|v1 ILIBRARY OF CONGRESS. """"■^ m ^S.SS'^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, g^'?S''^^S>'^'^^>'^^»''^'«^ Is^'SSr'^^fer^^'^'^'^^^ f. ^ .A i?^^ 'y-^^J^/^ ^^^ ^^^^ qA^J^^jA vA-^r-uyfy A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. With the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or mom, Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine. Milton y By S. H. DeKROYFT. NEW-YORK : JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER, 49 «fe 51 Ann-street. 1850. o t ,,.., / Entered accordiiiij to Act of Coii'^ress, in the year IS19, by S. H. DeKROYFT. In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New- York. TO MRS. DOCTOR NOTT, OP UNION COLLEGE, SCHENECTADY, WHO FJRST SUGGESTED ITS PUBLICATIOW THIS VOLUME IS VERY AFFECTIONATELY INSCRIBED. Mi itjs ftMt|©r. PREFACE. These Letters are simply copies of my own thoughts and feehngs, written with no expec- tation of their ever being read by others than the persons to whom they were addressed. But as the author of the " Memoirs of my Youth " laid bare his "palpitating heart" to the world for the sake of dollars, so I have been induced to gather from my friends these frag- ments, and bind them into a book. Three summers ago, I had perfect sight. I was in one short month a bride, a widow, and blind ; yet Providence has made it needful for 6 PREFACE. me to do something to provide for myself food and raiment. Upon the loss of my sight, I was, through the influence of Senator Backus, of Rochester, allowed to spend one year at the New- York Institution for the Blind, which time expired last May; and I had not where to go, or a friend whose kindness my three years of de- pendence had not wearied. There was no alternamve, and with many fears of success, I embarked in the little enterprise of publishing this volume, by soliciting subscribers who would give their names, and pay me in ad- vance. Accordingly, with my prospectus in my hand, I first waited upon the Board of Man- agers of the Institution, who lent me their influence, and sanctioned my efforts by sub- scribing for several copies each. The next day, I waited upon the gentlemen of the City PREFACE. Hall, and encouraged by their kindness, thence passed on through Broadway, Wall, South, and most of the principal streets of the city; and now that my task is ended, and my little book is about going to the publishers, I have not an unpleasant memory associated with the whole affair. In the hurry of business, in the intricacies of law, and amidst problems half solved, gentlemen have laid down their pens, read my prospectus, written their names, and paid their money; and often escorted me to the door, and saw me safely down the stairs, perchance, directing my gentle guide where to find others as kind as themselves. Gratitude is the purest of the heart's me- mories, and I can only offer to my friends, subscribers, purchasers, and all, my warmest thanks. I cannot compliment my own work ; I shall leave it with an indulgent public. In perusing its pages, however, the reader must 8 PREFACE. rememoer that they were either written with the sense of feeUng, by means of a grooved card, and pencil, or prompted to a friend, from an overburdened heart. S. H. DeKROYFT. New-York Institution for the Blind, September 25, 1849. A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Rochester, April, 1848. My precious Mother, — My whole heart is drawn out to you. When WilUam was with me, I loved him more than all the world beside, but he is in the grave now, and my purest affections, mother, evermore are yours. If this frail body could move with the fleetness of thought, I would come to you now, and pillow my weary head on your bosom, and your soft hands would dry these tears from my poor eyes. Oh that I could open them once more, mother, and see your smiling face, and feel my spirit grow warm and gentle in the light of your eyes, and your looks of love. Tell me, dear mother, have you changed at all ? Do you look as when I saw you last ? 1* 10 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Ohj had I known that ere we should meet again, the hght would leave me, how would I have gazed on your form, until on my spirit were engraved your every look and feature ! You often come to me now, when dreams pos- sess my thoughts, and then I tell you how sad it is to be blind, and how melancholy the long days and nights are, and how I sometimes almost pray to go into the spirit world, and mount the wings of light for ever. But mother, I bless God for a cheerful faith, and a heart all resigned. Whatever his hand orders is for the best. You taught me early to know, and try to do, the will of God ; but, mother, to suffer it is another thing. I could climb the Rocky Mountains to teach the Indians, cross the seas, and live for ever with the Hindoos, and the task would seem light, and my burdens easily borne ; but when I look along the current, of perhaps fifty years, of darkness, dear mother, my heart fails, and like the doubting Hebrew, I begin to sink. Then an unseen arm lifts me, and whispers, " Be still, and know that I am God." Yes, dear mother, what we do not know now, we shall know hereafter. In A CHEERFUL FAITH. 11 a few days, new hills and valleys will inter- vene, and your anxious cares for your child will be kindled anew. But be comforted ; the widow's God will take care of me, the friend of the ravens will not leave nor forsake me, and ere long, I shall come to you again. My heart coaxes me to come to you now, but duty points another way. Things are not always what they seem. When Moses looked around, for the last time, upon the white tents pitched at the foot of the mountain, and pressed the hands of the sires who had grown gray in his friendship, and embraced the little ones whose hearts had budded into life in the light of his heavenly face ; when he bade adieu to all that was dear, and began his journey up the weary side of Pisgah, he little knew that the clouds which overhung him would so soon break away, and the glories of the promised land burst upon his enraptured vision. Mother, so good may yet come to me ; there may be in reserve a morning whose dawn is not yet be- gun. Faith is the blossom of the soul ; it makes the doctrine of a future life a bright reality, keeps heaven near, and brings departed ones in 12 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. speaking distance ; it chases away the shades of grief, and puts fear to flight. Dear mother, your parting words are still fresh in my memory, and your prayers and tears are locked in my heart. Your love is a sort of spirit robe that covers all my thoughts, and I wear it every where. Kiss little sisters and brother often for me, and let them never forget their sister . Helen ; but they must not think of me only as something sad and melan- choly, for I am growing more cheerful now; sometimes I laugh almost as merrily as ever. Tell brother, when I come again he will gather wild flowers with me as before, and I can hear hirh say his lessons, and Nin and Mary will read for me, and write all my letters, and I will teach them some new songs, and tell them many stories. They must go to the library every week, and write me what they read. SOUTHERN CHARACTER. 13 Water-Cure, Long Island. My good Friend Mr. Dean : — Let me thank you many times for your dear note of yesterday. How kind of you to think of me in your leisure moments, when they come to you so seldom ! I have no new thing to write to you, save that to-morrow Dr. and Mrs. Nott leave for their home in Schenectady, and also a lovely family, Mr. and Mrs. Hardy and daughter, of Virginia, all of whom will be very much missed in our circle. Mrs. H is somewhat larger than myself; her coraplexion is a dark brunette ; she has jet black eyes, and her raven tresses nearly touch the ground. Some say she is a descendant of Pocahontas, or Metoka, as her father called her. I do love a real Southern character, it makes one so cor- dial, generous, and impulsive. Mrs. Hardy and myself have climbed these hills together, crossed valleys, and traversed winding foot- paths, and waded the brooks, and plunged and bathed together, till she seems almost a part of myself. I shall miss her gentle hand and 14 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. kind words every where. But they have arranged that I pass the month of May next at their pleasant home in N , which I fancy will be a little round of delight, almost a dissi- pation. The winter looks dark and cheerless now, for as yet I know not where to pass it ; but you see there is a bright spot for me in the spring-time ; so I will go on, laughingly and gladly, as though I had a fortune secured, and nothing more to do in this life but live and be happy. One little thing I must tell you : Mrs. Hardy promises when she gets to New- York to send me back a nice writing-desk for a keepsake. Will not that be a precious gift ? and how 1 shall love the dear thing for her sake ! Oh, why is every body so kind to me ? I cannot be sad long at a time if I try ; some tuneful voice always comes to cheer, and some gentle hand to guide and bless me. Dr. S is anxious for me to remain here until I am quite well. He says the water treatment is much more effectual in cold weather than in warm. Besides, the good Q-uaker steward and stewardess often say, " I THE HUSHED HOUR. 15 think we must keep thee here this winter, thou wilt be so much company for us." Ne7v- York Institution for the Blind. The sun set upon the sea, and the moon rose above the hills, and the stars came out smiling through the clouds, like bands of angels, with linked hands, flying through the heavens. The reading hour past, we sang an evening hymn, and prayers were said, and the bell rang for ten, and all laid them down to sleep. To Him who sits enthroned in the abodes of light and Jove, I heard Mary's lips whispering of mother, home, and heaven. Perchance she is dreaming now of faces imaged on her heart long ago, and the sunny hours of childhood with their visions of joy have come to possess her thoughts. It is mid- night, that deep hushed hour, when the soul turns back upon itself, and all the thoughts and feelings are chased homeward by incidents of the past. Now the night dews are hanging lightly on all the flowers, and the green leaves 16 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. in moony shadows are trembling on the walls, and the lengthened forms of the waving boughs are crawling on the floor, as the shades of melancholy creep o'er my soul. Away yonder on the bosom of the Hudson the lights of the sky are twinkling ; so up in heaven, on the fountain that wells from the throne, the smiles of God are playing. The world of spirits is opened to ours, and ours to theirs ; even now, loved ones departed are in smiling distance, and their blent voices fall on my ear, like the pulses of a lute, when the waking hand has passed away. They come in the night time, when silence holds her spell-like reign, and in unseen communion spirit doth with spirit blend. Night too is the time for prayer ; then the ear of Heaven is nearer bent, and the full sad heart, by faith, breathes a freer air, and leaping upward, gets new and clearer glimpses of the Christian's better life. So Jesus, wearied with the toils of the day, oft at night climbed lonely Olivet, apart to pray and talk with his Father in heaven, and seraphs who had grown old in his love were with him there; and while he kneeled upon the damp earth, their spirit OUR BLUE ONTARIO. 17 hands dried his tears away. Dear mother, I often fancy you must be near, and turn to hear you speak, and put out my hand, but to greet the empty air. Oh, think of me when the morning breaks, and when the noon is bright, and the day dechnes ; and pray for me too, lest this hfe of darkness make me sad, and lonehness' self settle on me. Write to me often, mother, and say I have always a place in your love, and a memory in your prayers ; say that little brother and sisters speak of me in their play, and count the days until I shall come back again. I am pleased with the In- stitution. If Charity herself had come down to build on earth a home for her children, and Innocence had gathered them, the dwelling were not more fair, or its inhabitants more lovely and pure. But, dear mother, I love our blue Ontario more ; its green shore inurns the stirring memories of a heart that was my own ; besides, the dearest spot is always where our friends abide. When the sun was going down I went into the garden, and felt around among the bushes, until I found some flowers, and gathered a beautiful bouquet for you, mother, 18 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. and now, in fancy, I will steal softly into your room, and lay it on your pillow. May its sweet perfumes make you dream of a land where flowers never fade, and those we love never die ; where sorrow may not come^ and where with a napkin of love all tears shall be wiped from our eyes. Institution for the Blind, January, 1847. This hour I sit me down to write you in a little world of sweet sounds. The choir in the chapel are chanting at the organ their evening hymn — across the hall a little group with the piano and flute are turning the very atmo- sphere into melody ; but Fanny, the poetess, is not there. Many weeks her harp and guitar have been unstrung, and we fear the hand of consumption is stealing her gentle spirit away. In a room below, some twenty little blind girls are joining their silvery voices in tones sweet and pure as angels' whispers. And ah ! here comes one who has strayed from their number THE STARRY SKY. 19 the twentieth time to-day, clambering her Httle arms about my neck for a kiss. Earth has no treasure so heavenly as the love of a sinless child. Man seldom welcomes you farther than the fair vestibule of his heart, but a child in- vites you within the temple, where alone the incense of unselfish love burns upon its own altar. 'Tis evening — the moonbeams gladden all the hills, the stars are out and I see them not — once my poor eyes loved to watch those wheel- ing orbs, till they seemed joyous spirits bathing in the holy light of the clear upper skies : — but noio they are not lost to me ; fancy, with a soul-lit look, often wanders in the halls of me- mory, where hang daguerreotypes of all that is bright and beautiful in nature, from the lowest flower that unfolds its petals to the sunbeams, up to the cloud-capt mountain and the regions of the starry sky — whence she plumes her pinions, boldly entering upon new and untried regions of thought ; passes the boundary of the unseen, to far-off fields where " Deity geo- metrizes," and nebular worlds are ever spring- ing into new life and glory ; and upwards still 20 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. to the spirit land, where all are blessed and lost in present joys, till happiness, forgetful, numbers not the hours. There my thoughts love to linger, till with the angels I seem to come and go, wandering by joy's welling foun- tains and glad rivers of delight ! But oh ! this is truth and not fancy. My life is a " night of years," and my path is a sepulchred way ; on one side sleeps my FRIEND, and on the other lies buried forever a world of light, and all its rays revealed : the smiles of friends and all their looks of love, without which the heart knows no morning. The Saviour wept at the grave of his friend, and I know he does not chide these tears ; they are the impearled dews of feeling which gather round a sorrowed heart. But where God sends one angel to afflict, he always sends many more to comfort ; so I have many angel friends who love me well. Their gentle hands lead me by pleasant ways, and their tuneful voices read to me, and the kindness of their words makes my heart better. Oh ! tell me ; when summer gladdens the world and vaca- tion gladdens me, shall I again be on the banks SORROW. 21 of the Genesee, the while loved and blessed by the warm hearts of Rochester ? Lake Cottage, November, 1847. My dear Lizzy : — It is not pleasant to be blind. My poor eyes long to look abroad upon this beautiful world, and my prisoned spirit struggles to break its darkness. I would love dearly to bonnet and shawl myself and go forth to breathe the air alone, and free as the breeze that fans my brow. But as Milton once said to his favorite daughter, " It matters little whe- ther one has a star to guide or an angel-hand to lead ;" and, Lizzy, we must learn to bear, and blame not that which we cannot change. The journey of life is short. We may not stop here long, and sorrow and trial discipline the spirit, and educate the soul for a future life ; and those upon whom we most depend, we love most. A good EngUsh writer says. " Let thy heart be thankful for any circum- stance that proves thy friend." 22 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Two summers have come and gone since my William died in Rochester. We brought him here and laid him down in the grave to sleep, close by his childhood-home, where the quick winds and white waves of Ontario come swelling to the shore ; and high above its silvery bosom, clouds, dove-like, are hang- ing. One moon had hardly waned, when the angels came again, and while I slept darkened my weeping eyes for ever. Oh ! Lizzy, was sorrow ever so deep ? was misery ever so severe 7 Hope departed, and an unyielding blight settled on all the joys my heart had wed. " Passing away " is truly a part of earth. It lends a deathlike air to our gay en- joyments, and mingles sorrow with our cups of bliss. It stops for ever our happy labors, and frustrates our choicest plans. Those whom we learn to love, die, and the cold earth presses the lips we have loved to kiss, and freezes the hearts tuned to beat in unison with our own. Lizzy, evermore I am blind, and a wanderer, but not homeless. I have God for my father, the angels for friends, and Jesus an "elder brother." The pure homes in many hearts, LAKE -'OTTAGE. 23 too, are mine — dwellings dearer than all the world beside. This morning finds me at Mr. Ledyard's de- lightful " Lake Cottage," where Lombard pop- lars lift their tapering tops almost to prop the skies ; the willow, locust, and horse-chestnirt, spread their branches, and flowers never cease to blossom. Maggie is my kind amanuensis. Now she reads to me — gives me her arm for a walk. Now, with her harp and tuneful voice, 5he unchains the soul of song, the while cover- ng all my thoughts with gladness, till I almost forget my " night of years," and live in a land where ever swells with melody the air, and sorrow and tears are unknown, save such as pitying angels weep. With Maggie all joys are less than the one joy of doing kindness. Her smile makes the sunshine of many hearts ; the cloudless dawning of their new enjoy- ments. It is Thanksgiving Day, Lizzy, and my thoughts have been wandering backward, far over the current of years. Reflection is indeed an angel, when she points out the errors of the past and gives us courage to avoid them in the 24 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. future. Maggie is reading me the book of Job, and this evening my spirit more than ever looks up in thankfuhiess to God for the Bible, Hea- ven's purest gift to mortals. It is the star of eternity, whose mild rays come twinkling to this nether sphere ; erring man's guide to wis - dom, virtue, and heaven. The Bible is the book of books. In comparison Byron loses his fire, Milton his soarings, Gray his beauties, and Homer his grandeur and figures. No eye like rapt Isaiah's ever pierced the veil of the future ; no tongue ever reasoned like sainted Job's ; no poet ever sung like Israel's shepherd king, and God never made a man more wise than Solo- mon. The words of the Bible are pictures of immortality; dev/s from the tree of Know- ledge ; pearls from the river of Life, and gems of celestial thought. As the moaning shell whispers of the sea, so the Bible breathes of love in heaven, the home of angels, and joys too pure to die. Would I had read it more when my poor eyes could see. Would more of its pure precepts were bound about my heart, and I had wisdom to make them the mottoes of my life. The Avorld may entertain Mary's tears. 25 Its idea of a magnificent Deity, whose govern- ment is general . but let me believe in the Lord God of Elijah, whose providence is en- tire, ordering the minutest event m human life, and with a father's care arranging it for the greatest possible good. Yes, Lizzy, when storms gather, and my way is dark and drear, with no star to guide, nor voice to cheer, my •sinking spirit finds refuge in the world-wide sympathies of a Saviour who did not chide Mary for her tears, and came himself to weep at the grave of his friend. My dear Lizzy, I fear 1 have written you too long and too sad a letter; but, dearest, do not think me melancholy; like all the rest of the world I have more smiles than tears, more good than ill. Let me thank you many times for your kind invitations to be with you on New Year's Day at your new home, and for your gentle hint that Santa Claiis will be there too. Maggie says his majesty will be in the country at that time, and I must stop here ; however, I shall be with you, Lizzy ; till then good-bye, with my unabated love. P. S. Water is to nature what melancholy is 26 A PLACE IN THY MExMORY. to the soul ; beautiful in its mildness, but ter- rific and fearful in its wrath. When 1 began my letter, Ontario was sleeping in her beauty; but since then she has foamed and roared like a thing of very madness, and her long circling waves have overturned the seaman's home, and borne it far down where the dolphins sleep, and the bones of wrecked mariners lie thick on the ground. To-day I took a long adieu of William's grave ; Maggie led me there and left me alone awhile, to commune with the dead; and as the waves washed the bright pebbles to the shore and bore them back again, so the tide of memory swept over my heart its cherished hopes ; and I watched them fall back into the sea of life, to return no more. June 14. 1849. My dear Mrs. Fisher, — Your letter was a darling little visitor. My heart has had many a sweet chat with its friendly words. LIGHT AND SHOWERS, 27 How glad it made me I cannot tell you. It is pleasant to be remembered. I regret that Mr. F could not find time to call, but such remissness of duty is always pardonable in a business man. Well, dear Jenny, " they tell me Spring is waking," and all nature is teem- ing with very gladness ; the leaves and buds and twigs with new life are swelling, the little brooks have unclasped their icy bands, and the lake waters have broken their magic fetters, and the waves again dance to the tunes the breezes play, and the little seeds in the warm earth, like loving hearts, are beating and strug- gling upward to the world of light and show- ers ; so may our hearts pant for the waters whose streams flow fast by the throne of God, and the smile of Him whose look makes the light of heaven. You are going to, your pleasant home ; may it be ever the resting place of peace and plen- ty, and may no ills come there, and no storms gather to mar your happiness. The days I passed with you are with me yet, like a dream of love which may not be told. True, joy did not crowd the hours with gladness, but all that 28 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. souls can share we straightway embarked in a Uttle commerce of heart, and felt ourselves growing richer by a perfect interchange of views and feelings. Locke, in all his reason- ings, lived not half so fast. The world I live in is an ideal world, and its inhabitants are beings of fancy, and of course sinless and good ; their lips speak no lies, and their hands work no evil ; their smiles are like the beams of the morning, and their whispers like the night breeze among the flowers, soft and heal- ing as the breath of prayer. Still, Jenny, this morning my imprisoned spirit would go into raptures for one glance at this world of light ; oh yes, I would bow in grateful adoration for the fragment beam that plays idly on an in- fant's tear, or sports with a drop of dew. Oh holy light ! thou art old as the look of God, and eternal as his breath. The angels were rocked in thy lap, and their infant smiles were brightened by thee. Creation is in thy memory ; by thy torch the throne of Jehovah was set, and thy hand burnished the myriad stars that glitter in his crown. Worlds, new, from His omnipotent hand, were sprinkled with beams INVOCATION TO LIGHT. 29 from thy baptismal font. At thy golden urn pale Luna comes to fill her silver horn, and Saturn bathes his sky-girt rings ; Jupiter lights his waning moons, and Yenus dips her queenly robes anew. Thy fountains are shoreless as the ocean of heavenly love, thy centre is every wh^re, and thy boundary no power has marked. Thy beams gild the illimitable fields of space, and gladden the farthest verge of the universe. The glories of the seventh heaven are open to thy gaze, and thy glare is felt in the woes of lowest Erebus. The sealed books of heaven by thee are read, and thine eye, like the Infi- nite, can pierce the dark veil of the future, and glance backward through the mystic cycles of the past. Thy touch gives the lily its white- ness, the rose its tint, and thy kindling ray makes the diamond's light; thy beams are mighty as the power that binds the spheres ; thou canst change the sleety winds to soothing zephyrs, and thou canst melt the icy moun- tains of the poles to gentle rains and dewy vapors. The granite rocks of the hills are upturned by thee, volcanoes burst, islands sink and rise, rivers roll, and oceans swell at thy 30 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. look of command. And oh, thou monarch of the skies, bend now thy how of miUioned ar- rows and pierce, if thou canst, this darkness that thrice twelve moons has bound me. Burst now thine emerald gates, O morn, and let thy dawning come. My eyes roll in vain to find thee, and my soul is weary of this intermi- nable gloom. My heart is but the tomb of blighted hopes, and all the misery of feelings unemployed has settled on me. I am misfor- tune's child, and sorrow long since marked me for her own. The past comes back, robed in a pall, which makes all things dark. The future seems a rayless night, and the world does not always deal gently, even with one so sorrowed. The sea of feeling, however calm, may be rippled by a breath, swollen by a word, clouded by a look, and lashed into fury by an act. But Liberal Christianity is slow to censure, sus- pects never, and believes not till evidence look her so full in the face that there be no room for mistake ; and even then she teaches rather pity than blame, rather forgives than con- demns, and lets compassion cover the errors JOURNEYING ALONE. 31 and faults that Charity cannot hide. Out of heaven, and the Bible, there is nothing so pure as that love which makes us forget ourselves and live unto others. The last time Eve wan- dered through Eden's bowers of celestial ama- ranth, the angels, betokening her departure, gave her many flowers, which she twined in her hair, and wore on her neck, all, save one, a love blossem, which she pressed to her breast, and the approving smile of all the angels quickened its fainting leaves into life, and it took root in her heart; and so, evermore, the children of Eve are inclined to love. * * Rochester, July 1st, 1847. Much-loved Mrs. Buckley, far away : — My Institution friends thought it presumptuous for me to journey to Rochester alone, and the Superintendent laughed when I told him the angels would take care of me. Their care was needful, too, for I began my journey quite un- 32 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. incumbered with money, ordinarily so essential to the traveller. The good men do should be known ; their better deeds often are told. The world has bad notions of itself; it is not a selfish, but an unselfish world — a kind, a loving, and a forgiving world — more sunshine than storms, more smiles than frowns or tears. Men oftener love than hate, oftener do good than ill. This is not the best world we are to know ; but it is next the best, and only a step lies between. Heaven is near the good, so near that loved ones, who inhabit there, are Avith us still. Stars unseen hang over us by day • so spirits from beyond the sky hang round our pathway, whispering words kind as heaven, on every breeze that fans our ears. We hear and follow them, but, like Samuel, fancying some Eli is calling. Wishing to call at Catskill, I went on board the Utica. Your father met me there, with blessings in his heart and hand. " May God preserve and protect you, and in due time re- turn you to us," said he, and departed. The sun went down ; the moon and stars, those symbols of love in heaven, were in the sky ; SCENERY OF THE HUDSON. 33 the air was calm and inviting, even to " spir- its of purity." Tiiose whose eyes are folded have a quicker sense than sight, by which they know and feel when a fixed gaze is on them. Only one lady remained with me in the cabin ; at length, with her babe in her arms, she came, and placing her lips close to my ear, as if she thought me deaf, screamed, " Be you blind ?" " Certainly," I said, smiling. Watching me a moment longer, she said, in a tone of satisfac- tion, " Well, I don't judge from your looks you feel very bad about it !" " No," I replied, •' grieving never restores its object, so we must learn to bear, and blame not that which we cannot change." Presently a Miss, with a voice like music's self, placed her little hand in mine, saying, " It is delightful out ; I know you can- not see the things we are passing, but I will describe them to you." I took her arm, and we were hardly seated on deck when the Cap- tain joined our number, talking familiarly of the beautiful scenery which every where adorns the Hudson ; " the proudest stream that jour- neys to the sea." " Yonder," said he, " is Washington Irving's delightful residence, so 2* 34 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. buried in shrubs and trees, one can only see the steeple ; which has on it a weather-cock taken from the ship in which Major Andre was to have sailed." A gentleman is most eloquent when he has attentive lady listeners ; and while Ave rode over the rippling waters, my thoughts gathered many new and beautiful images ; and Memory, the mind's mirror, still treasures daguerreotypes of them all. My visit in Catskill, with Mrs. Wilson and daughters, at their cottage home, was like a scene in a fairy land. As " distance lends en- chantment to the view," so time enhances de- parted joys. On board the Alida for Albany, blind and alone, among strangers, I began to fear lest Mr. Dawson should not get my note and come for me at the boat. But the angels never fail to do their bidding. Strangers often prove the best of friends. " Lo ! I am with you alway !" is not a promise, but a declara- tion. Mrs. Thomas, her husband and daugh- ter, from New- York, recognizing my baggage- mark, sought me out; and, in their society, the hours went unnumbered by. When we stopped they would have taken me with them A KINDLY TREAD. 35 to Congress Hall, but the Captain kindly of- fered, if my friends should not come, to see me safe at his home. All left the saloon, but I had not waited long, when a gentleman with a kindly tread came, saying, "Your friend, Mr. D., is in Michigan, but, if you please, I will see you to his residence." He then se- cured my baggage, gave me his arm, and we were away, talking so familiarly of life, its changes, books, and places, that I forgot he was a stranger, and thought I had known him always. I knew by his voice he had seen many years, and by his words, as Pinckney says, he had " A heart that can feel and a hand that can act." He left, saying, " In the morning I will either come or send my son with a carriage to take you to the depot." My ministering angel, this time, was Thurlow Weed, of Albany ; and, may the Lord add to the length of his days many happy years, and the joys of each succeeding be multiplied by the joys of the last ! 36 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Ill llie tbreiioou, my seat in the car was shared by an aged sire, who beguiled the hours with pleasing incidents. In the after- noon, a Scotchman, from the banks of the (.'lyde, entertained me with descriptions of the i [ighlands. Eloquent lips are a good substi- tute for eyes. He was present when Leopold, in sable robes for his Charlotte, was ambas- tfador for George the Fourth to Edinburgh. With the fleetness of fancy, I became not only a looker on, but an actor in all that biilliaiit scene. The splendid streeiS, and edi- fices, the dazzling crowd, the royal equipage, the high-headed and high-souled oflicers, the elegantly set tables and brilliant guests, he de- scribed as if with them but yesterday. Who- ever he was, his happiness was greatest when contributing most to the happiness of others. It would have done your heart good to hear hiin repeat snatches from Burns, in the full s])irit of the great Poet ; who was, he said, one of Nature's own nobility. # # # At Pittsford, resting by the way with friends of lighter days, a note from Mrs. H., of Ro- chester, welcomed me for a time to her home, L I GENESEE. 37 wliere we read, ride, walk, and talk the days away. Lizzy and Mary, too, with gentle hands, come often to lead me by pleasant ways; now where the Genesee leaps thnndcM- iiig iVom the rocks, and now where it winds noiseless to the sleeping lake, always mention- ing in words like pictnres, every tree, shrnb and flower. They tell me when we are at the corner of a new bnilding, walking to the other gives its length, and knowing the number of stories, imagination readily makes the view her own ; thus I keep in mind the many changes of our growing city. If Oswald's Corinne was more eloquent she was not more kind, nor her love more true. My poor eyes cannot see them, but I know looks of love are on their faces, such as pitying angels wear. Gratitude is the most heavenly inhabitant of the human breast, and though shut out from its beauties, it is still a blessing to exist in so good a world. When the Autumn winds begin to moan among the trees, the members of the New- York Institution for the Blind will meet again at their happy home, where may the angels 38 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. bring you often. Oh ! you never seemed so near, so dear, as now. Accept my heart's love, sealed with a friendship's kiss. As Burns says, — " A heart-warm, fond good-by." N. B. A lady never writes a letter without a postscript. I forgot to tell you that my jour- ney home cost me nothing. Captains, railroad conductors and all, instead of presenting their bills, inquired how they could best serve' me, where I would stop, &c. Ought not even the blind to be joyous and happy in a land so kind, so free, as ours ? * * # # # Our nature is threefold, or in other words, we seem to be made up of three distinct be- ings, or sets of energies ; mental, moral, and physical; and it is the strange mingling and commingling of these, and their effects and influences upon each other, that produce what is called character. When God made man, he did not intend his strongest powers should rule, but the best ; but contrary to his wish, in most persons, the seat of government is planted in the mind instead of the heart ; and reason is EDUCATION. 39 allowed to sway her glittering sceptre over those inhabitants of the soul, love, charity, gratitude, faith, and hope, which were intend- ed to be free, or governed only by heaven's golden rules. Byron was an example in whose character it was difficult to say whe- ther the mental or physical powers had the sway ; and so of Pope, and the selfish Wal- pole. Who, in reading the beautiful songs of Montgomery and Kirke White, does not feel that they cafne from a source entirely differ- ent ? Indeed, in the one case we seem com- muning with spirits, whose very breath was warm with love from heaven ; and in the other, with beings whose thoughts were in- spired only in the gloom of night, and the sul- lenness of despair. Now education and man- ner of living have much to do with this. If books are placed before us which only encour- age the ambition, and adorn and dignify the mind, and our food be such as stimulates and cultivates the less ennobling passions, though apparently simple in themselves, they are, nevertheless, in their effects lasting as eternity. A child, who before his morning meal has L 40 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. learned to whisper the name of Jesus in thank- fulness and prayer, and at night holds his little heart up to God for blessings, when he grows to be a man will hardly go astray, or allow the impulses of his nature to be governed by a thing so cold and •calculating as human rea- son ; far otherwise ; you will find him inquir ing of God, and his own conscience, the way of duty, and you will see him always forget- ting himself and trying to make others happy. These thoughts are not too sober even for a school-girl ; you are now building a character for yourself, of which the lessons and exercises of each day form a part. No after time can efface the consequences of one act, or the influ- ence of one word, either upon ourselves or those around us. To get your lessons per- fectly and recite them, is not all you have to do. A boarding-school is a little community by itself, in which each room answers to a dwelling, whose inhabitants we may call our neighbors ; and here we have a field, into which we may bring into exercise all our capacities, both mental and moral. Here we may plant the germs of philanthropy and reli- GUARDIAN ANGELS. 41 gious zeal ; here we may learn to dry away the tear of sorrow, and smooth the pillow of the sick, and pity those who suffer. That beautiful command, that the strong should bear the infirmities of the weak, seems written almost expressly for the members of a school, for we cannot all gather knowledge with the same facility. A lesson that is sport for one, is a hard task for another. My dear, we have guardian angels who every day bear reports to heaven of our doings here, and when the books are opened we must answer for the re- cord they have kept. From this hour, then, seek to know and do the will of your Hea- venly Father. First see that your thoughts are clothed with the precepts of his word, and while you journey upward in life's mountain path, set on either side with briers and thorns, though your pilgrim feet may be often torn by flinty rocks you need not fear ; for our Saviour has said, " Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world." 42 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Rochester, Lizzifs Home. The friendship of the good is a refuge that fails not, a treasure that angels prize, and in their diadems it is set round with virtue, love, and truth. My dear Augusta, as the flowers at eve incline their heads to departing sunbeams, so my spirit is drawn towards you, wander where I will. The love that does not end in this life, often ends with it ; but the chain which binds our hearts has no broken links, and while life lasts, and beyond the sky, it will draw us together still. Loved one, where are you? Oh speak, I long to hear your words ; they were music that fell on my ears and sank down into my heart, filling it with joys too much like heaven to fade or pass away. It is a long time since I have felt your friendly arms around my neck, and your kisses on my lips, and I often wonder if time and distance have not altogether estranged me from your thoughts. I know your other, self, and those little ones who clamber by your side have right to the highest seat in 3^our affections ; A mother's smile. 43 and your heart's temple, lighted by a mother's smile, should be to them earth's fairest home ; and there, dearest, I would have them ever stay and worship undisturbed at love's holiest altar, only let me share largely in your general love, and I shall be therewith content. But think of me sometimes, oftenest when you bow your heart at mercy's throne ; Ask for me heaven's blessings there, In the ardent hope of faith in prayer. _ I am passing the winter far away by the Genesee, where with the wild flowers my infancy grew ; to-day the liquid thunders of its falls mingle with the winds ; and storms are gathering as on the day when you came first with books and papers to read to me in the New- York Institution for the Blind. No time or place is so dear to memory as where the sor- rowed heart has been blest, and its burdens a while borne by another ; where the bereaved feelings have been coaxed to leave their sad- ness, and their tears dried by the hand of sympathy and love. A stranger in New- York, 44 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. shut up in that school for the afflicted, how found I such a lodgment in your sympathies ; and what spirit moved you to come so often to beguile my lonely hours ; to take me to your pleasant home ; to church, and every where I wished to go ? If one good act pleases God more than another, it must be such forgetful- ness of self, such desire to make others happy. Last week Mr. and Mrs. H left Roches- ter for Boston. The day previous to their depa^ure, the Sewing Society of their church met at the house of my venerable friend Dr. Brown. The weight of years is on him now, and his looks are changed to the gray fila- ments of wisdom ; but his heart is young, and his mind is active as ever : and with the sweet consciousness of a life well spent, he waits only for his Master to call him home. Towards evening all the ladies were assem- bling in the Doctor's room, when Mrs. H , ignorant of the cause, said to him, " Doctor, yon seem to be the greatest attraction of the day ;" whereupon an elderly lady entered, and approached Mrs. H , bearing in her hand a silver waiter, and some napkin rings BREAD UPON THE WATERS. 45 for her children. This needed no explana- tion ; their choked feelings refused words ; the light of the past was on them, and with these beautiful expressions of gratitude and love between them, they and all present wept over remembered kindnesses, and ties soon to be severed for ever. I said in my heart, behold how these sisters love one another, and no wonder; their joint labors have clothed thS destitute, fed the hungry, blessed the sick, and relieved suffering of every order. In a word, they have long "shared each other's glad- ness, and wept each other's tears." In the evening Dr. Brown presented his son for bap- tism, a lad of some nine or ten years — the child of his old age. Several other parents did the same, and thus closed the labors of Mr. H. in Rochester. But the good that men do lives after them. Like bread upon the waters, it not realized now it will be gathered hereafter. When Mr. H. came to Rochester, his people were few in number, now they are a flourish- ing society ; they have a beautiful church, an organ, and the largest parish library in the city. — But this is little, compared with the 46 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. hundreds his indefatigable labors have saved from vice, and the many who by his precept and example have learned the luxury of doing good. I am passing a few days with my friend Lizzy at her new home. My poor eyes did not see her exchange hei hand for anothei^'s, but I heard her breathe her heart away in words low and truthful as angel vows. Her empire now is the domestic circle ; her might is gentleness, and by it she winneth sway over all hearts that come within her bor- ders. Lizzy is reading me Goldsmith, and as we turn his pages our gatherings are "gold all the way." It is safe reading authors one may love as well as their writings. Byron kindled his imagination by the dark and turbid waters of Aoheron. Goldsmith wandered by the river of life, where from the fountain of his own feelings, and the society of the good, he gathered his pure thoughts, and his chaste and beautiful play of ideality, which instruct and enrapture the reader. Poor Goldsmith, poverty and want ever hung heavy at his heart ; and his haunts still echo with his groans. But he went up the great highway to distinction, and ^MARBLE PAGES. 47 wreathed upon his brow crowns woven of im- mortal laurels. Poverty is truly the cradle of genius ; man obtains no excellence without labor. The master-spirits of all ages, who have dazzled the world with their brilliant achievements, had barriers to surmount, diffi- culties to remove, and only as they regulated their exertions by mental firmness did they become learned, great, or good. An ancient poet had for his motto, ''The daring fortune favors." An American divine says, " In great and good pursuits, it is honorable, it is right, to use that kind of omnipotence which says 1 idUI and the work is done." Oh my dear Augusta, is it possible I am never to read any more ? I forgot to bring a volume in raised print from the Institution, but passing one's fingers over the pages of a book is very unlike the glance of the eye. Last summer quite in the verge of autumn, my friend Mrs. SnoAV came with her ponies to take me riding. We crossed twice the Genesee, then pursued its windings, till we came Avhere the sun's rays were turned away by the forest trees ; and the sharp ,quick noise of the car- 48 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. riage wheels, changed to a muffled rumbhng ; and as we rode slowly over the winding roads, all was so sacredly silent there, the hushed breeze that stirred the leaves seemed the breath of prayer. It was Mount Hope, our beautiful home for the dead ; and as we wan- dered among the tombs and monuments, my fingers read their inscriptions in grooved and raised letters. " The most beloved of earth not long survive to-day." My dear Franky lies there, and her darling babe is sleeping by her side ; so quick sorrow treads upon the heels of joy. Grave-yards are solemn volumes, in which even the blind may read upon their marble pages the records of hopes all departed. Dear Augusta, mine hour of loneliiiess is passing now, and I feel reluc- tant to close this letter as I would an interview with yourself. Wlien the flowers unfold their leaves, and the birds come back again, 1 shall return to the Institution, and resume my jna- sic. There I shall be far, far away from my Rochester friends, who are so kind, so very kind. I often think the world must have REVERIE. 49 grown better since I could see. But, friend of my heart, you will come often to see me, and I shall love you well. Institution for the Blind. My dear Parents far away: — When I left your cottage home, the sleety winds of early Spring were blowing high, and the Cro- cuses were hardly yet above the ground. At your little threshold, you kissed me good-by, and I felt your tears warm on my cheeks. You pressed my hands, and father said, God bless you, my child, and I rode away. Words are not feelings, so I can never make you know the strange sensations that nestled in my soul, while I crossed the hills that windy day. Sometimes I fell into mysterious reveries, and fancied my journey home, my stay with you, and my departure, all an unfinished dr^am, and thought soon to awaken and find it Sc . Then I changed my position, and tried to open my eyes to see if the morning had not come. 3 50 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Then I heard distinctly the rumbUng of the stage wheels, the rattHng of the harness, and the tread of the horses, and cracking of the driver's whip, and the frequent passing of far- mers' teams ; no I said this is real^ I am not dreaming. Then I turned my face to the stage window, and feh the biting wind as it whistled by, but all around and above I could see nothing but clouds of folding darkness, "^rhen I sank back, and my spirit reeled be- neath the awful weight of conscious blindness, which like a mountain seemed falling on me, and hiding me from the world for ever. Still I did not weep. I have no longer any tears to shed. My heart has known a grief so burn- ing, that dews and moisture never more gather there. Like a seared forest its blossoms are all faded, and its leaves are withered and fallen *****. \ remain two weeks by the banks of the Guenaugua. The night before my departure, some fa- voi-ed ones of Apollo sang under my window tnat sweetest of songs, " We will welcome thee back again;" I WORDS ARE NOT FEELINGS. 51 and another, only one couplet of which I re- member, " 'Tis needful we watch thee by day. But the Angels will keep thee by night." Professions of love and friendship cost us nothing. Words are wind, and feelings are only natural swellings of the heart; but acts are living things, like facts they are stubborn and everlasting, and good deeds are footsteps in the ladder which reaches heaven. I cannot count the days of my stay at Geneva, for hap- piness keeps no dial, and always forgets to number the hours. If the scenery of a place ever gives tone to the minds and hearts of its inhabitants, I am sure the beautiful Seneca has lent its look of love to those who dwell by its shore. On their homes may the rains and dews never cease to fall, and the light of health and peace never leave their brows. Ehza read to me nearly two volumes of LittelPs Living Age. In one of the back numbers. Fa- ther, you will find a review of Swedenborg. I wish you would read it, and write me what you think of it. I send with this a volume of 52 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. Macaulay's Miscellanies. I know you will be pleased with what he says of the life and times of Milton and Cromwell. But in order to en- joy his reviews generally, one must divest his mind of all prejudice, and harbor only a spirit of liberal Christianity and free toleration; for such is certainly the spirit of the great author. The type is very fine, but I think, by the aid of your new glasses, you will be able to read it. But you must remember, Father, that youi physical energies are not what they were twenty, or even ten years ago; besides, eyes both younger and stronger than yours are often materially injured by lamp light. Mary must read for you evenings ; that will relieve you and improve her. Nin writes that she has nearly completed the works of Hannah More, and the poems of Mrs. Hemans. Though she may never possess the elegance and varied learning of the one, nor the beaiitiful genius of the other, still like them both, I hope, she will try to live such a life only as woman should live, adorned by every virtue, and marred by no error. Brother must not think he has com- pleted all of Parley's tales, because he has read REMINISCENCES. 53 one little book through. I do not Know how many volumes there are, but they altogether make quite a library, and they contain a vast deal of excellent reading, both for old and young. New-Yo7'k Institution f 07' the Blind. Dear Cora : — The murmurs of the Genesee are in my thoughts to-night, and voices dear as home- words, have been falling on my ear, till I seem again surrounded by those who pitied and loved me long ago ; whose homes were ever open for my reception, and their hands were never wearied with ministering to my wants. The impressions of sound are much deeper and more lasting than those of sight, conse- quently the memories of the blind are always keepsakes of the heart. Another year has gone by, and I have yet no abiding place, save in the sympathies of friends — but like the wound- ed oyster who lines his shell with pearl, I would, by gentle love, make the dwellings I 54 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. inhabit more pure and white. We cease to Hve when we have no longer something to do or bear ; then why flee from ill, or pity those who sufler ? Dews of the night are diamonds at morn, so the tears we weep here may be pearls in heaven ; and we have little cause to mourn over the wreck of hopes, when it opens the heart to a brighter sunshine, whose warm light melts its ice to running streams, and cov- ers its crags and cliffs with blossoms, and plants along its rough ways trees whose. fruits and leaves are for the healing of the nations. On Thanksgiving day, through the kindness of Mr. Dean, I heard Mr. . New- York has many eloquent men, but I have never heard one whose style is so richly beautiful, whose words are so select, and whose zeal seems so perfectly what the apostle calls ac- cording to knowledge. Tolerant towards all denominations, liberal in his views, more than cordial in his feelings, he seems to have a heart that could gather in all the world, and yet have room to spare. I love such spirits ; they are the lights of the age ; beings whom heaven has destined " to THANKSGIVING. 55 leave foot-prints on the sands of time ;" way- marks to all who would be wise, great, and good. Mr. is but a few weeks home from Europe, and his imagery seems fresh as the sunny vales of England, grand as the glaciers of Switzerland, sublime as the scenery of the Rhine, clear and enrapturing as Italy's bowers where her time-honored painters drew, and where the sons of genius from all lands go to worship at the shrine of Art. For a northern Thanksgiving dinner, roast turkey is always first in the bill of fare. My friend Mr. B , with whom I dined, is a right true son of Johnny Bull as ever lived ; whole-souled, whole-hearted, speaks always what he thinks, acts just as he feels, and his hospitality makes one as perfectly at home as himself Mrs. B reminds me of what I once heard a Swede say of his countrywoman, Frederica Bremer ; in the character of all per- sons, we ever find some one or more distin- guishing, trait, but in the soul of Frederica heaven has happily blended all excellence. In the afternoon Mrs. B and I visited 56 A PLACE IN THY MEMORY. the paintings at ftie Art Union ; she was eyes for me, and beautifully described all she saw. The most clever thing in the exhibition is the Mother's Prayer, which, while you gaze upon it, seems to breathe, as though touched by the pencil but now. I know not which to envy most, the purchaser or the artist, who, by the way, is an American. Another fine thing is the " Young Mechanic," by Mr. Smith, of Ohio ; but perhaps the most famous work of all, is the " Voyage of Life," by Mr. Cole. The design is the Stream of Life, bearing on its rippled bosom a little boat, and in it an mfant and an angel to guide. Farther on, the impetuous youth seats himself at the helm, dashes fu- riously on amidst rocks and breakers, so on down to tranquil old age, where all is calm and peaceful, and from the spirit- world which opens above, angels have come to beckon him away. On our way from the gallery we chanced to pass the old Blind Harper, whose voice, like the strings of his worn harp, was trembling in the breeze ; and while I listened to his sacred song, he seemed so like the weary pilgrim I THE WORN HARP. 57 had just heard described waiting on the boat, I almost fancied the angels above watching the close of his strain, to present him a new harp, tuned for ever to the praise of God and the Lamb. * * * * At our last examination I met your friend Mr. G , of Brooklyn, who is ever a wel- come visitor at the New- York Institution for the Blind. His voice is a sort of watchword, at which the little folks quit their play, leave school and music, and run to greet him. Oh! could you see him once throw down his rolls and bundles filled with new dresses,