day Wednesday, and until noon to-day ; starting at every foot- fall, expecting telegraphic intelligence either from you or from the South, and deplorably ignorant of Seargent's alarming condition, notwithstanding all the warning we had had. Wilh one consent we had put far off the evil day And now I must bid you good-night, my dearest husband, praying that you may be the beloved of the Lord and rest in safety by Him. The early years of Mrs. Prentiss' married life were in vari- ous ways closely connected with that of this lamented brother; so much so that he may be said to have formed one of the most potent, as well as one of the sunniest, influences in her own domestic history. Not only was he very highly gifted, intellectually, and widely known as a great orator, but he was also a man of extraordinary personal attractions, endeared to all his friends by the sweetness of his disposition, by his winning ways, his wit, his playful humor, his courage, his boundless generosity, his fraternal and filial devotion, and by the charm of his conversation. His death at the early ai^e of forty-one called forth expressions of profound sorrow and regret from the first men of the nation. After the lapse of nearly a third of a century his memory is still fresh and bright in the hearts of all, who once knew and loved him.' Notwithstanding the shock of this great affliction, Mrs. Prentiss returned to New Bedford much refreshed in body and ■nind. In a letter to her friend Miss Lord, dated September .4th, she writes : I spent six most profitable weeks at Newark ; went out very little, saw very few people, and had the quiet and retirement I had long hungered and thirsted for. Since 1 have had children ' See appendix B, p. 534, lor a brief skctcli of his life. 124 THE LIFE ( )]• MRS PRENTISS. my life has been so distracted with care and sickness that 1 have sometimes felt like giving up in despair, but this six weeks rest gave me fresh courage to start anew. I have got some delightful books — Manning's Sermons.' They are (letting the High-churchism go) most delightful ; I think Susan would have feasted on them. But she is feasting on angels' food and has need of none of these things. In October of this year Mrs. Prentiss bade adieu to New Bedford, never to revisit it, and removed to Newark ; her hus- band having become associate pastor of the Second Presby- terian church in that place. In the spring of the following year he accepted a call to the Mercer street Presbyterian church in New York, and that city became her home the rest of her days. Although she tarried so short a time in Newark, she received much kindness and formed warm friendship while there. She continued to suffer much, however, from ill-health and almost entirely suspended her correspondence. A few letters to New Bedford friends are all that relate to this period. In one to Mrs. J. P. Allen, dated November 2d, she thus refers to an accident, which came near proving fatal : Yesterday we went down to New York to hear Jenny Lind ; a pleasure to remember for the rest of one's life. If anything, she surpassed our expectations. In coming home a slight acci- dent to the cars obliged us to walk about a mile, and I must needs fall into a hole in the bridge which we were crossing, and bruise and scrape one knee quite badly. The wonder is that I did not go into the river, as it was a large hole, and pitch dark. I think if I had been walking with Mr. Prentiss I should not only have gone in myself, but pulled him in too ; but I had the arm of a stronger man, who held me up till I could extri- cate myself. Y(ju can't think how I miss you, nor how often I wish you could run in and sit with me, as you used to do. I have always loved you, and shall remember you and yours with the utmost interest. We had a pleasant call the other day from Captain Oibbs. Seeing him made me liomesick enough I could hardly keep from crying all the time he stayed. It ' Sermons by Henry Edward Mannin};, Archdeacon of Chichester (now CardinaJ Uanning). ist, 2d, and 3d Series. THE YOUNG WIFE AND MOTHER. I2C seems to us both as if we had been gone from New Bedford more months than we have days. Mr. Prentiss said yesterday that he should expect if he went back directly, to see the boy? and gir'.s grown up and married. Mr, Prentiss and Mr. Poor have just taken Annie and Eddy out to walk, and I have been moping over the fire and y?i'i/^f?/'v;r,thinking of New Bedford friends, and wishing one or Neivark j;nore would "happen in." I am iust now orettinQ^ over Feb. 12, 1851. ^ ^ -^ 00 a severe attack of rheumatism, which on leaving my back intrenched itself in Mr. P.'s shoulder. I dislike this cli- mate and am very suspicious of it. Everybody has a horrible cold, or the rh'^umatism, or fever and ague. Mr. Prentiss says if I get the latter, he shall be off for New England in a twink- ling. I ihip-k he is as well as can be expected while the death of his brotber continues so fresh in his remembrance. All the old cheerfulness, which used to sustain me amid sickness and trouble, has gone from him. But God has ordered the iron to enLer liis soul, and it is not for me to resist that w^ill. Our chil- dren are well. We have had much comfort in them both this winter. Mother Prentiss is renewing her youth, it is so pleasant to tier to have us all near her. (Eddy and A. are hovering about me, making such a noise that I can hardly write. Eddy says, "When I was tired. Poor tarried me.") Mr. Poor carries all before him.' He is very popular throughout the city, and 1 believe Mrs. P. is much admired by their people. Mr. Prentiss Is preaching every Sabbath evening, as Dr. Condit is able to preach every morning now. I feel as much at home as I possi- bly could anywhere in the same time, but instead of mourning less for my New^ Bedford friends, 1 mourn more and more every day. To Mrs. Allen she writes, Feb. 21 : I know all about those depressed moods, when it costs one as much to smile, or to give a pleasant answer, as it would at other times to make a world. What a change it will be to us poor sickly, feeble, discouraged ones, when we find ourselves "The Rev. I). W. Poor, D.D., now of Philadelphia. He had been settled at lali Haven, neai New Bedford, and was then a pastor in Newark. f20 Tin-: LIFI-: of mrs. r:;ENTiss. where there is neither pain or lassitude or fatigue of the body or sorrow or care or despondency of the mind ! I miss you more and more. People here are kind and excellent and friendly, but I can not make them, as yet, f?U the places of the familiar faces I have left in New Bedford. I am all the time walking through our neif^hborhood, d/opping into Deacon Barker's or your house, or welcoming some of you into our old house on the corner. Eddy is pretty well. He is a sweet little boy, gentle and docile. He learns to talk very fast, and is crazy to learn hymns. He says, "Tinkle, tinkle leetle 'tar," very prettily, and says, " I love everybody, and give 'tatoes to beggar boys." Mother Prentiss seems to tJuHve on having us all about her. She lives so far off that I see her seldom, but Mr. P. goes every day, except Sundays, when he can't go — rain or shine, tired or not tired, convenient or not convenient. Since my mother's death he has felt that he must do quickly what- ever he has to do for his own. CHAPTER V. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 185I-1858. I. Removal to New York and first Summer there. Letters. Loss of Sleep and Anxiet> about Eddy. Extracts from Eddy's Journal, describing his last Illness and Death. Lines entitled "To my Dying Eddy." Mrs. Prentiss' removal to New York was an important link in the chain of outward events which prepared her for her special life-work. It introduced her at once into a circle unsurpassed, perhaps, by any other in the countr\% for its in- telligence, its domestic and social virtues, and its earnest Christian spirit. The Mercer street Presbyterian church con- tained at that time many members whose names were known and honored the world over, in the spheres of business, pro- fessional life, literature, philanthropy, and religion ; and among its homes were some that seemed to have attained ahiiost the perfection of beauty. In these homes the new pastor's wife soon became an object of tender love and devotion. Here she found herself surrounded by all congenial influences. Her mind and heart alike were refreshed and stimulated in the healthiest manner. And to add to her joy, several dear old friends lived near her and sat in adjoining pews on the Sabbath. But happy as were the auspices that welcomed her to New York, the experience of the past two years had taught her not to expect too much from any outward conditions She entered, therefore, upon this new period of her life in a very sober mood. Nor had many months elai)scd berore she (127; 128 Till- lAVE or MRS. TRENTISS. bej^an to hear premonitory murmurs of an incoming sea of tro'lible. Most of the summer of 185 1 she remained in town with the children. An extract from a letter to her youngest brother, dated August i, will show how she whiled away many a weary hour: It has been very hot this summer ; our house is large and cool, and above all, I have a nice bathing-room opening ou'. of my chamber, with hot and cold water and a shower-bath, which is a world of comfort. We spent part of last week at Rockaway, L. I., visiting a friend.^ I nearly froze to death, but George and the children were much benefited. I have improved fast in health since we came here. Yesterday I walked two and a half miles with George, and a year ago at this time I could not walk a quarter of a mile without being sick after it for some days. When I feel miserably I j ust put on my bonnet and get into an omnibus and go rattlety-bang down town ; the air and the shaking and the jolting and the sight-seeing make me feel bet- ter and so I get along. If I could safely leave my children I should go with George. He hates to go alone and surely I hate to be left alone ; in fact instead of liking each other's so- riety less and less, we every day get more and more dependent on each other, and take separation harder and harder. Our children are well. To her husband, who had gone to visit an old friend, at Harpswell, on the coast of Maine, she writes a few days later: On Saturday very early Professor Smith called with the House of Seven Gables. I read about half of it in the evening. One sees the hand of the artisf as clearly in such a work as in painting, and the hand of a skilful one, too. I have read many books with more interest, but never one in which I was so diverted from the story to a study of the author himself. So far there is nothing exciting in it. I don't know who supplied tlic pulpit on Sunday morning. The sermon was to young men, which was not so appropriate as it might have been, con- > The friend was Mr. Wni. G. Bull, who had a sumnier cottage at Rockaway. He was a leading nicniber of the Mercer street church and one of the best of men. The poor and unfortunate blessed him all the year round. To Mrs. Prentiss and her husband he was indefatigable in kindness. He died at an advanced age in 1859. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 120 sidering there were no young men present, unless I except our Eddy and other sprigs of humanity of his age. I suppose you will wonder what in the world I let Eddy go for. Well, I took a fancy to let Margaret try him, as nobody would know him in the gallery and he coaxed so prettily to go. He was highly excited at the permission, and as I was putting on his sacquc, I directed Margaret to take it oii if he fell asleep. " Ho ! I shan't go to sleep," quoth he ; " Christ doesn't have rocking- chairs in His house." He set off in high spirits, and during the long prayer I heard him laugh loud ; soon after I heard a rattling as of a parasol and Eddy saying, " There it is ! " by which time Margaret, finding he was going to begin a regular frolic, sagely took him out. August ph. — The five girls from Brooklyn all spent yester- day here. They had a regular frolic towards night, bathing and shower-bathing. Afterwards we all went on top of the house. It was very pleasant up there. I took the children to Barnum's Museum, as I proposed doing. They were delighted, particularly with the " Happy Family," which consisted of cats, rats, birds, dogs, rabbits, monkeys, etc., etc., dwelling together in unity. I observed that though the cats forbore to lay a paw upon the rats and mice about them, they yet took a melancholy pleasure in looking at these dainty morsels, from which nothing could persuade them to turn off their eyes. I am glad that you got away from New Bedford alive and that you did not stay longer, but hearing about our friends there made me quite long to se(; them myself. Do have just the best time in the world at Harpswell, and don't let the Rev. Elijah drown you for the sake of catching your mantle as you go down. I dare not tell you how much I miss you, lest you should think I do not re- joice in your having this vacation. May God bless and keep you. During the autumn she suffered much again from feeble health and incessant loss of sleep. '' I have often thought," she wrote to a friend, '' that while so stupefied b\' sickness I should not be glad to see my own mother if I had to speak to her." But neither sick days nor sleepless nights could quench the brightness of her spirit or wholly spoil her enjoyment of life. A little diary which she kept contains many gleams of 9 30 TIIK LIFE OF MRS. PRLNTISS. sunshine, recording pleasant visits from old friends, happ}J hours and walks with the children, excursions to Newark, and how amazingly" she " enjoyed the boys" (her brothers) on their return from the pursuit of golden dreams in California. In the month of November the diary shows tliat her watchful eye observed in Eddy signs of disease, vxhich filled her with anxiety. Before the close of the year her worst fears began to be realised. She wrote, Dec. 31 : " I am under a constant pressure of anxiety about Eddy. How little we know w^iat the New Year will bring forth." Early in January, 1852, his symptoms assumed a fatal type, and on the 16th of the same month the beautiful boy was re- leased from his sufferings, and found rest in the kingdom of heaven, that sweet home of the little children. A few extracts from Eddy's journal will tell the story of his last days : On the 19th of December the Rev. Mr. Poor was here. On hearing of it, Eddy said he wanted to see him. As he took now so little interest in anything that would cost him an effort, I was surprised, but told Annie to lead him down to the parlor on reaching it they found Mr. Poor not there, and they then went up to the study. I heard their father's joyous greeting as he opened his door for them, and how he welcomed Eddy, in particular, with a perfect shower of kisses and caresses. This was the last time the dear child's own feet ever took him there ; but his father afterwards frequently carried him up in his arms and amused him with pictures, especially with what Eddy called the "bear books."' One morning Ellen told him she was going to make a little pie for his dinner, but on his next appearance in the kitchen told him she had let it burn all up in the oven, and that she felt dreadfully about it. " Never mind, I^llic," Sciid lir, " iiKiuHiui does not like to have me eat pie ; but whrii I ;'t'/ K'iil I >hall have as many as I want." On the 24th (A December Mr. Stearns and Anna were here. I was out with the latter most of the day ; on my return Eddy came to me with a little tiag which his uncle had given him, and after they had left us he ran up and down with it, and as my eye followed him, I Lhought he looked happier and brightei ' Godinan's "American Natural History," N THE SCHOOL OF SUFFEklXG. 131 and more like himself than I had seen him for a long time. He kept saying, ''Mr. Stearns gave me this flag!" and then would correct himself and say, " I mean my Uncle Stearns." On this night he hung up his bag for his presents, and after going to bed, surveyed it with a chuckle of pleasure pcculiai to liim, and linally fell asleep in this happy mood. I took great delight in arranging his and A.'s presents, and getting them safely into their bags. He enjoyed Christmas as much as I had reason to expect he would, in his state of health, and was busy among his new playthings all day. He had taken a fancy within a few wrecks to kneel at family prayers with me at my chair, and would throw one little arm round my neck, while with the other hand he so prettily and seriously covered his eyes. As their heads touched my face as they knelt, I observed that Eddy's felt hot when compared with A.'s ; just enougii so to increase my uneasiness. On entering the nursery on New Year's morning, I was struck with his appearance as he lay in bed ; his face being spotted all over. On asking Margaret about it, she said he had been crying, and that this occasioned the spots. This did not seem probable to me, for I had never seen anything of this kind on his face before. How little I knew that these were the last tears my darling would ever shed. On Sunday morning, January 4, not being able to come himself, Dr. Buck sent Dr. Watson in his place. I told Dr. W. that I thought Eddy had water on the brain ; he said it was not so, and ordered nothing but a warm bath. On Thursday, January 8, while Margaret was at dinner, I knelt by the side of the cradle, rocking it very gently, and he asked me to tell him a story. I asked what about, and he said, "A little boy," on which I said something like this : Mamma knows a dear little boy who was very sick. His head ached and he felt sick all over. God said, I must let that little lamb come into my fi-ld then his head will never ache again, and he will be a ery li.ip- py little lamb. I used the words little lamb because ne was so fond of them. Often he would run to his nurse with liis face full of animation and say, '' Marget ! ISIamma says I am her little lamb ! " While I was telling him this story his eyes were fixed intelligently on my face. I then said, "Would yo-.i like to know the name of this bov ? " With eagerness he said, " Ves. 132 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. yes, mamma ! " Taking his dear little hand in mine, and kiss ino- it I said. " It was Eddv." Just then his nurse came in and his attention was diverted, so I said no more. On Sunday, January ii, at noon, while they were all at din ner, I was left alone with my darling for a few moments, and could not help kissing his unconscious lips. To my utter amazement he looked up and plainly recognised me and warmly returned my kiss. Then he said feebly, but distinctly twice, '' I want some meat and potato." I do not think I should have been more delighted if he had risen from the dead, once more to recognise me. Oh, it was suck a comfort to have one more kiss, and to be able to gratify one more wish ! On Friday, January i6th, his little weary sighs became more profound, and, as the da}'' advanced, more like groans ; but appeared to indicate extreme fatigue, rather than severe pain. Towards night his breathing became quick and labori- ous, and between seven and eight slight spasms agitated his little feeble frame. He uttered cries of distress for a few min- utes, when they ceased, and his loving and gentle spirit as- cended to that world where thousands of holy children and the blessed company of angels and our blessed Lord Jesus, I doubt not, joyfully welcomed him. Now we were able to say, // is ic'cll with tlie child ! " Oh," said the gardener, as he passed down the garden- walk, "who plucked that flower? Who gathered that plant?' Mis fellow-servants answered, "The Master !" And the gar- dener held his peace. The fcclinj^s of the mother's heart on Friday found vent in some lines entitled To My Dying Eddy, January i6th. Here arc two stanzas: Blest chikl ! dear child ! For thee is Jesus calling; And of our househokl thee — and only thee ! Oh, hasten hence ! lo His embraces hasten ! Sweet shall thy rest and safe thy shelter be. Thou who unguarded ne'er hast left our threshold, Alone must venture now an unknown way ; Yet, fear not ! Footprints of an Intant Holv Lie on thy path. Thou canst niU go astray. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 133 In a letter to her friend Mrs. Allen, of New Bedford, dated January 28, she writes : During our dear little Eddy's illness v/e were surrounded with kind friends, and many prayers were offered for us and for him. Nothing that could alleviate our affliction was left uidone or unthought of, and we feel that it would be most un- christian and ungrateful in us to even wonder at that Divine will which has bereaved us of our only boy — the light and sun- shine of our household. We miss him sadly. I need not ex- plain to you, who know all about it, how sadly ; but we rejoice that he has got away from this troublous life, and that we have had the privilege of giving so dear a child to God. When he was well he was one of the happiest creatures I ever saw, and I am sure he is well now, and that he is as happy as his joyous nature makes him susceptible of becoming. God has been most merciful to us in this affliction, and, if a bereaved, we are still a happy household and full of thanksgiving. Give my love to both the children and tell them they must not forget us, and when they think and talk of their dear brother and sisters in heaven, they must sometimes think of the little Eddy who is there too. 11. Birth of her Third Child. Reminiscence of a Sabbath-Evening Talk. Story of >/ie Baby's Sudden Illness and Death. Summer of 1S52. Lines entitled "My Nursery." The shock of Eddy's death proved almost too much for Mrs. Prentiss' enfeebled frame. She bore it, however, with sweet submission, and on the 17th of the following April her sorrow was changed to joy, and Eddy's empty place filled, as she thought, by the birth of Elizabeth, her third child, a pict- ure of infantine health and beauty. But. although the child seemed perfectly well, the mother herself was brought to the verge of the grave. For a week or two her life wavered in the 34 'IT 1 1- 1,1 if: <)[•• >iRS. PRENTISS balance, and she was quite in the mood to follow Eddy to the better country. Her husband, recording a "long and most interesting conversation " with her on Sabbath evening, May 2 J, speaks of the ''depth and tenderness of her religious feel- ings, of her sense of sin and of the grace and glory of the Saviour," and then adds, '' Her old Richmond exercises seem of late to have returned with their former strength and beauty increased many-fold." On the 14th of May she was able to write in pencil these lines to her sister, Mrs. Hopkins: I little thought that I should ever write to you again, but I have been brought through a great deal, and now have reason to expect to get well. I never knew how much I loved you till I gave up all hope of ever seeing you again, and I have not strength yet to tell you all about it. Poor George has suffered much. I hope all will be blessed to him and to me. I am still confined to bed. The doctor thinks there may be an abscess near the hip-joint, and, till that is cured, I can neither lie straight in bed or stand on my feet or ride out. Everybody is kind. Our cup has run over. It is a sore trial not to be al- lowed to nurse baby. She is kept in another room. I only see her once a day. She begins to smile, and is very bright-eyed.. I hope your journey will do you good. If you can, do write a few lines — not more. But, good-by. Hardly had she penned these lines, when, like a thunder- bolt from a clear sky, another stunning blow fell upon her. On the 19th of May, after an illness of a few hours, Bessie, too, was folded forever in the arms of the Good Shepheid. Here is the mother's own story of her loss: Our darling Eddy died on the i6th of January. The baby he had so oiten spoken of was born on the 17th of April. I was too feeble to have any care of her. Never had her in my arms but twice ; once the day before she died and once while she was dying. I never saw her little feet. She was a beauti- ful little creature, with a great quantity of dark hair and very dark blue eyes. The nurse had to keep her in another room on account of my illness. When she was a month old she brought her to me one afternoon. "This child is perfectly beautiful/ TX TTrr. sriTooL ot- sufffiuxt; 135 faid she; "to-morrow I mean to dress her up and have her likeness taken." I asked her to get me up in bed and let me take her a minute. She objected, and I urged her a good deal, till at last she consented. The moment I took her I was struck by her unearthly, absolutely angelic expression ; and, not hav- ing strength enough to help it, burst out crying bitterly, and cried all the afternoon while I was struggling to give h r up. Her father was at Newark. When he came home at dark I told him I was sure that baby was going to die. He laughed at me, said my weak health made me fancy it, and asked the nurse if the child was not well. She said she was — perfectly well. My presentiment remained, however, in full force, and the first thing next morning I asked Margaret to go and see how baby was. She came back, saying, " She is very well. She lies there on the bed scolding to herself." I cried out to have her instantly brought to me. M. refused, saying the nurse would be displeased. But my anxieties were excited by the use of the word "scolding," as I knew no bab}^ a month old did anything of that sort, and insisted on its being brought to me. The instant I touched it I felt its head to be of a burn- ing heat, and sent for the nurse at once. When she came, I said, "This child is very sick." "Yes," she said, "but I wanted you to have your breakfast first. At one o'clock in the night I found a little swelling. I do not know what it is, but the child IS certainly very sick." On examination I knew it was erysipe- .as. " Don't say that," said the nurse, and burst into tears. I made them get me up and partly dress me, as I was so excited I could not stay in bed. Dr. Buck came at ten o'clock ; he expressed no anxiety, but prescribed for her and George went out to get what he ordered. The nurse brought her to me at eleven o'clock and begged me to observe that the spot had turned black. I knew at once that this was fearful, fatal disease, and entreated George to go and tell the doctor: He went to please me, though he saw no need of it, and gave the wrong message to the doctor, to the effect that the swelling was increasing, to which the doctor replied that it naturally would do so. The little creature, whose moans Margaret had termed scolding, now was heard all over that floor ; every breath a moan that tore my heart in pieces. I begged to have her brought to me but the nurse sen! 136 THE LIFE OF MRS. TRENTTSS. word she was too sick to be moved. I then begged the nurse to come and tell me exactly what she thought of her, but sh< said she could not leave her. I then crawled on my hands and knees into the room, being unable then and for a long time after to bear my own weight. What a scene our nursery presented ! Everything upset and tossed about, medicines here and there on the floor, a fire like a fiery furnace, and Miss H. sitting hopelessly and with falling tears with the baby on a pillow in her lap — all its boast- ed beauty gone forever. The sight was appalling and its moans heart-rending. George came and got me back to my sofa and said he felt as if he should jump out of the window every time he heard that dreadful sound. He had to go out and made me promise not to try to go to the nursery till his return. I foolishly promised. Mrs. White' called, and I told her I was going to lose my baby ; she was very kind and went in to see it but I believe expressed no opinion as to its state. But she repeated an expression which I repeated to myself many times that day, and have repeated thousands of times since — " God never makes a mistake ." Margaret went soon after she left to see how the poor little creature was, and did not come back. Hour after hour passed and no one came. I lay racked w4th cruel torture, bitterly re- gretting my promise to George, listening to those moans till I was nearly wild. Then in a frenzy of despair I pulled myself over to my bureau, where I had arranged the dainty little garments my darling was to wear, and which I had promised myself so much pleasure in seeing her wear. I took out ever\^- thing she would need for her burial, with a sort of w^ild pleasure in doing for her one little service, where I had hoped before to render so many. She it was whom we expected to fill our lost Eddy's vacant place ; we thought we had had our sorrow and that now our joy had come. As I lay back exhausted, with these garments on my breast, Louisa Shipman" opened the door. One glance at my piteous face, for oh, how glad I was to see her ! made her burst into tears before she knew what she was crying for. ' Mrs. Norman Wliite, mother of the Rev. Erskine N. White, D.D., of New York. " Her cousin, whose sudden death occurred under the same roof in October of the nex y«ar. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 137 " Oh, go bring me news from my poor dying baby ! " I almost screamed, as she approached me. " And see, here are her grave-clothes." "Oh, Lizzy, have you gone crazy?" cried she, with a fresh burst of tears. I besought her to go, told her how my promise bound mc, made her listen to those terrible sounds which two doors coald not shut out. As ehe left the room she met Dr. B. and they went to the nursery together. She soon came back, quiet and composed, but very sorrowful. "Yes, she is dying," said she, "the doctor says so; she will not live an hour." .... At last we heard the sound of George's key. Louise ran to call him. I crawled once more to the nursery, and snatched my baby in fierce triumph from the nurse. At least once I would hold my child, and nobody should prevent me. George, pale as death, baptized her as I held her in my trembling arms ; there were a few more of those terrible, never-to-be-forgotten sounds, and at seven o'clock we were once more left with only one child. A short, sharp conflict, and our baby was gone. Dr. B. came in later and said the whole thing was to him like a thunderclap — as it was to her poor father. To me it fol- lowed closely on the presentiment that in some measure pre- pared me for it. Here I sit with empty hands. I have had the little coffin in my arms, but my baby's face could not be seen, so rudely had death marred it. Empty hands, empty hands, a worn-out, exhausted body, and unutterable longings to flee from a world that has had for me so many sharp experiences. God help me, my baby, my baby ! God help me, my little lost Eddy! But although the death of these two children tore witli anguish the mother's heart, she made no show of grief, and to the eye of the world her life soon appeared to move on as aforetime. Never again, however, was it exactly tlie same life. She had entered into the fellowship of Christ's suffer- ings, and the new experience wrought a great change in her whole being. A part of the summer and the early autumn of 1852 were passed among kind friends at Newport, in Portland, and at the Ocean House on Cape Elizabeth. She returned much re- freshed, and gave herself up chc:rfully to her accustomed ,^3 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. duties. But a cloud rested still upon her home, and at tim- ing through bar fences, you needn't believe a w^ord of it, for 1 am a pattern of propriety, and pride myself on my dignity. I hope, now ycni have begun so charmingly, that you will write again Vvu know wiiat letters are in the country. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 151 I wonder where you are this lovely morning? Having 0 nice time somewhere, I do hope, for it is too fine a To her I Jus- , , t ,. 1 it land. West- day to be lost. If you want to know where 1 am, P^^'^^y^""^ ^vhy I'm sitting at the window writing on a trunk tliat I have just lifted into a chair, in order to make a table. For table there is none in this room, and how am I to write a book without one ? If ever I get down to the village, I hope to buy, beg, borrow or steal one, and until that time am put- ting off beginning my new Little Susy.' That note from Miss Warner, by the by, spoke so enthusiastically of the Six Teach- ers that I felt compensated for the mortification of hearing call it a "nice " book. You will be sorry to hear that I have no prospect of getting a horse. I am quite disappointed, as besides the pleasure of driving our children, I hoped to give Mrs. Back and the boys a share in it. Only to think of her bringing up from the city a beefsteak for baby, and proposing that the doctor should send a small piece for her every day ! Thank you, darling, for your proposal about the Ocean House. I trust no such change will be needful. We are all comfortable now, the weather is delicious, and there are so many pretty walks about here, that I am only afraid I shall be too well off. Everything about the country is charming to me, and I never get tired of it. The first few days nurse seemed a good deal out of sorts ; but I must expect some such little vexations ; of course, I can not have perfection, and for dear baby's sake I shall try to exercise all the prudence and forbearance I can. Sunday. — We went to church this morning and heard a most instructive and, I thought, superior sermon from Mr. Burr of Weston, on progress in religious knowledge. He used the very illustration about the cavern and the point of light that yon did. j^^ly ^th.—W^ all drove to the beach on Saturday. It was just the very day for such a trip, and baby was enchanted. She sat right down and began to gather stones and shells, as if she had the week before her. We were gone three liours and came home by way of the village, quite -in the mood for supper. Yesterday we^ had a pleasant service ; Mr. Atkinson appears to be a truly devout, heavenly man to whom I felt my heart knit at the outset on this account. I am taking great delight in reading the Memoir of Miss Allibone.' How I wish I had a ' Liftfe SttsVs Little Servaitfs. ' A Life hid with Christ in Go believe it ! Precious years of discipline they have been, fo; which I do thank Him. I have prayed much for her to-day, aid with some faith, that if her life is spared it will be for His glory. How far rather would I let her go this moment, than grow up without loving Him ! Precious little creature ! 27//;._This has been one of the most oppressive days I ever knew. I went to church, however, and enjoyed all the services unusually. As we rode along and I saw the grain ripe for the harvest, I said to myself, " God gathers in His harvest as soon as it is ripe, and if I devote myself to Him and pray much and turn entirely from the world I shall ripen, and so the sooner get where I am all the time yearning and longing to go ! " I fear this was a merely selfish thought, but I do not know. This world seems less and less homelike every day I live. The more I pray and meditate on heaven and my Saviour and saints who have crossed the flood, the stronger grows my desire to be bid- den to depart hence and go up to that sinless, blessed abode. Not that I forget my comforts, my mercies here ; they are mani- fold; I know they are. But Christ appears so precious ; sin so dreadful ! so dreadful ! To-day I gave way to pride and irri- tation, and my agony on account of it outweighs weeks of merely earthly felicity. The idea of a Christian as he should be, and the reality of most Christians — particularly myself — why, it almost makes me shudder ; my only comfort is, in heav- en, I can not sin ! In heaven I shall see Christ, and see Him as He is, and praise and honor Him as I never do and never shall do here. And yet I know my dear little ones need me, poor and imperfect a mother as I am ; and I pray every hour to be made willing to wait for their sakes. For at the longest it will not be long. Oh, I do believe it is the sin I dread and not the suffering of life — but I know not ; I may be deluded. My love to my Master seems to me very shallow and contemptible. I an astonished that I love anything else. Oh, that He would this moment come down into this room and tell me I never never, shall grieve Him again ! Some verses entitled 'Alone with God," belong here: IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 1^5 Into my closet fleeing, as the dove Doth homeward flee, I haste away to ponder o'er Thy love Alone with Thee ! In the dim wood, by Laman ear unheard, Joyous and free, Lord ! I adore Thee, feasting on Thy word, Alone with Thee ! Amid the busy city, thronged and gay, But One I see, Tasting sweet peace, as unobserved I pray Alone with Thee ! Oh, sweetest life ! Life hid with Christ in God ' So making me At home, and by the wayside, and abroad. Alone with Thee ! Westport, August 22, 1S56. V. R2ady for new Trials. Dang-erous Illness. Extracts from her Journal, Visit to Green- wood. Sabbath Meditations. Birth of another Son. Her Husband resigns hij pastoral Charge. Voyage to Europe. The summer at Westport was so beneficial to the baby and so full both of bodily and spiritual refreshment to herself, that on returning to town, she resumed her home tasks with unwonted ease and comfort. The next entry in her journal alludes to this: N'oveinber 27///. — Two months, and not a word in my journal ! I have done far more with my needle and my feet than with my pen. One comes home from the country to a good many cares, and they are worldly cares, too, about eating and about wearing. I hope the worst of mine are over now and that I shall have more leisure. But no, I forget that now comes the dreaded, dreaded experience of weaning bab3^ But what then? 156 THE LIFE OF MRS. I i^ENTISS. I have had a good rest this fall. Have slept unusunlly well why, only think, some nights not waking once— and some nights only a few times ; and then we have had no sickness haby better— all better. Now I ought to be willing to have :he trials I need so much, seeing I have had such a rest. And heaven ! heaven ! let me rest on that precious word. Heaven is at the end and God is there. Early in March, 1857, she was taken very ill and continued so until May. For son:ie weeks her recovery seemed hardly possible. She felt assured her hour had come and was eager to go. All the yearnings of her heart, during many years, seemed on the point of being gratified. The next entry in her journal refers to this illness: Sunday, May 24th, 1857. — Just reading over the last record how ashamed I felt of my faithlessness ! To see dear baby so improved by the very change I dreaded, and to hear her pretty, cheerful prattle, and to find in her such a source of jo} and comfort — what undeserved, what unlooked-for mercies ! But ike a physician who changes his remedies as he sees occasion, and who forbears using all his severe ones at once, my Father first relieved me from my wearing care and pain about this dear child, and then put me under new discipline. It is now nearly six months since I have been in usual health, and eight weeks of great prostration and suffering have been teaching me many needed lessons. Now, contrary to my hopes and expec- tations, I find myself almost well again. At first, having got my heart set toward heaven and after fancying myself almost there, 1 felt disappointed to find its gates still shut against me.^ But God was very good to me and taught me to yield in this point to His wiser and better will ; He made me, as far as I know, as peaceful in the prospect of living as joyful in the prospect of dying. Heaven did, indeed, look very attractive ' Many year? afterward, speaking to a friend of this illness, she related the following incident. One day she lay, as was supposed, entirely unconscious and in articulo mor- tis. Repeated but vain attempts had been made to administer a medicine ordered by the doctor to bo used in case of extremity. Her husband urged one more attempt still ; it niicfht possibly sviccced. She heard distinctly every word that was spoken and instantly reasoned within herself, whether she should consent or refuse to swallow the medicine. Fancying herself just entering the eternal city, she longed to refuse but decided it would be wiong and so :onsented to come back again to earth. IN THE SCHOOL OF SUFFERING. 157 when I thought myself so near it ; I pictured myself as no longer a sinner but a blood-washed saint ; I thought I shall soon see Him whom my soul loveth, and see Him as He is ; 1 shall never wound, never grieve Him again, and all my com- panions will be they who worship Him and adore Him. But not yet am I there ! Alas, not yet a saint ! My soul is op- pressed, now that health is returning, to find old habits of sin returning too, and this monster Self usurping God's place, as of old, and pride and love of ease and all the infirmities of the flesh thick upon me. After being encompassed with mercies for two months, having every comfort this world could offer for my alleviation, I wonder at myself that I can be anything but a meek, docile child, profiting by the Master's discipline, sensible of the tenderness that went hand-in-hand with every stroke, and walking softly before God and man ! But I am in- deed a wayward child and in need of many more stripes. May I be made willing and thankful to bear them. Indeed, I do thank my dear Master that He does not let me alone, and that He has let me suffer so much ; it has been a rich experience, this long illness, and I do trust He will so sanctify it that 1 shall have cause to rejoice over it all the rest of my life. Now may I return patiently to all the duties that lie in my sphere. May I not forget how mxomentous a thing death appeared when seen face to face, but be ever making ready for its approach. And may the glory of God be, as it never yet has been, my chief end. My love to Him seems to me so very feeble and fluctuating. Satan and self keep up a continual struggle to get the victory. But God is stronger than either. He must and will prevail, and at last, and in a time far better than any I can suggest, He will open those closed gates and let me enter in to go no more out, and then " I shall never, never sin." As might be inferred from this record, she was at this time in the sweetest mood, full of tenderness and love. The time of the singing of birds had now come, and all nature was clothed with that wondrous beauty and verdure whicli mark the transition from spring to summer. The drives, which she was now able to take into the country, on either side of the river, gave her the utmost delight. On the 30th of 158 THE TJFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. May — the day that has since become consecrated to the mem- or>^ of the Nation's heroic dead — she went, with her husband and eldest daughter, to visit and place flowers upon the graves of Eddy and Bessie. Never is Greenwood more lovely and impressive than at the moment when May is just passing into June. It is as if Nature were in a transfiguration and the glory of the Lord shone upon the graves of our beloved ! Mrs. Prentiss made no record of this visit, but on the following day thus wrote in her journal : May 3IJ-/. — Another peaceful, pleasant Sunday, whose only drawback has been the want of strength to get down on my knees and praise and pray to my Saviour, as I long to do. For well as I am and astonishingly improved in every way, a very few minutes' use of my voice, even in a whisper, in prayer, ex- hausts me to such a degree that I am ready to faint. This seems so strange when I can go on talking to any extent — but then it is talking without emotion and in a desultory way. Ah well ! God knows best in what manner to let me live, and I desire to ask for nothing but a docile, acquiescent temper whose only petition shall be, " What wilt Thou have me to do?" not how can I get most enjoyment along the way. 1 can not believe if I am His child, that He will let anything hinder my progress in the divine life. It seems dreadful that I have gone on so slowly, and backward so many times — but then I liave been thinking this is "to humble and to prove me, and to do me good in the latter end." .... I thank my God and Saviour for every faint desire He gives me to see Him as He is, and to be changed into His image, and for every struggle against sin He enables me to make. It is all of Him. I do wisli I loved Him better ! I do wish He were never out of my thf)uglits and that the aim to do His will swallowed up all other desires and strivings. Satan whispers that will never be. r,iit it shall be ! One day— oh, longed-for, blessed, blissful day I — Christ will become my Ail in all ! Yes, even mine ! Tliis is the last entry in her journal for more than a year; lier letters, too, during the same period are very few. In August of 1S57, she was made glad by the birth of another son, her fifth child. Her own health was now much better IN THE SCIIOOI. OF SUFFERING. 159 than it had been for a long time ; but that of her husband had become so enfeebled that in April, 1858, he resigned his pas- toral charge and by the advice of his physician determined to go abroad, with his family, for a couple of years ; the munificent kindness of his people having furnished him with the means of doing so. The tender sympathy and support which she gave him in this hour of extreme weakness and trial, more than everything else, after the blessing of Heaven, upheld his fainting spirits and helped to restore him at length to his chosen work. They set sail for the old world in the steam- ship Arago, Capt. Lines, June 26th, amidst a cloud of friendly wishes and benedictions. CHAPTER VI. IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 1858-1860. I. Life abroad. Letters about the Voyage and the Journey from Havre to Switzerland. Chateau d'Oex. Letters from there. The Chalet Rosat. The Free Church of th( Canton de Vaud. Pastor Panchaud. Mrs. Prentiss passed more than two years abroad, mostly in Switzerland. They were years burdened with heavy cares, with ill-health and keen solicitude concerning her husband. But they were also years hallowed by signal mercies of Provi- dence, bright every now and then with floods of real sun- shine, and sweetened by many domestic joys. Although quite secluded from the world a large portion of the time, her solitude was cheered by the constant arrival of letters from home. During these years also she was first initiated into full communion with Nature; and what exquisite pleasure she tasted in this new experience, her own pen will tell. Indeed, this period affords little of interest except that which blos- somed out of her domestic life, her friendships, and her love of nature. She travelled scarcely at all and caught only fugitive glimpses of society or of the treasures of European art. A few simple records, therefore, of her retired home-life and of the impressions made upon her by Alpine scenery, as contained in her letters, must form the principal pcfrt of this chapter. Her correspondence, while abroad, would make a large volume by itself ; in selecting from it what follows, the aim has been to present, as far as possible, a continuous picture of her European sojourn, drawn by herself. Were a faithful (160) IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. l6l picture of its quiet yet variea scenes to be drawn by another hand, it would include features wholly omitted by her; feat- ures radiant with a light and beauty not of earth. It would reflect a sweet patience, a heroic fortitude, a tender sympathy, a faith in God and an upholding, comforting influence, which in sharp exigencies the Christian wife and mother knows so well how to exercise, and which are inspired only by the Lord Jesus Himself. The friend to whom the following letter was addressed years ago passed away from earth. But her name is still en- shrined in many hearts. The story of her generous and affec- tionate kindness, as also that of her children, would fill a whole chapter. " You will never know how we have loved and honored you all, straight through^' wrote Mrs. Prentiss to one of them, many years later. How many times during our voyage we had occasion to think of and thank you and yours, a dozen sheets like amru7w. this would fail to tell you. Of all your kind arrange- Wooisey, j-pjents for our comfort not one failed of its object. Havre, ■' July II, Whether the chair or my sacque had most admirers I ^ ^ ■ do not know, but I can't imagine how people ever get across the ocean without such consolations on the way. As to the grapes they kept perfectly to the last day and proved deli- cious ; the box then became a convenient receptacle for the chil- dren's toys ; while the cake-box has turned into a medicine- chest. We had not so pleasant a voyage as is usual at this season, it being cold and rainy and foggy much of the lime. However, none of us suffered much from sea-sickness — Mr. Prentiss not in the least ; his chief discomfort was from want of sleep. On the whole, we had a less dreary time than we an- ticipated, and perhaps the stupidity in which we were engulfed for two weeks was a wholesome refuge from the excitement of the month previous to our departure. We landed in a deluge of lain, and tVe only article in our possession that alarmed the officers of the Custom House was not the sewing-machine, which was hardly vouchsafed a look, but your cake-box. We were thankful to tumble pell-mell into a carriage, and soon to find ourselves in a comfortable room, before a blu/.ing fire. We ,52 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. go round with a phrase-book and talk out of it, so if anybody ever asks vou what sort of people the Prentiss family are and what are our conversational powers, you may safely and vera- -^iouslv answer "They talk like a book." M. already asks the French names of almost everything and is very glad to knew that " we have got at Europe," and when asked how she likes France, declares, "Me likes thaC We go off to Paris in the morning. I will let Mr. Prentiss tell his own story. Meanwhile vk c send you everyone our warmest love and thanks. After a few days in Paris the family hastened to Chateau d'Oex, where New York friends awaited them. Chateau d'Oex is a mountain valley in the canton of Vaud, on the right bank of the Sarine, tw^enty-two miles east of Lausanne, and is one of the loveliest spots in Switzerland. Aside from its natural beauties, it has some historical interest. It was once the home of the Counts of Gruyere, and the ruins of their ancient chateau are still seen there. The Free church of the village was at this time under the care of Pastor Panchaud, a favorite pupil and friend of Vinet. He was a man of great simplicity and sweetness of character, an excellent preacher, and wholly devoted to his little flock. Mrs. Prentiss and her husband counted his society and ministrations a smile of Heaven upon their sojourn in Chateau d'Oex. Our ride from Havre to Paris was charming. We had one To Mrs ^^ those luxurious cars, to us unknown, which is in- llenry B. tended to hold only eight persons, but which has chatean room for ten ; the weather was perfect, and tne Jt^yts, scenery all the way very lovely and quite novel. A. '^58. and I kept mourning for you and M. to enjoy it with us, and both agreed that we would gladly see only half there was to see, and go half the distance we were going, if we could only share with you our pleasures of every kind. On reaching Paris and the hotel we found we could not get pleasant rooms below the fifth story. They were directly opposite the garden of theTuileries, where birds were flying and singing, and it was hard to realise that we were in the midst of that great city. We went sight-seeing very little. A. and I strolled about here and llicrc, did a little shopping, stared in at the shop windows IN RETREAT AMONG TTTE A IPS. 163 'vished M. had this and you had that, and then strolled home and panted and toiled and groaned up our five flights, and wrote in our journals, or rested, or made believe study French. We went to the Jardin des Plantes in order to let the children see the Zoological Garden. We also drove through the Bois de Boulogne, and spent part of an evening in the garden of the Palais Royal, and watched the people drinking their tea and coffee, and having all sorts of good times. We found Paris far more beautiful than we expected, and certainly as to cleanli- ness it puts New York ages behind. We were four days in coming from Paris to this place. We went up the lake of Geneva on one of the finest days that could be asked for, and then the real joy of our journey began ; Paris and all its splen- dors faded away at once and forever before these mountains, and as George had never visited Geneva, or seen any of this scenery, my pleasure was doubled by his. Imagine, if you can, how we felt when Mt. Blanc appeared in sight ! We reached Vevay just after sunset, and were soon established in neat rooms of quite novel fashion. The floors were of unpainted white wood, checked off with black walnut ; the stairs were all of stone, the stove was of porcelain, and every article of fur- niture was odd. But we had not much time to spend in look- ing at things within doors, for the lake was in full view, and the mountain tops were roseate with the last rays of the set- ting sun, and the moon soon rose and added to the whole scene all it wanted to make us half believe ourselves in a pleasant dream. I often asked myself, " Can this be I ! " " And // it be I, as I hope it be " — Early next morning, which was dear little INI.'s birthday, we set off in grand style for Chateau d'Oex. W^e hired a mon- strous voiture which had seats inside for four, and on top, with squeezing, seats for three, besides the driver's seat ; had five black horses, and dashed forth in all our splendor, ten precious souls and all agog. I made a sandwich between Mr. S. and George on top, and the "bonnes " and children were packed in- side. This was our great day. The weather was indescribably beautiful ; we felt ourselves approaching a place of rest and a welcome home ; the scenery was magnificent, and already the mountain air was beginning to revive our exhausted souls and bodies. We sat all day hand in hand, literally 'Most in won- ,64 THK TJFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. der." With all I had heard ever since I was born about these mountains, I had not the faintest idea of their real grandeur and beauty. We arrived here just after sunset, and soon found ourselves among our friends. Mrs. Buck brought us up to our new home, which we reached on foot (as our voiture could not ascend so high) by a little winding path, by the side of which a little brook kept running along to make music for us. It is a regular Swiss chalet, much like the little models you have seen, only of a darker brow^n, and on either side the mountains stand ranged, so that look where we will w^e are feasted to our ut- most capacity. We have four small, but very neat, pretty rooms. Our floors are of unpainted pine, as w^hite and clean as possible. The room in which we spend our time, and where I am now writing, I must fully set before you Our centre table has had a nice new red cover put on it to-day, with a vase of flowers ; it iK^lds all our books, and is the ornament of the room. In front of the sofa is a red rug on w^hich we say our prayers. Over it is a picture, and over G.'s table is another. Out of the window you see first a pretty little flower garden, then the valley dotted with brown chalets, then the background of mountains. Be- hind the house you go up a little winding path — and can go on forever without stopping if you choose — along the sides of which flowers such as we cultivate at home grow in profusion ; you can't help picking them and throwing them away to snatch a new handful. The brook takes its rise on this side, and runs musically along as you ascend. Yesterday we all went to church at nine and a half o'clock, and had our first experience of French preaching, and I was relieved to find myself under- standing whole sentences here and there. And now I need not, I suppose, wind up by sayirg w^e are in a charming spot. All we want, as far as this world goes, is health and strength with which to enjoy all this beauty and all this sw^eet retirement, and these, I trust, it will give us in time. Isabella "wears like gold." She is everything I hoped for, and from her there has not been even a tone of discomfort since we left. But my back aches and my paper is full. We all send heaps of love to you all and long to licar. August \Qth. — We breakfast at eight on bread and honey, Avhich \s the universal Swiss breakfast, dine at one, and have tea at seven IN RETREAT AMOXC. THE ALPS. 165 r usually sew and read and study all the forenoon After din- ner we take our Alpen-stocks and go up behind the house — a bit of mountain-climbing which makes me realise that I am no longer a young girl. I get only so high, and then have to come back and lie down. George and Annie beat me all to pieces with their exploits. I do not believe we could have found any- where in the world a spot better adapted to our needs. How you would enjoy it ! I perfectly yearn to show you these mountains and all this green valley. The views I send will give you a very good idea of it, however. The smaller chillet in the print is ours. In a little summer house opposite Isa- bella now sits at work on the sewing-machine. My best love to all three of your dear "chicks," and to your husband if "he's willin'." We slipped off without any leave-taking, which I wab not sorry for. I did not want to bid you good-bye. We had to say it far too often as it was, and, when we To Mrs. //. B. Washburjj, fairlv Set sail we had not an emotion left, but sank at Chateait ' , . . . d'Oex, once into a state of entire exhaustion and stupidity. ^^itSsS^^' • • • • We thought Paris very beautiful until we came in view of the Lake of Geneva, Mt. Blanc, and other handiworks of God, when straightway all its palaces and monu- ments and fountains faded into insignificance. I began to fee that it was wicked for a few of my friends, who were born to enjoy the land of lakes and mountains, not to be here enjoying it, and you were one of them, you may depend. However, whenever I have had any such pangs of regret in relation to you, I have consoled myself with the reflection that with your en- thusiastic temperament, artist eye, and love of nature, you never would survive even a glimpse of Switzerland ; the land of William Tell would be the death of you. When you are about eighty years old, luive cooled down about ten degrees below zero, have got a little dim about the eyes, and a little stiff about the knees it may possibly be safe for you to come and break yourself in gradually, I have not forgotten how you felt and what you did at the White Mountains, you see. Well, joking apart, we are in a spot that would just suit you in every respect. We are not in a street or a road or any of those abominations you like to shun, but our little chalet l66 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. nardly accessible save on foot, is just tucked down on the side of the gentle slope leading up the mountain. It is remote from all sights but those magnificent ones afforded b}' the range of mountains, the green rich valley, and the ever-varying sky and cloudland, and all sounds save that of a brook which runs hurrying down its rocky little channel and keeps us company when we want it. I ought, however, to add that my view of this particular valley is that of a novice. People say the scen- ery here is tame in comparison with what may be seen else- where ; but look which way I will, from front windows or back windows, at home or abroad, I am as one at a continual feast ; and what more can one ask ? Mr. Prentiss feels that this se- cluded spot is just the place for him, and as it is a good point from which to make excursions on foot or otherw^ise, he and Mr. Stearns have already made several trips and seen splendid sights. How much we have to be grateful for ! For my part, I would rather — far rather — have come here and stayed here blindfold, than not to have come with my dear husband. So all I have seen and am experiencing I regard as beauty and fe- licity thrown in. T wish we had 3^ou, my dear mother, here among these mountains, for the cool, bracing air would help to ^AH^ai'i build you up. Both Mr. Stearns and George have Prentiss, comc back from Germany looking: better than when CJialeau , ^ ^ . . f t , i d'Oex, they started on their trip two weeks ago. It has been ^\%k "^^O' cold ; the thermometer some mornings at eight o'clock standing at 46°, and the mountains being all covered with snow. We slept with a couple of bottles of hot water at our feet, and two blankets and a comforter of eider- down over us, after going to bed early to get warm. My sew- ing-machine is a great comfort, and the peasants enjoy coming down from the mountains to see it. Besides, I find something lo do on it every day. I often wish I could set you down in the midst of the church to which we go every Sunday, if only to show you how the peo- ple dress. A bonnet is hardly seen there ; everybody wearing a black silk cap or a bloomer, /wear a bloomer ; a brown one trimmed with brown ribbon. An old lady sits in front of me A^ho wears a white cap much after the fashion of yours, and on IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. l6 top of that is perked a monstrous bloomer trimmed with black gauze ribbon. Her dress is linsey-woolsey, and for outside gar- ment she wears a black silk half-handkerchief, as do all the rest. No light dress or ribbon is seen. I must tell you now something that amused A. and me very much yesterday at dinner. A French gentleman, who married a Spanish lady four years ago, sits opposite us at the table, and he and his wife are quite fascinated w^ith M., watch all her motions, and whisper together about all she does. Yesterday they got to telling us that the lady had been married when only twelve years old to a gentleman of thirty-tw'O, had two children, and was a grand- mother, though not yet thirty-six years old. She said she car- ried her doll with her to her husband's house, and he made her learn a geography lesson every day till she was fourteen, when she had a baby of her own. I asked her if she loved her hus- band, and she said " Oh, yes," only he was very grave and scolded her and shut her up w^hen she wouldn't learn her les- sons. She said that her owm mother w^hen thirty-six years old had fourteen children, all of whom are now living, twelve of them boys, and that the laws of Spain allow the father of six sons to ask a favor for them of the King, but the father of twelve may ask a favor for each one ; so every one of her brothers had an office under the Government or was an officer in the army. I don't know when I have been more amused, for she, like all foreigners, was full of life and gesture, and show^ed us how she tore her hair and threw- down her books when angry with her husband. The children are all bright and w^ell. The first time we took the cars after landing, M. was greatly delighted. " Now w^e're going to see grandma," she cried. Mrs. Buck got up a pic- nic for her, and had a treat of raspberries and sponge-cake — frosted. The cake had " M." on the top in red letters. Baby is full of life and mischief. The day we landed he said " Papa," and now he says "Mamma." Isabella' is everything we could ask. She is trying to learn French, and A. hears her recite ev- ery night, George found some furnished rooms at Montrcux, which he has taken for six months from October, and we shall thus, be keeping house. A. has just rushed in and snatched her French Bible, as she is going to the evening service with some ' A most faithful servant, to whom Mrs. P. was greatly attached. r68 THE LIFE OF MliS. I'REXTLSS. of the English family. You will soon hear all about us from Mr. Stearns. The following letter will show how little powder either hei own cares, or the charms of nature around her, had to quench her sympathy for friends in sorrow : We received your kind letter this morning. We had already To Miss A ^^^ ^^^ sympathies excited in behalf, of you all, by //. Wcoisey, seeing a notice of the death of the dear little child in Chateau , , -« ,r x-. i i D'Oex, Scpt.Sc paper lent to us by Mrs. Buck, and were most anx- ". 1858. j^^g ^Q \).^2lX all the particulars you have been so good as to give us. This day, which fifteen years ago we marked with a white stone, and which we were to celebrate with all our hearts, has passed quite wearily and drearily. There is something indescribably sad in the details of the first bereave- ment which has fallen within the circle of those w^e \ov^ ; per- haps, too, old sorrows of our own clamored for a hearing ; and then, too, there was the conviction, " This is not all death will do while the ocean severs you from kindred and friends." We longed to speak to you many words of affectionate sympathy and Christian cheer ; but long before we can make them reach you, I trust you will have felt sure that you were at least re- membered and prayed for. It is a comfort that no ocean sepa- rates us from Him who has afflicted you. The loss to you each and all is very great, but to the mother of such a child it is beyond description. Faith alone can bear her through it, but faith can. What a wonderful little creature the sweet Ellie must have been ! We were greatly touched by your account of her singing that beautiful hymn. It must have been divinely ordered that she should leave such a precious legacy behind her. And though her loveliness makes her loss the greater, the loss of an unlovely wayward child would surely be a heavier grief. I never know where to stop when I begin to talk about the tleath of a little one ; but before I stop I want to ask you to t(.ll Mrs. li. one word from me, which will not surprise and will perhaps comfort her. It is this. Neither his father nor myself would be willing to have God now bereave us of the rich experience of seven years ago, when our noble little boy was taken away. We have often said this to each other,^and IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. i6q ottener said it to Him, who if He took, also gave much. But after all, we can not sajf much to comfort either Mrs. H. or you. We can only truly, heartily and always sympathise with you, .... Mr. Prentiss and Mr. Stearns have spent a fortnight in jaunting about ; beginning at Thun and ending at Munich. They both came home looking fresher and better than when they left, but Mr. P. is not at all well now, and will have his nps and downs, I suppose, for a long time to come We can step out at any moment into a beautiful path, and, turn which way we wall, meet something charming. Yesterday he came back for me, having found a new walk, and we took oui sticks, and went to enjoy it together till we got, as it were^ fairly locked in by the mountains, and could go no further. Only to think of having such things as gorges and water-falls and roaring brooks, right at your back door ! The seclusion of this whole region is, however, its great charm to us, and to tell the truth, the primitive simplicity of style of dress, etc., is quite as charming to me as its natural beauty. We took tea one night last week wath the pastor of the Free church ; he lives in a house for which lie pays thirty dollars a year, and we were quite touched and pleased with his style of living ; white pine walls and floors, unpainted, and everything else to match. We took our tea at a pine table, and the drawing-room to which we retired from it, w^as a corner of the same room, where was a little mite of a sofa and a few books, and a cheerful lamp burning. All this time I have not answered your question about the Fourth of July. We had great doings, I assure you. Mr. P. made a speech, and ran up and down the saloon like a war horse. He was so excited and pale that I did not enjoy it much, thinking any instant he would faint and fall. Mr. Cleaveland was the orator of the day and acquitted himself very well, they all said. I was in my berth at the time of its delivery, saving myself for the dinner and toasts, and so did not hear it. The whole affair is to be printed. There was a great cry of "Prentiss! Prentiss!" after the "Captain's din- ner," and at last the poor man had to respond in a sh'irl speech to a toast to the ladies. I suppose you know that he considers all women as angels. Mr. Stearns left us on Thursday to set his face homewards. I/O THE LIFE OF MFlS. PRENTISS. II. Montreux. The Swiss Autumn. Castle of Chillon. Death and Sorrow of Friends at Home. Twilight Talks, Spring Flowers. Early in October the family removed to Montreux, at the upper end of the lake of Geneva, where the next six months were passed in what was then known as the Maison des Bains. Montreux was at this time the centre of a group of pleasant villages, scattered along the shore of the lake, or lying back of it among the hills. One of these villages, Clarens, was rendered famous in the last century by the pen of Rousseau, and early in this by the pen of Byron. The grave of Vinet, the noble leader and theologian of the Free Church of the canton of Vaud, now renders the spot sacred to the Chris- tian scholar. Montreux was then a favorite resort of invalids in quest of a milder climate. At many points it commands fine views of the lake, and the whole region abounds in pic- turesque scenery. The Maison des Bains is said to have long since disappeared; but in 1858, it seemed to hang upon the side of the Montreux hill and was one of the most noticeable features of the landscape, as seen from the passing steamer. Your letter was a real comfort and I am so thankful to the To Mrs "^^^ \.\^2X invented letter-writing that I don't know Henry B. what to do. We feast on evervthinor we hear from Montreux, nome, however sick, or weak ; it is a sort of sea-air ^'^'^vZi^' appetite. Your letters are not a thousandth part long enough, but if you wrote all the time I suppose they wouldn't be You see I am experimenting with two kinds of ink, hoping my letters may be more easy to read. George tried it the other day by writing me a little note, telling me first how he loved me in black ink and then how he loved me in blue, after which he tore it up ; wasn't that a shame ? Anna writes that you seemed miserable the day she was at your house. The fact is, people of such restless mental activity as you and I, my dear, never need expect to be well long at a time —for, as soon as we get a little health we consume it just as children do candy. George and I are both able, however, tc IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. l/l take long walks, and the other day we went to see the castle ol Chillon. I was much impressed with all I saw. Under Byron's name, which I saw on one of the columns, there were the ini- tials " H. B. S."— " H. B. Smith," says I. " You don't say so ! " cries George, " where ? let me see — oh, I don't think it can be his, for here are some more letters," which I knew all the time, but for all that H. B. S. does stand for H. B. Smith. There are ever so many charming walks about here and from some points the scenery is wonderfully picturesque. I ne\er was in the country so late as to see the trees after a frost, and although the foliage here is less brilliant, it is said, than that of Ameri- can forests, I find it hard to believe that there can be anything more beautiful than the wooded mountains covered with the softest tints of every shade and coloring interspersed with snowcapped peaks and bare, gray rocks. The glory has de- parted somewhat within two days, as we have had a little snow-storm, and the leaves have fallen sadly. We began to have a fire yesterday and to put on some of our winter cloth- ing ; yet roses bloom just outside our door, and mignonette, nasturtiums, and a variety of other flowers adorn every house. The Swiss love for flowers is really beautiful. I wish you would let the children go to the hot-house which they pass on the way from school and get me some flower-seeds, as it will be pleas- ant to me to have the means of giving pleasure. I presume the gardener would be able to select a dozen or so of American varieties which would be a treasure here. I amuse myself with making flower-pictures, with which to enliven our parlor, and assure you that these works of art are remarkable specimens of genius. I do not know where the time goes, but I do not have half enough of it, or else do not understand the art of making the most of it. We have just subscribed to a library at a franc a month, and hope to read a little French I suppose Z. will be a regular young lady by the time we come home, and that I shall be afraid of her, as I am of all you no; ladies. How nicely she and M. would look in the jaunty little hats they all wear here. I wonder if the fashion will stretch across the ocean ? I dare say it will. Never was there any- thing so becoming in the world. We were glad to hear from yov/r last letter that you are all 1^2 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. To Mrs ^^ ^^^^^' ^"^ especially to hear such good accounts ol Stearns, Mr. Stearns. It is a real comfort to us to find that his ^Xov.^C little trip has done him so much good. I was sorry '^58- to hear of the loss of that friend of the Thurstons in the Austria, for I heard Ellen speak of her in the most raptur ous manner. This world is full of mysteries. Only to think of the shock George received when expecting to meet Mr. Butler in Paris and perhaps spend several weeks with him there, he heard at Geneva the news of his sudden death ! ' He loved and honored Mr. B. most warmly and truly. You will remember that the latter came abroad on account of the health of his daughter ; her younger sister accompanied them, and they were all full of the brightest anticipations. But the same steamer which brought them over, carried home his remains on the next trip, and those two poor young girls are left in a strange land, afflicted and disappointed and alone. Mr. Butler died a most peaceful and happy death, and George was very glad to be in Paris in time to comfort the young ladies, who were perfectly delighted to see him. He got back yester- day very much exhausted and has spent most of the day on the sofa. A. has a teacher who comes three times a week from Vevay, and spends most of the day. She is a young lady of about twenty-five, well educated and accustomed to teaching, and has taken hold of x\. with no little energy. She can not speak a word of English. Tell your A. we can't get over it that the horses, dogs and cats here all understand French. I have been ever so busy fixing and fussing for winter, which has come upon us all in a rush. Isabella has been bewitched for about a week, having got at last a letter from her beau, and every speck of work she has done on the sewing machine was either wrongside out or upside down. While George was gone I made up a lot of flower-pictures to adorn the walls of our parlor; he is walking about admiring them, and I wish you would drop in and help him. He had a real homesick fit to see you all to-day, feeling so tired after his journey ; but ' The Hon. Benjamin F. Butler, of New York, was one of the most honored members of the Mercer street church. He was known throug:hout the counti7 as an eminent lawyer and patriotic citizen. In the circle of his friends he was admired and beloved for his singular purity of cliaracter, liis scholarly tastes, the kindness of his heart, and all the other fine qualities that gn to form the Christian g-entleman. During a portion of Pres- ident Jackson's administration Mr. Butler was Attorney-General of the United States. He died in the srxty-third year of hia age. IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 173 seems brighter to-night, and promises faithfully to get well now, right off. Dec. ^th. — The death of Sarah P. must have excited all your sympathies. The loss of a little child— and I shudder when I recall the pangs of such a loss ! — can be nothing in com- parison with such an affliction as this. I well remember what a bright young thing she was. Her poor mother's grief and amazement must be all the greater for the fact of the perfect vigor and sound health which had, as it were, assured her of long life and happiness and usefulness. I had an inexpressible sadness upon me as soon as I heard that she was dangerously ill ; often in such moments one bitterly realises that all this world's idols are likewise perishable. A.'s teacher gives lessons also in a family half an hour from Vevay, who are going to Germany to spend a year, and she gave such an account of the place, that George let her per- suade him into going to see it, as the owner desired to rent il during his absence. He took A. with him, as I could not go. They came back in ecstasies, and have both set their hearts so on taking it that I should not at all wonder if that should be the end. We left some of our things at Chateau d'Oex, fully expecting to return there, but this Vevay country seat with its cherry, apple and pear trees, its seclusion, its vicinity to read- ing-room and library, has quite disgusted George with the idea of spending another summer "en pension." The family en- tertained G. and A. very hospitably, gave them a lunch of bologna sausage, bread and butter, cake, wine and grapes, and above all, the little girls gave A. two little Guinea pigs, which you may imagine filled her with delight. The whole affair was very agreeable to her, as she had not spoken to a child (save M.) since we came to Montreux. January 3^, 1859. — We read your letter, written at Bedford, with no little interest and sympathy. While we could not but rejoice that one more saint had got safely and without a strug- gle home, we felt the exceeding disappointment you must have had in losing the last smile you came so near receiving.' I think you had a sort of presentiment last winter what this one might bf'ng forth, for I remember your saying it would prob- ' Referring to the death uf Dr. Stearns' motlier, Mrs. Abigail Stearns, of Bedford Mass. 174 THE LIFE OF MRS. niENTISS. ably be the last visit to you, and that you wanted to make it as pleasant as possible. And pleasant I do not doubt you and the whole household made it to her. Still there always will be re- grets and vain wishes after the death of one we love. What a pity that we can not be to our friends while they live all we wish we had been after they have gone ! George and I feel an almost childish clinging to mother, while we hope and believe she will live to bless us if we ever return home. Jan. 2^d. — We have been afflicted in the sudden death of our dear friend, Mrs. Wainwright. The news came upon us with- out preparation — for she was ill only a few days — and was a great shock to us. You and mother know what she was to us during the whole time of our acquaintance with her ; I loved her most heartily. I can not get over the saddening impression which such deaths cause, by receiving new ones ; our lives here are so quiet and uneventful, that we have full leisure to meditate on the breaches already made in our circle of friends at home, and to forebode many more such sorrowful tidings. Mrs. Wainwright was like a mother to me, and I am too old to take up a new friend in her place. ^ I do not know whether I mentioned the afflictions of my cousin H. They have been very great, and have excited my sympathies keenly. Her first child died when eighteen months old, after a feeble, suffering life. Then the second child, an amiable, loving creature — I almost see her now sitting up so straight with her morsel of knitting in her hands ! — she was taken sick and died in five days. Her sister, about eight years old, came near dying of grief ; she neither played, ate or slept, and llicy wrote me that her wails of anguish were beyond de- scription. Just as she was getting a little over the first shock, the little boy, then about three years old, died suddenly of croup. Poor H. is almost broken-hearted. I have felt dread- fully at bcinn^ away when she was so afflicted ; they had not been long enough in New York to have a minister of their own, and they all said, oh, if George and I had only been there ! Her IctttTs duriuL^ the rest of the winter are tinged with the sadness caused by these and other distressing afflictions ' Mrs. Wainwrifjht and her husband, the late Eli Wainwright, were members of the old Mercer street Presbyterian church, and both of them unweaiied in their kindness tc Mrs. Prentiss jnd her husband. IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 175 among friends at home. Her sympathies were kept under a constant strain. But her letters contain also many gleams of sunshine. Although very quiet and secluded, and ofteM troubled by torturing neuralgic pains, as well as by sudden shocks of grief, her life at Montreux was not without its c\v\i peculiar joys. One of the greatest of these was to while. away the twilight or evening hours in long talks with her hus^ band about home cUid former days. Distance, together with the strange Alpine scenes about her, seemed to have the effect of a score of years in separating her from the past, and throwing over it a mystic veil of tenderness and grace. Old times and old friends, when thus viewed from the beautiful shores of Lake Leman, appeared to the memory in a softened light and invested with something of that ideal loveliness which the grave itself imparts to the objects of our affections. Many of these old friends, indeed, had passed through the grave — some, long before, some recently — and to talk of them was sweet talk about the blessed home above, as well as the home beyond the ocean. Another joy that helped to relieve the monotony and weariness of the Montreux life, was in her children; especially as, on the approach of spring, she wandered with them over the hill-sides in quest of flowers ; then her delight knew no bounds. In a letter to Mrs. Washburn, dated March 19, she writes : M, and G. catch A.'s and my enthusiasm, and come with their little hands full of dandelions, buttercups and daisies, and their hats full of primroses. Even Mr. Prentiss comes in with his hands full of crocuses, purple and white, and lots of an ex- tremely pretty flower, "la fille avant la mere," which he gathers on the mountains where I can not climb I often think of you and Mrs. B , when I revel among the beautiful profu- sion of flowers with which this country is adorned. So early as it is, the hills and fields are covered \\\\.\i primroses, daisies, cowslips, violets, lilies, and I don't know what not ; in five minutes we can gather a basketful. 176 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. III. Scarlet-fever among the Children. Doctor Curchod. Letters. AT the end of March the family removed to the campagne Genevrier, about two miles back of Vevay, in the di^rect.on of St Le^cr At one point it overlooked the town and the lake, and commanded a fine view of the mountains of Savoy arid of the distant Jura range. On the opposite shore of the lake is the village where Lord Byron passed some time in 1816, and where he is said to have written the wonderful description o a thuncler-storm.'in th? third canto of Childe Harold. At all exents the very scene, so vividly dC?i?ted by him, was witnessed from Genevrier.' '-« ,r , , -I-- I- -1 nrty went off, fol- Your letter describing^ how nicely your pa*-, ^ ^ r AT . \ ^' ■ "'^ here m our ^ ,, , lowed us from Montreux, to enliven uv, , Jo Mrs. ^ ' ^een there. atearm, new home. We only wish we could have t> ' Genevrier, ,^ ^ , , • j r • • ^Viany de- Apriis, You need not have apologised for giving so "l.^., ,.. '^59' tails, for it is just such little events of your da^ / that we want to hear about. My mouth quite waters for , of the cake they sent you ; I remember Mrs. Dr. J. and otx^ used to send us big loaves which were delicious, and si as I never tasted out of Newark. We came here last Thursd;^ f f^ri in a great snow-storm, which was cheerless and cold enoug' after the warm weather we had had for so many weeks. I dc\, not suppose more snow fell on any day through the winter, and\ we all shivered and lamented and huddled over the fire at a great rate. Yet I have just been driven in-doors by the heat of the sun, having begun to write at a little table just outside the house, and fires and snow have disappeared. George has gone to town with Jules in the wagon to buy sugar, oil, oats, buttons, and I do not know what not, and is no doubt thinking 1 " Far along, From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder ! Not from one lone cloud, But evcr>' mountain now hath found a tongue. And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to tlie joyous Alps, which call to her aloud I " IN RKTREx\T AMONG THE ALPS. "^n le's of you all ; for we do nothing but cry out how we wish you were here with us to enjoy this beautiful spot. We are entire- ly surrounded by mountains in the distance, and with green fields, vineyards, and cultivated grounds nearer home. How your children would delight in the flowers, the white dove the seven little tiny guinea pigs, no bigger than your Ann hand shut up, and the ample, neat play-places all about us. I can't tell you how George and I enjoy seeing M. trotting about, so eager and so happy, and gathering up, as we hope, health and strength every hour ! We find the house, on the whole, very convenient, and it is certainly as pleasant as can be ; every room cheerful and every window commanding a view which is ravishing. You will be surprised, I dare say, to hear that I am writing To Mrs. ^^^ °^ doors ; I can hardly, myself, believe that it is Smii/i, possible to do so with comfort and safety at this sea- Genevricr, , •' April 7, son, but it is perfectly charming weather, neither cold ^ ^^' or hot, and with a small shawl and my bloomer on, I am out a large part of the day. You would fly here in a bal- loon if you knew what a beautiful spot we are in. We are sur- rounded with magnificent views of both the lake and the mountains, and can not turn in any direction without being ravished. The house is pretty, and in most respects well and even handsomely furnished ; damask curtains, a Titian, a Rem- brandt, and a Murillo in the parlor ; the floors are waxed and caipetless, to be sure, but Mrs. Buck has given us lots of large pieces of carpeting such as are used in this country to cover the middle of the rooms, and these will make us comfortable next winter. But the winters here are so short that one hardly gets fixed to meet them, when they are over. Wc have quite a nice garden, from which we have already eaten lettuce, spinach, and parsley ; our potatoes were planted a day or two ago, and our peas are just up. One corner of tlie house, unconnected with our part, is occupied by a farmer who rents part of the land ; he is obliged to do our marketing, etc., and we get milk and cream from him. I wish the latter was as easy to digest as it is palatable and cheap. They beat it up here till it looks like pure white lather and eat it with sugar. The grounds about our house are very neat and wc shall have 12 lyS THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. oceans of flowers of all sorts ; several kinds are in full bloom now. The wild flowers are so profuse, so beautiful and so vari- ous that A. and I are almost demented on the subject. From the windows I see first the wide, gravelled walk which runs round the house ; then a little bit of a green lawn in which there is a little bit of a pond and a tiny jef d'cau which falls agreeabl)^ on the ear ; beyond this the land slopes gently up- ward till it is not land but bare, rugged mountain, here and there sprinkled with snow and interspersed with pine-trees. The sloping land is ploughed up and men and women are busy sowing and plafiting ; too far off to disturb us with noise, but looking, the women at least, rather picturesque in their short blue dresses and straw hats. On the right hand the Dent du Midi is seen to great advantage ; it is now covered with snow The little village of St. Leger lies off in the distance ; you can just see its roofs and the quaint spire of a very old church ; Otherwise you see next to no houses, and the stillness is very sweet. N(rd) won't you come? The children seem to enjoy their liberty greatly, and are running about all the time. They have each a little garden and I hope will live out of doors all summer. The state of her health during the next three months was a source of constant and severe suffering, but could not quench her joy in the wonders of nature around her. '' My drives about this lovely place,*' she wrote in June, ''have begun to give me an immense amount of pleasure ; indeed, my faculty for enjoyment is so great, that I sometimes think one day's felicity pays for weeks of misery, and that if it hadn't been for my poor health, I should have been too happy here." Nor did her suffering weaken in the least her sympathy with the troubles of her friends at home. While for the most part si- lent as to her own peculiar trials, her letters were full of cheer- ing words about theirs. To one of these she wrote at this time : God has taken care that we should not enjoy so much of this world's comfort since we left home as to rest in it. Your letters are so sad, that I have fancied you perhaps overesti- mated our situation, feeling that you and your feeble husband IX RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 79 were bearing the burden and heat of the day while we were standing idle. My dear , there are trials everywhere and in every sphere, and every heart knoweth its own bitterness, or else physical burdens are sent to take the place of mental de- pression. After all, it will not need more than an hour in heaven to make us ashamed of our want of faith and courage here on earth. Do cheer up, dear child, and "look aloft ! " Poor Mr. ' ! I know his work is hard and up the hill, but it will not hv. lost work and can not last forever. It seem.s to me God might accept with special favor the services of those who ''toil in rowing." After all, it is not the amount of work He regards. but the spirit with which it is done. Early in July she was made glad by the birth of her sixth child— her ''Swiss boy," as she liked to call him. Her glad- ness was not a little increased by a visit soon after from Pro- fessor Henry B. Smith, of the Union Theological Seminary. This visit was one of the memorable events of her h'fe abroad. Professor Smith was not merely a great theologian and scholar; he was also a man of most attractive personal quali- ties. And, when unbending among friends from his exacting literary labors, the charm of liTs presence and conversation was perfect. His spirits ran high, and he entered with equal zest into the amusements of young or old. His laugh was as merry as that of the merriest girl ; no boy took part more eagerly in any innocent sport ; nobody could beat him in climb- ing a mountain. He was a keen observer, and his humor — sometimes very dry, sometimes fresh and bright as the early dew — rendered his companionship at once delightful and in- structive. His learning and culture were so much a part of himself, that his most familiar talk abounded in the happiest touches about books and art and life. All his finest traits were in full play while he was at Genevrier, and, when he left, his visit seemed like a pleasant dream. I am only too glad of the chance your husband gives mc to write you another bit of a note. We are enjoying his Smitii, visit amazingly. There are only two drawbacks to its ^uiy'^-7/i ^^^i^^'ty ; ^^i^e is that he won't stay all summer and the ot.hei that you are not here. The children were en- l80 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. chanted with the presents he brought them. When I shall be on my feet and well and strong again time only can tell. A. lias delated herself lo me in the sweetest way. What she has been to me all winter and up to this time, tongue could not tell. My doctor is as kind as a brother. He was a perfect stranger to me, and was brought to my bedside when I was writhing in agony ; but in ten minutes his tenderness and sympathy made me forget that he was a stranger, and, through that long night of distress and the long day that followed, he did every thing that mortal could do to relieve and comfort me. He brought his wife up tc see me the other day, and I begged her to tell him how grateful I felt. "He is kind," she answered, "but then he loves you sol" (They both speak English.) I am so puffed up by his praises ! I am sure I thought I groaned, but he says "pas une gemissemcnt." August i^ih. — Our two husbands have gone to Lausanne for the day, taking A. with them. They seem to be having real nice times together, and if, as your husband says, "his old wife were here," his felicity and ours would be too great. They lounge about, talk, drink soda-water, and view" the prospect. Dr. Buck came up from Geneva on Thursday and spent the night and part of Friday with us, and it would have done you good to hear him and your husband laugh. He was quite en- chanted with the place, and says w^e never shall want to go home. August 2yl. — Your husband has given me leave to write you a little bit of a note out of my little bit of a heart on this little bit of paper. He and A. have just gone off to get some pretty grass for you. He will tell you when he gets home how he baptized his namesake on Sunday. We have enjoyed his visit more than tongue can tell. George says he has enjoyed it as much as he thought he should, and I am sure I have en- joyed it a great deal more, as I have been so much better in health than I expected. But how you must miss him ! On the 1 2th of September — a faultless autumn day — she set out with her husband and eldest daughter for Chamouni. It was licr first excursion for pleasure since coming to Switzer- land. A visit to this great and marvelous handiwork of God is an e\ent in the dullest life. In her case the experience was io full of delight, that it sceiued almost to compensate for the IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. l8l cares and disappointments of the whole previous year. The plan was to return to Genevrier and then pass on to the Ber- nese Oberland, but the visit to Chamouni proved to be hei last as well as her first jjleasure excursion in Switzerland. I have been so absorbed with anxiety about the children since we got back from our journey, that I have not stani ^^^^ ^^^^ writing you a description of it. George told Gnievrier, you, I suppose, that the news awaiting us when we 1859. ' reached Vevay was of the baby's having whooping- cough. It was a great shock to us, for the weather was dismally cold, and it did not seem as if the little thing could get safely through the disease at so unfavorable a time of year. Then there were the other two to have it also. On Friday last baby's cry had become a sad sort of wail, and he was so pale and weak, that I did not see how he was going to rally ; but he is better to-day, so that I begin to take breath. . . . . To go back to Chamouni, it seems a mercy that we went when we did. We enjoyed the whole trip. We made the ex cursion to the Mer de Glace in a pouring rain, without injury to any of us, and were well repaid for our trouble by the nov- elty of the whole expedition and the extraordinary sights we saw. George intended taking us to the Oberland if we found the children well on our return, but all hope of accomplishing another journey was destroyed when we found what different business was before us. It is a real disappointment, for the weather is now mild and very fine, just adapted to journeying, and so many things have conspired to confine me to this spot, that I have found it quite hard to be as patient and cheerful as I am sure I ought to be. Alas and alas ! what an insatiable thing human nature is ! How it craves every thing the world can offer, instead of contenting itself with what ought to con- tent it. However, I shall soon get over my fidgets, and as l( George, of course he is only disappointed for me and A., as he has visited the Oberland, and was only going to give us pleas- ure. And, if I must choose between the two, I'd rather have the littlest baby in the world than see all the biggest mountains in it. We are thankful to hear that mother still continues tc be so well. We long to see her, and I think a look at her or a smile from her would do George good like a medicine. 1 82 THE LIFE OF MRS. PRENTISS. October i-jth.—l went to church yesterday for the first time m ten months; we came out at half-past t^n, so you see we have a tolerably long day before us when church is done. It is not at all like going to church at home ; you not only find it painful to listen with such strict attention as the foreign tongue requires, but you miss the neat, well-ordered sanctuary, the picture of family life (for there are no little children present !) and the agreeable array of dress. The flapping, monstrous bloomers tire your eyes, and so do the grotesque, coarse clothes and the tokens of extreme poverty. I grow more and more patriotic every day, and am astonished at what I see and hear of life in Europe. I snatched one afternoon when the baby was better than usual to go to Villeneuve with George to call on Mr. and Mrs. H. and the sister of Mrs. H., who is one of our Mercer street young ladies. They were at the Hotel Byron, where you stayed. What a beautiful spot it is ! Mr. H. afterwards came and dined with us, and was so charmed with the place that he was tempted to take it when we leave ; his wife, however, had set her heart on going home at that time, as she had left one child there. The vintage is going on here at Genevrier to-day, and we are all invited to go and eat our fill. You ask how I find time to make flow^er-pictures. Why, I have been confined to the house a good deal by the Henry B. baby's sickness, and could hardly set myself about any- GmevHer, thing else when I was not v.^atching and worrying Oc/ 20, ' about him. When we got home from Chamouni we 1859. ^ • J- found him with what proved to be a very serious dis- ease in the case of so young a child. It has shaken his litt!e frame nearly to pieces, leaving him after weeks of suffering not much bigger than a doll, and all eyes and bones. It v.'as a pretty hard struggle for life, and I hardly know how he has weathered the storm. The idea of leaving our dear little Sw4ss baby in a little Swiss grave, instead of taking him home with us, was very distressing to me, and I can not help earnestly de- siring that death may not assail us in this foreign land. Our trip to Chamouni was very pleasant and did me a deal of good. If I could have kept on the mule-riding and moua- tain-viewing a few weeks I should have got quite built ap, b-jl IN RETREAT AMONG THE ALPS. 183 the children's coughs made it impossible to take any moie journeys. Mr. de Palezieux, our landlord, called Monday to see if I would sell him my sewing-machine, as his wife was crazy to have one, and didn't feel as if she could wait to get one from New York. I told him I would, and all night could not sleep for teaching him how to use it — for his wife is in Germany and he had to learn for her. I invited him to come to dinner on Wednesday and take his kssoms. On Tuesday George said hj wanted me to make a pair of sleeves for Mrs. Tholuck before the machine went off, so I went to town to get the stuff, at three o'clock began the sleeves and worked like a lion for a lit- tle over two hours, when they were done, beautifully. This morning I made four collars, which I shall want for Christmas presents, and a shirt for Jules (our old hired man), who never had one made of linen, and will go off the handle when he gets it. So I am tolerably used up, and shall be almost glad to send away the tempter to-morrow, though I dare say I shall miss it. I wish you could look out of my window this minute, and see how beautiful the autumnal foliage is already begin- ning to look. But my poor old head, what shall I do with it ! You ask about my health ; I am as well as I can be without sleep. I have had only one really good night since the baby came, to say nothing of those before ; some worse than others, to be sure ; but all wakeful to a degree that tries my faith not a little. I don't see what is to hinder my going crazy one of these days. However, I won't if I can help it. George goes to Germany this week. Well, my dear, good-bye. George got home a fortnight ago, after his three weeks' ab- sence, looking nicely, and more like himself than I have To Mrs. ' ^, . -.^,, c \- Stearns, Seen him m a long time. He had a most refreshmg Dec. x^th. ^.^^ .^ Germany among his old friends. It does my ncart good to see him so cheery and hopeful. I have just seen the three babies safely in bed, after no little scampering and carry- ing-on. and now am ready for a little chat with you and dear mother. George sits by me, piously reading " Adam Bede." 1 was disappointed in the " Minister's Wooing," which he brought from Germany, and can not think Mrs. Stowe came up to her self this time, whatever the newspapers may say about it : and as for the plot, I don't see why she couldn't have let Mary f84 inF- I.IFK OF MRS. PRENTISS. many good old Dr. Hopkins, wlio was vastly more of a man than that harum-scarum James. As to "Adam Bede," I tliink it a wonderful book, beyond praise. I hope these literary ob- servations will be blessed to you, my dear. Mrs. Tholuck sent me a very pretty worsted cape to wear about house, or under a cloak. We went to Lausanne last Wednesday (George, A. and I) to do a little shopping for Christmas, and had quite a good time, only as life is always mingled in sweet and bitter, bittei and sweet, we had the melancholy experience of finding, when we got ready to come home, that Jules had taken a drop too much, and was in a state of ineffable silliness, which made George prefer to drive himself. We begin now to think and talk about Paris. We have been buying this afternoon some Swiss chalets and other things, brought to the door by two women, and I had hard work to keep George from taking a bushel or two. He got leaf-cutters enough to stab all his friends to the heart. Most of our lady friends will receive a salad-spoon and fork from one or the other of us. In fact, I have no doubt we shall be seized at the Custom-house as merchants in disguise. Well, I must bid you good night. The latter part of December her husband was requested to go to Paris and take the temporary charge of the American chapel there, lie decided to do so, with the understanding that she and the children sliould soon follow him. But scarcely had he left Geneva, when first one and then another of the children was seized with scarlet fever. Here arc a few extracts from her letters on the subject: Dec. 3i.s7. — Jules had hardly gone to the otlice, when I became satisfied that G. had scarlet fever beyond a doubt, and there- fore sent Jeanette instantly to town to tell the doctor so, and to ask him to come up. He came, and said at once I was quite right As to our leaving here, he said decidedly that it ciuIJ not be under less than forty days. I can not tell you, my darling, how grieved I am for you to hear this news. Now I '