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"DEAR OLD GEORGETOWN" 
 
 OR 
 
 Memoirs 
 
 o£ 
 
 Mrs. Martha Elizabeth Smith 
 
 BY 
 
 N. M. RAGLAND 
 
 Pastor Emeritus, First Christian Church, 
 
 Fayetteville, Arkansas. 
 

 Press of 
 
 Christian Board of Publication 
 
 St. Louis, Mo. 
 
PREFATORY NOTE 
 
 THIS memorial to Mrs. Martha Eliza- 
 beth Smith was written at the re- 
 quest and with the help of her sister, 
 Mrs. Sarah E. Cotton. The prepara- 
 tion of the little volume was a labor of 
 love. The writer, while pastor of the 
 church in Sedalia, of which General Smith 
 and his daughters were members, was 
 often in their home, and came to know 
 and to love them as sincere and devoted 
 friends. He was also with the family 
 during the last sickness and the death of 
 General Smith, and on the occasion of the 
 funeral made the address. These inci- 
 dents are recited that the reader may 
 understand that the author has spoken 
 out of the inspiration of sacred memories 
 which have ^rown brig,hter and sweeter 
 ■with the chan^in^ years. 
 
 June, 1915 
 
MRS. MARTHA E. SMITH 
 
TO MY SISTER 
 
 (From an old album of my girlhood.) 
 
 As gazing on thy unsullied heart 
 
 I'd pause before I rashly traced 
 A prayer, a hope, a wish or thought 
 
 Where it could never be erased. 
 So now I falter ere I stain 
 
 This leaf of purest white. 
 So thrillingly intense the strain 
 
 My heart would here indite. 
 
 Yes, sister mine, thy sunny smile 
 
 From memory's twilight dawn 
 Has beamed upon the shadowy aisle 
 
 Through which my path hath worn, 
 To brighten every joy I knew, 
 
 To gild each passing cloud, 
 With heart forever warm and true 
 
 And spirit justly proud. 
 
 Yet, when I'd strike this harp unskilled 
 
 To speak the ever murmuring love 
 Which for aye ! its cords have thrilled, 
 
 Those cords refuse to move ; 
 And trembling with the weight intense 
 
 Of feeling's fervid glow 
 Sends up its prayer for God to bless, 
 
 What can the heart do more? 
 
 Georgetown, November 29, 1853. 
 
 — Five — 
 
Contents 
 
 Pa^e 
 
 Prefatory Note: 3 
 
 Dedication 5 
 
 I. Her Father 11 
 
 II. Her Mother 27 
 
 III. The Earey Years 35 
 
 IV. In Her New Home 45 
 
 V. Life in Georgetown 55 
 
 VI. Religious Influences 65 
 
 VII. Her Journal 75 
 
 VIII. Personal Traits 85 
 
 IX. Her Poetry 97 
 
 X. Her Poems 107 
 
I 
 
 HER FATHER 
 
The best part of a good man's life is his little, name- 
 less, unrcmcmhered acts of kindness and of love. 
 
 — William Wordsworth. 
 
 The man who is deserving the name is the one whose 
 thoughts and exertions are for others rather than for 
 himself. 
 
 —Walter Scott. 
 
 What a piece of work is man! How noble in rea- 
 son! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, 
 how express and admirable! ^ In action, hoiu like an 
 angel! In apprehension, hozv like a god! 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 He was not born to shame: 
 Upon his brow shame is ashamed to sit; 
 For 'tis a throne where honor may be crowned 
 Sole monarch of the universal earth. 
 
 He hath a tear, and a hand 
 Open as the day, for melting charity. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
GEN. GEORGE R. SMITH 
 
Chapter I 
 
 HER FATHER 
 
 He was a good and a just man, determined in pur- 
 pose, not to be shaken by the fury of a mob, or the 
 frown of a threatening tyrant. 
 
 — A Latin Poet. 
 
 It is the teaching of phrenology that there never was 
 a great woman who did not have a great father, and 
 never a great man who did not have a great mother. 
 
 Heredity and environment are the influences that 
 determine character and destiny. The first of all 
 blessings that can come to a child is to be born of 
 sweet and virtuous parentage into a genial home 
 where it is easy to do right and hard to do wrong. 
 The first distinction that came to Mrs. Martha E. 
 Smith is she was well born. The family both of her 
 father and of her mother in this country originated 
 in the colony of Virginia. They also shared the sac- 
 rifices, the toils, and the glories of the Revolution, 
 and later helped to frame the Constitution, which Mr. 
 William E. Gladstone pronounced the most wonder- 
 ful document ever struck at a given time from the 
 brain and the purpose of man. 
 
 — Eleven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 "Great were the thoughts and strong the mind 
 Of those who formed in high debate 
 The immortal league of love that binds 
 Our fair broad empire state to state." 
 
 Her father, the lamented Gen. George R. Smith, 
 was a man of heroic mold, both in body and in mind. 
 At his birth "Nature and fortune joined to make him 
 great. On his brow every god did set his seal to 
 give the world assurance of a man." In form and 
 feature he was a son of Anak. He was a conspicuous 
 figure in any company. In personal appearance there 
 was a striking resemblance between General Smith 
 and the late Lieut.-Gen. Winfield Scott, the most 
 colossal figure who was ever at the head of our army. 
 He was both the wonder and the admiration of the 
 Mexican people as he led his triumphant columns into 
 the capital. General Smith's calm, benevolent face, 
 set in a frame-work of iron gray hair, was a study 
 for an artist. It was a face that good women and 
 little children loved and trusted. To such he was as 
 the shadow of a great rock in a weary land. He 
 wore without abuse the grand old name of gentle- 
 man. "He was as kind a man as ever trod on shoe 
 leather ; mighty good to the poor ; a main friend to 
 all honest people, and had a face like a benediction." 
 
 His mind was well balanced, active and alert. It 
 had the logic of instinct and went straight to a con- 
 clusion without any long or tortuous course of rea- 
 soning. He divined while others delved. In many of 
 
 — Twelve — 
 
HER FATHER 
 
 the finer and the diviner things of life that made for 
 the well-being and the happiness of the race he lived 
 a hundred years in advance of his generation. His 
 library was large and well selected. His books, next 
 to his family, were his chief companions. His in- 
 formation was varied, extensive and accurate. He 
 had a genius for work whether dealing with the prob- 
 lems of business, the affairs of state, or the study of 
 a great book. He read the best literature, both of 
 the present and the past. This put him in touch with 
 the best thought of the world and kept him abreast 
 of the advancing age in which he lived. His ver- 
 satility of talent was remarkable. He was original 
 both in thought and method. Not content to always 
 follow the broad and beaten way, he marked out for 
 himself new paths into unexplored fields. He was a 
 beacon to his neighbors, lured them to higher worlds 
 and led the way. He was capable of great emancipa- 
 tions. Most men are not. They anchor early and 
 stay anchored. The changing thought and life of the 
 world may disturb them, but it never moves them 
 on and out into the ever-widening circles of truth and 
 vision. Once determined on a great enterprise Gen- 
 eral Smith took no counsel with his doubts. He be- 
 lieved that "doubts are traitors and make us lose the 
 good we oft might win by fearing to attempt it." He 
 burned the bridges behind him, cut off all avenues 
 of retreat, and pressed forward till he reached the 
 goal and received the crown. In a proposed course 
 
 — Thirteen — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 of conduct he never calculated the sacrifice. His only- 
 question was: "Is it right?" 
 
 His constructive ability was wonderful. He built 
 one of the most substantial and stately homes in his 
 town at the time. It stands today in the midst of 
 ample and well kept grounds. He went onto an open 
 prairie and began the construction of a city with wide 
 streets and reservations for parks. He gave the place 
 a wdnsome name in honor of his daughter, although 
 he had to coin the word, Sedalia, which comes from 
 Sed, a pet name for Sarah. This beautiful town with 
 its beautiful name, and still more beautiful in the 
 blue of the skies that bend over it, is the metropolis 
 of central Missouri. He was the leading spirit in the 
 promotion and the construction of a railroad that 
 stretches across the continent from the Mississippi 
 river to the Pacific ocean. This was done in the 
 face of determined opposition, discouragement and 
 derision. Some intelligent people made the pious re- 
 mark that men like Senator Thomas H. Benton and 
 Gen. George R. Smith ought to be placed in the 
 lunatic asylum at Fulton, all because they dared to 
 dream that a railroad could be built across the great 
 American desert and the Rocky Mountains to the 
 Golden Gate. In later years the dream of these pio- 
 neers of whom the world was not worthy, became a 
 splendid reality. 
 
 General Smith used to say to the citizens of George- 
 town, who opposed his efforts to secure the Missouri 
 Pacific Railway, that some day he would make George- 
 
 — Fourteen — 
 
HBR FATHER 
 
 town a habitation for bats and owls. This prophecy 
 was strikingly fulfilled. The writer of this tribute 
 while living in Sedalia some years ago had occasion 
 to visit Georgetown, the former county seat only 
 three miles away. The glory of the place, like the 
 glory of Babylon, had departed. With few excep- 
 tions, all the population had moved away, mostly to 
 Sedalia. There was nothing to suggest that it was 
 once the commercial center of the county, and the 
 home of many able and distinguished men, such as 
 the lamented Senator George G. Vest and Judge Jno. 
 F. Phillips. The old courthouse was still standing, 
 but could scarcely be seen for the luxurious growth 
 of weeds and sprouting locust trees which reached 
 almost to the top of the building. The glass in the 
 windows was broken and the spaces were covered 
 with cobwebs. A rabbit or a squirrel occasionally 
 scampered across the paths where the streets used 
 to be. The little breeze that lingered in the trees, 
 the cooing of the dove, the music of the birds, the 
 song and the flow of running water from the spring, 
 were the only sounds that broke the silence of the 
 summer evening. Everything was curiously sugges- 
 tive of certain well-known lines in Oliver Goldsmith's 
 "Deserted Village :" 
 
 Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 
 
 Amidst thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
 
 And, many a year elapsed, returned to view 
 
 Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 
 
 — Fifteen — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 Remembrance wakes zvith all her busy train. 
 
 Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
 * * * 
 
 Sivcet was the sound, zvhen oft at evening's close 
 Up yonder hill the village murmur rose; 
 There, as I passed ivith careless step and sloiv, 
 The mingling notes came softened from beloiv; 
 The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
 The sober herd that lozved to meet their young; 
 The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from school; 
 The watchdog's voice that bayed the whispering zvind. 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; 
 
 And filled each pause the ^lightingale had made; 
 But now the sounds of population fail, 
 No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale, 
 No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 
 For all the blooming flush of life is dead. 
 
 The home Hfe of General Smith was ideal. His 
 wife and their two daughters were the objects of his 
 fondest devotion. He considered money valuable as 
 a means, never as an end. During his lifetime of 
 threescore and fifteen years he accumulated a large 
 fortune as fortunes were estimated in that day. This 
 he used for the comfort of his family, the advance- 
 ment of the kingdom of God, and the pleasure of his 
 friends. He did good by stealth, and blushed to find 
 it fame. To him a sordid deed was appalling, and a 
 wound a crucifixion. His heart was as sensitive to 
 
 — Si.vtceii — 
 
HBR FATHER 
 
 pain as the needle of the compass to a disturbing in- 
 fluence. He never willingly planted a thorn in any 
 man's bosom. In a supreme crisis he stood and did 
 the right utterly regardless of the result. Those whose 
 lives he touched in helpful ways were a great mul- 
 titude. When the ear heard him, then it blessed him ; 
 when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him, be- 
 cause he delivered the poor that cried, and the father- 
 less, and him that had no helper. The blessing of him 
 that was ready to perish came upon him, and he 
 caused the widow's heart to sing for joy. 
 
 When a good man dies various discoveries are made. 
 The most interesting of these is the character and the 
 love of some who called him friend. The following 
 note from a gifted and grateful woman was read by 
 the officiating minister on the occasion of General 
 Smith's funeral : 
 
 "My Dear Mrs. Cotton and Mrs. Smith: 
 
 "Please accept these flowers and place them in the 
 room where your father's body lies. The flowers 
 were plucked from grounds which would not be ours 
 but for the patronage and the kindness of General 
 Smith." 
 
 This grateful note calls to mind a paragraph from 
 one of Ian Maclaren's little books in which he men- 
 tions what sometimes comes to light after one dies 
 who made friends among the lowly and who did good 
 in quiet ways: 
 
 — Seventeen — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 "The people supposed that they could mention ev- 
 ery person whom he trusted and who influenced him, 
 because they could run over the names joined with 
 his in public affairs and heard from his lips. The 
 multitude were not aware that this man escaped as 
 often as was possible from the glare of public life, 
 and hid himself in some country home where the 
 scent of roses floated in through the open windows, 
 and manners had a gentle simplicity. Some tribute 
 will be found among the great man's papers to an 
 absent friend; but no one will ever know what passed 
 between those two when they sat in some quiet gar- 
 den at set of sun, for neither ever told : or read the 
 letters they wrote one to the other, for they are de- 
 stroyed." 
 
 General Smith was the center of attraction in any 
 social gathering. He cultivated the art of listening 
 as well as talking. His sense of humor was devel- 
 oped to a high degree. He was fond of anecdote, 
 and was good at repartee — which was often both grim 
 and emphatic. W^alking on Ohio street one morning 
 he chanced to meet Col. Thomas T. Crittenden, of 
 Warrensburg, a Chesterfield in politeness, a member 
 of Congress, and, later, governor of the state. Colonel 
 Crittenden greeted his old friend and comrade in the 
 most cordial manner, extending his hand, and say- 
 ing: "Good morning, General Smith, how is your 
 health, and what do you know?" "One thing I know 
 very well, Colonel Crittenden," said General Smith, 
 "and that is every one of you abominable Democrats 
 
 — Eighteen — 
 
HER PAT HER 
 
 ought to be hung!" He was a devout member of 
 the First Christian Church in Sedalia, was punctual 
 in attendance on the pubhc worship, came early and 
 sat on the front seat. These admirable traits were a 
 wholesome example to those who came late and sat 
 far back. One Sunday morning the members were 
 voting on the names of several gentlemen who had 
 been nominated for the office of deacon. Among the 
 number was one who was not regular in attendance 
 on divine service. The vote was by ballot. As the 
 name of this delinquent member was called again and 
 again, the venerable General Smith said right out in 
 tones that all could hear: "I do not see why any- 
 body would vote for a man who never comes to 
 church ! As for me I would as soon vote for the man 
 in the moon !'' 
 
 In the early days of Sedalia General Smith used 
 to sell lots on easy terms to people of small means, 
 the payments to be made in installments. On one 
 occasion a gentleman who bought a place for a home 
 on this plan, came to make the last payment of one 
 hundred dollars. Before leaving his home he placed 
 a roll of bills in his coat pocket as he supposed. When 
 he reached General Smith and proposed to pay the 
 balance on the lot, the money could not be found, 
 although he solemnly assured the generous creditor 
 that he put the money in his pocket on leaving home. 
 General Smith relieved the embarrassing situation by 
 telling his debtor that he was sorry for his misfortune, 
 and that he was entirely walling to wait till the money 
 
 — Nineteen — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 could be found or secured in some other way. The 
 gentleman thanked his benefactor and returned to his 
 home. Some weeks later this man's wife had oc- 
 casion to make some repairs on his coat, when lo ! 
 the roll of bills was found safely lodged within the 
 lining of his coat ! He took the money at once to Gen- 
 eral Smith and explained the circumstance. Taking 
 his friend by the hand, General Smith looked into his 
 face and said : "When you came to me some time 
 ago and told me the story about having the money 
 and losing it on the way I thought you were lying, 
 but what you now say is reasonable, consistent, satis- 
 factory, and proves you to be a sincere and an honest 
 man. I return to you fifty dollars of this money to 
 use as you like." 
 
 After the expression of grateful thanks to his gen- 
 erous friend the man went back to his family with 
 a prouder and a happier heart than he had known 
 for many a long day. 
 
 To the minister of the evangel of Christ General 
 Smith was a lovable, sympathetic, and helpful friend. 
 He had the listening ear and the understanding heart. 
 His face, on which were written the ten command- 
 ments, was an inspiration to the sermon. He knew 
 the value of an encouraging word, and how to speak 
 it in a sincere and modest way. When he ventured 
 an adverse criticism, or an admonition, it was a soft 
 rebuke in blessings ending, and won both gratitude 
 and affection. Fortunate was the young man who 
 came within the radius of his influence. He warned, 
 
 — Tzventy — 
 
HBR FATHER 
 
 admonished, foretold the danger, and the lurking 
 enemy. He had pronounced views on the institution 
 of slavery and the manufacture and the sale of in- 
 toxicating liquors. These views he maintained with 
 determined resolution, even if opposed by his best 
 friends and neighbors. The Lord be praised, he lived 
 to see one of these evils abolished and the other great- 
 ly diminished and certain, soon or late, to be banished 
 from every state. He was a patriot who worshiped 
 God and reverenced the flag. A word against either 
 would bring down his condemnation. The following 
 lines had his grateful approval : 
 
 "Flag of the free hearts, hope and home 
 By angel hands to -valor given, 
 The stars have lit the welcome dome 
 And all thy lines were horn in heaven." 
 
 Nothing in the life of General Smith became him 
 more than the manner of his leaving it. The closing 
 scene was tranquil like a peaceful river with green 
 and shaded banks flowing without a murmur into the 
 waveless sea where life is rest. It was midsummer. 
 On the soft unbroken south wind was the odor of 
 many flowers. In the trees the birds were making 
 music such as pleased the ear of God. It was a 
 place where angels, who are ministering spirits to the 
 heirs of salvation, would love to stay their waving 
 wings. To those who stood by the bedside and watched 
 the coming of a pulseless sleep it did not seem like 
 
 — Twenty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 death. "It was but crossing with abated breath and 
 white, set face, a little strip of sea." To this day the 
 memory of the scene lingers in the heart like a star 
 in the sky.' The mind of General Smith did not fail 
 with the crumbling house of clay as is so frequently 
 the case with the aged and the infirm. The lamented 
 Mr. Joseph B. McCullagh, the brilliant editor, used 
 to say of his friends, Rev. Dr. McAnally and Arch- 
 bishop Kenrick : "Their minds seemed to fail with 
 their bodies, but immortality must be a divine reality." 
 When General Smith entered the valley of shadows 
 he feared no evil, for he felt no sin. He knew whom 
 he believed, and was persuaded that he was able to 
 keep that which he had committed to him. He real- 
 ized that he was going to the country he had all his 
 life wanted to see, and to which he looked forward 
 with intense and reverent curiosity. His last moments 
 were curiously suggestive of the experience of the 
 saintly Payson, who said as he looked into heaven : 
 "Its glories beam upon me, its breezes fan me, its odors 
 are wafted to me, its sounds strike upon my ears, and 
 its spirit is breathed into my heart." 
 
 Twenty-two 
 
HER FATHER 
 
 GEORGE R. SMITH 
 
 (My Father) 
 
 Stalwart and brave, like the oak on the mountain, 
 A monarch he stood in storms rushing by; 
 
 Hvimanity's friend — an o'erflowing fountain — 
 He gave of his bounty to all who were nigh. 
 
 Rock in a land that was pining for shadow, 
 
 Where weary ones halting, found rest in its shade; 
 
 Unmindful of race or of color or station, 
 
 No call came in vain that humanity made. 
 
 A patriot true, his heart knew no section — 
 
 His country his glory, — her pride was his own ; 
 
 Her children alike should share the protection 
 Guaranteed by the flag that gave them a home. 
 
 Sustainer of Truth, of Right the defender; 
 
 No matter how strong their opposers were found 
 No parley he made, nor thought of surrender — 
 
 No compromise — for the bauble of place or renown. 
 
 For innocent childhood his heart was o'erflowing 
 With sweetness and love as pure as their own; 
 
 And tenderly guarding the pure rights of woman, 
 The place he assigned her in the world was a throne. 
 
 — Twenty-three — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 But the feet that so long had been treading the highlands 
 At last in the valley of shadow were stayed, 
 
 And angels seemed wreathing invisible garlands 
 
 Of the bright deeds and virtues his life had portrayed. 
 
 With love and with prayer we tried to constrain him, 
 
 But hearkening to voices over the sea, 
 Our cries were unheeded, we could not detain him ; 
 
 The strong man grew silent, the spirit was free. 
 
 Not idly nor sadly did he enter the valley ; 
 
 With harness all on for the duties of earth, 
 God lovingly led him into the shadow. 
 
 And gave him the glory of immortal birth. 
 
 His life work is over. Lay him down without weeping. 
 
 The dear hands are empty. Fold them now on his breast. 
 The heights were all mounted, but the spirit's pure keeping 
 
 Never waned for one moment. Lav him down to his rest. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., August, 1879. 
 
 Tzventy-four — 
 
II 
 
 HER MOTHER 
 
The same fond mother bent at night 
 
 O'er each fair sleeping brow; 
 
 She had each folded flower in sight. 
 
 — Mrs. Hemans. 
 
 Stories first heard at a mother's knee are never 
 wholly forgotten — a little spring that never quite dries 
 lip in our journey through scorching years. 
 
 — Ruffini. 
 
 Sweet is the image of the brooding dove! 
 Holy as heaven a mother's tender love! 
 The love of many prayers, and many tears 
 Which changes not with dim, declining years — 
 The only love, which on this teeming earth, 
 Asks no return for passion's wayward birth. 
 
 — Mrs. Norton. 
 
 "The mother, in her office, holds the key 
 Of the soul; and she it is who stamps the coin 
 Of character, and makes the being who would be a 
 
 savage, 
 But for her gentle cares, a Christian man. 
 Then crown her queen o' the world." 
 
MRS. GEORGE R. SMITH 
 
Chapter II 
 
 HER MOTHER 
 
 A perfect woman, nobly formed 
 To zvarn, to comfort, and command ; 
 And yet in spirit still and bright, 
 With something of an angel light. 
 
 — Wordsworth. 
 
 It is a trite, but a true saying, that a man can 
 build a house, only a woman can make a home. While 
 Mrs. Smith inherited much from her father, she owed 
 more to her mother for her beautiful character, dis- 
 position, education and culture. The mother was a 
 constant example to the daughter of what a woman 
 ought to be. She was complete in feature and in mind 
 with all good graces to grace a home — a realm in 
 which she reigned like a queen. Hers was a rare 
 and radiant spirit, and a "heart as clean as morning 
 roses newly washed with dew." To say or do a 
 harsh thing gave her nights of solitude and sorrow. 
 If it is only noble to be good, then in her veins flowed 
 royal blood. A nobler woman never broke bread at 
 the table of a court. Her charity and her sympathy 
 were suggestive of the Master, who was moved with 
 
 — Tweniv-seveii — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 compassion when he saw the muhitudes scattered 
 abroad Hke sheep withovit a shepherd, when the snow 
 shuts out the sky. Like the Father in heaven, who 
 makes the sun to rise upon the evil and the good and 
 sends the rain on the just and the unjust, her benevo- 
 lence was to all alike, regardless of race or color, 
 creed or no creed.' This service was performed in 
 patient, uncomplaining contentment with her circum- 
 stances, often in the homes of the poor, the humble 
 and the outcast. Her only desire was to follow in 
 the footsteps of Him who went about doing good. 
 The fragrance of her memory has survived the buried 
 years, and is still sweet in many a heart and in many 
 a home, even as the odor of a flower remains long 
 after the vase has been broken. The mosque of Saint 
 Sophia in Constantinople is always sweet with the 
 perfume of musk. It has been so ever since it was 
 built a thousand years ago. This is curious because 
 nothing is done to keep it perfumed. The explana- 
 tion is found in the fact that w^hen it was built the 
 brick and the stone were laid in mortar mixed with 
 a solution of musk. 
 
 It must be somewhere written in the purposes of 
 God, who works all things after the counsel of his 
 own will, that the virtues of the mother shall be vis- 
 ited on the children in every generation till the end 
 of time. The ways of Providence both to the evil 
 and the good are not easily understood. It is the 
 testimony of England's greatest bard that "some rise 
 by sin and some by virtue fall ; some run through 
 
 — Tiventy-eight — 
 
HBR MOTHER 
 
 brakes of vice and answer none, and some condemned 
 for a fault alone." When the records of time are 
 written and the books are opened beyond the river 
 that men call death, much that was dark on earth 
 will be bright and beautiful in heaven. It will be 
 seen that all that was best in men may be traced to a 
 woman's love and a woman's hands. Robert Pol- 
 lok, speaking of his wonderful epic, "The Course of 
 Time," said : "It has my mother's divinity in it." Mr. 
 David Hume, the historian, bears this beautiful testi- 
 mony to the nobility of his mother: "When I think 
 of my mother I believe in immortality. There was 
 that in her character which I can not reconcile with 
 final dissolution." Benjamin West, the greatest 
 American artist, whose masterpiece is Christ healing 
 the sick, made the suggestive remark: "A kiss from 
 my mother made me a painter." This refers to his 
 first effort when as a child he sketched a life-like pic- 
 ture of his baby sister. The good Bishop Phillips 
 Brooks, while on a visit to England, was invited to 
 preach before Queen Victoria. On his return to Bos- 
 ton he was asked if he did not speak with some de- 
 gree of embarrassment in the presence of her majesty. 
 He made the admirable reply: "Why should I have 
 been embarrassed? I had already preached before my 
 mother!" Long years after Mrs. Smith had gained 
 the peace of death and the victory of everlasting life, 
 her grateful husband paid her the following graceful 
 tribute: "She is as present with me now as when she 
 was living. Had it not been for her. I should not 
 
 — Twenty-nittc — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 have been worth anything either morally or financially. 
 She had more wisdom than any other woman I ever 
 knew." Mrs. Sarah E. Cotton, the younger daugh- 
 ter, bears the following testimony to the character of 
 her mother: "I remember her in my childhood days 
 as one I could not easily get around ; a woman keen 
 and vigilant in the management of her household; a 
 mother tender and loving, kind and sagacious ; a wife 
 faithful and true ; strict in discipline and holding wise- 
 ly the reins of power. 
 
 "As a neighbor she was kind and obliging, but she 
 never fell into the familiarity that breeds contempt. 
 Refusing to borrow under almost any circumstances, 
 she held the esteem and love of her next door neigh- 
 bor; scorning gossip, she kept largely at home, feel- 
 ing that her hands were full in training her children 
 and servants. 
 
 "Her daughters, she had determined, should not be 
 victims to the evils of slavery as she felt that she had 
 been. To this end she bent her efforts daily. Not 
 wishing us to be idle, she found something for us to 
 do in learning to knit, to sew, to wind yarn — cotton 
 especially, for in those days the negroes wove much 
 of the cloth they wore — and a thousand other domestic 
 duties — many times inventing them just to keep us 
 busy. Once when she was making us work and wait 
 on ourselves, while a slave stood idly looking on, a 
 sister-in-law remonstrated with her, saying: 'Sister 
 Melita, you will ruin that negro !' My mother pleas- 
 antly replied : 'Well, I would rather ruin the negro 
 
 — Thirty — 
 
HBR MOTHER 
 
 than ruin my children.' I remember one experience 
 in winding yarn that tried my impatient soul severely. 
 I had permitted it to tangle, and I think my mother 
 kept me at that 'hank' almost a week. I have for- 
 gotten just how long it was, but I know that no snarl 
 of yarn or silk appalls me now, for I feel equal to 
 the task. Whether this discipline was wise or not. I 
 dare not say in the multitude of latter-day opinions ; 
 but am sure it taught me patience. 
 
 "I was a wayward child, and thought that our mother 
 was giving us more work than was necessary. I once 
 tried to argue with her, and asked for a reason. She 
 said she wished 'us to love work.' I replied most 
 earnestly: 'Well, if that is what you want, mother, 
 you can never, never, never make me love it !' She, 
 of course, smiled and pursued the even tenor of her 
 way, nothing daunted in her courage. Time has proved 
 that my mother knew best, and I thank her today for 
 what then chafed my idle spirit and curbed my youth- 
 ful folly. 
 
 "When we rebelled we were sure of a time of retri- 
 bution. She never would strike us hastily with her 
 hand, but would make the punishment so delicate and 
 circumstantial that the final demonstration, though a 
 trifle, was to our child hearts very, very bad. She 
 would send for a switch by one of the servants, and 
 thus give us a time of anticipation and horror. The 
 capital offense was going outside our large dooryard 
 to play. Our mother kept us in strict surveillance 
 
 — Thirty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 and held us within its Hmits, except by special per- 
 mission when we had good company. 
 
 "I remember her as somewhat fond of dress, though 
 compared to my Aunt Elvira, for whom I was named, 
 and who dressed beautifully, she was very plain in 
 costume. But in my love of colors, I remember her 
 in pink and white, and blue and white ginghams; in 
 olive green in winter, and in white in summer. She 
 did not like black, and would never wear it, even as 
 mourning for the nearest and dearest of her family. 
 She thought gladness and brightness the important 
 things and her cheerfulness was a great feature in her 
 life. She would keep us busy in some way during 
 the day, and when twilight came she would romp and 
 play with us. These seasons of recreation were such 
 bright spots in the daily life that their memory to 
 this hour gives special cliarm to the evening." 
 
 Happy are the children who carry in their hearts 
 the memory of a devoted mother. Nothing can ever 
 beguile them from the spell of her love, her teach- 
 ing and her influence. 
 
 "There is not a heart that is not haunted so, 
 Though far we may stray from the scenes of the 
 
 past, 
 Its memories will follow wherever we go, 
 And the days that were first, sway the days that 
 
 are last." 
 
 Thirty-t'wo 
 
Ill 
 
 THE EARLY YEARS 
 
"Who lives to nature rarely can be poor; 
 Who lives to fancy, never can be rich." 
 
 "Man's rich with little, were his judgment true; 
 Nature is frugal, and her wants are few." 
 
 Who can paint 
 Like nature F Can imagination boast. 
 Amid its gay creation, hues like hersf 
 Or can it mix them with that matchless skill, 
 And lose them in each other, as appears 
 In every bud that blows t 
 
 — Thomson. 
 
 Nothing is lost on him who sees 
 With an eye that genius gave; 
 
 For him there's a story in every breeze, 
 And a picture in every wave. 
 
 — Moore. 
 
 Go abroad 
 Upon the paths of nature, and zchen all 
 Its voices whisper, and its silent things 
 Are breathing the deep beauty of the world, 
 Kneel at its sitnple altar, and the God 
 Who hath the living waters, shall be there. 
 
 —Willis. 
 
MRS. SARAH E.COTTON 
 
Chapter III 
 
 THE EARLY YEARS 
 
 Life is a leaf of paper white — 
 
 Whereon each of us may write 
 
 His word or two — and then comes night. 
 
 — Lowell. 
 
 It is enough 
 To see one ray of light for us to judge 
 The glory of the sun; it is enough 
 To catch one glimpse of heaven's blue 
 For us to know the beauty of the sky. 
 It is enough to tell a little part 
 Of her most holy life, that you may know 
 The hidden grace and splendor of the whole. 
 
 — Abram J. Ryan. 
 
 The lamented Dr. Joseph Cook used to say: "I 
 was not born in Boston, therefore I must be born 
 again." This was meant for humor, but it suggests 
 a general truth. Both the time and the place of one's 
 birth have much to do in shaping his character and 
 destiny. Napoleon Bonaparte, speaking of his past 
 life, said, "Not even my son can replace me." The 
 conditions that fashioned the destiny of the great sol- 
 
 — Thirty- five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 dier had changed at the end of his dramatic career. 
 A few might take his place, but none could fill it. 
 
 Mrs. Martha Elizabeth Smith was born in the far- 
 famed blue grass region of Kentucky, on Sunday, 
 January tenth, eighteen hundred and thirty. The place 
 of her nativity was Franklin county, in which is lo- 
 cated the capital of the state. It is an interesting co- 
 incidence that the gallant Theodore O'Hara, lyric poet, 
 editor, and soldier of two wars, was also a native of this 
 county. His remains are buried in the State C^meter)-' 
 at Frankfort. His immortal lyric, "The Bivouac of 
 the Dead," has made his name a household word in 
 every patriotic home. The following quatrain from 
 his poem is cast in bronze and placed in all our national 
 cemeteries : 
 
 "On fame's eternal camping ground 
 Their silent tents are spread, 
 And glory guards with solemn round 
 The bivouac of the dead." 
 
 Kentucky has the great distinction of being the 
 first territory to come into the sisterhood of states after 
 the adoption of the Constitution by the thirteen col- 
 onies. It was settled by emigrants from Virginia, 
 who came west to find better opportunities. These 
 people were from the best families of the Old Do- 
 minion. Mrs. Smith's grandparents on both sides be- 
 longed to this Virginia stock. The people on the At- 
 
 — Thirtv-six — 
 
THE EARLY YEARS 
 
 lantic seaboard, like Abraham, when he left Haran, 
 went west on parallels of latitude. This is the secret 
 of the fact that the traditions and the customs of the 
 people on both sides of Mason and Dixon's line con- 
 tinue about as they were from the beginning. This 
 emigration began at the close of the Revolutionary 
 War, and extended westward across the great plains 
 and the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. The 
 people of the United States, like the ancient Greeks, 
 thirst for the horizon. Charles Dickens came to this 
 country in eighteen hundred and forty-two. He ex- 
 tended his visit as far into the interior as Saint Louis. 
 He was a student of human nature. Nothing that was 
 of interest to a thoughtful mind escaped his notice. 
 He could see, and fitly describe, more interesting ob- 
 jects in a single town than most men could on a con- 
 tinent. In his American Notes he says : "The typical 
 American would hesitate to enter heaven until as- 
 sured that he could go a little farther west." 
 
 From this sturdy stock who peopled the West, came 
 a multitude of able and distinguished men. Kentucky 
 was the home of Henry Clay and the birthplace both 
 of Abraham Lincoln and Jefiferson Davis. John Sher- 
 man belonged to a family that came from Connecticut 
 to Ohio. Allen G. Thurman, his associate in the 
 United States Senate, emigrated with his father's fam- 
 ily from Virginia. Some one who made painstaking 
 investigation, said : "All the great generals in the 
 Union army during the Civil War were mainly from 
 the West, and none from New England." The con- 
 
 — Thirty-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 ditions in the West were such as to develop men and 
 women of rugged character and striking personaHty. 
 This movement of the population westward is a study 
 for the philosopher as well as the historian. 
 
 "It is the tread of pioneers, 
 Of nations yet to be; 
 The first low wash of zvaves, 
 Where soon shall roll a human sea. 
 The rudiments of empire here 
 Are plastic yet and zvarm; 
 The chaos of a mighty world 
 Is rounding into form." 
 
 Mrs. Smith, though born in Kentucky, was destined 
 to be reared, to live a long life, and finally to be buried 
 under other skies. When an infant, not four years 
 old, her father and mother with their two daughters 
 emigrated to Missouri, a rising young commonwealth 
 that had come into the Union thirteen years before. 
 They located in Pettis county, the central part of the 
 state. General Smith bought a large body of land 
 which in the end made him a wealthy man. It seems 
 fabulous that the fertile soil of central Missouri once 
 sold for twelve and a half cents an acre. Saline county 
 has as rich ground as can be found in the world. It 
 is today more valuable than the fabled wealth Croe- 
 sus gained from his victories, his mines, and the golden 
 sands of Pactolus. In the days of the stagecoach and 
 the ox- wagon, it was a long and tedious journey from 
 Georgetown, Kentucky, to Pettis county, Missouri, 
 
 — Thirty-eight — 
 
THE EARLY YEARS 
 
 Mrs. Smith, in her own beautiful way, tells the story 
 of the removal to the West : 
 
 "In the month of October, eighteen hundred and 
 thirty-three, our grandfather. General David Thomson, 
 and grandmother left their home in Scott county, Ken- 
 tucky, with eight of their children, to make a new 
 home in Missouri. Our mother and grandmother, our 
 two young girl aunts, my sister and myself, all trav- 
 eled in one large carriage with a negro man, Jack- 
 son, driving and grandfather on horseback to find the 
 roads and judge of crossings over muddy places. The 
 carriage was a great yellow coach, closed all around 
 from air and light except for windows in the door. 
 It sat high upon the springs, and had folding steps by 
 which to ascend into its broad deep-cushioned seats. 
 On the outside was a driver's seat high up above the 
 horses, and behind was another large seat that hung 
 by broad belts of leather, for an outrider, whose duty 
 it was to open gates and attend the family. The whole 
 was drawn by a pair of horses caparisoned with the 
 ponderous trappings of the times. A saddle-horse ac- 
 companied the party which was used alternately by the 
 ladies to relieve the monotony and the tedium of the 
 journey. In another party went the caravan of ox- 
 wagons containing the furniture, looms, spinning 
 wheels — big and little — and tableware, together with 
 the negroes. The whole company of emigrants con- 
 sisted of eighty-eight persons, of whom seventy-five 
 were slaves. 
 
 "Before the final good-byes were spoken there were 
 
 — Thirty-nine — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 many things to do. Among the most important of 
 these was the arranging to take or to leave entire 
 slave families together, so that there might be no in- 
 voluntary separation. The slaves had inter-married 
 with the neighbor's negroes, and our grandfather, be- 
 ing humane in his feelings, was unwilling to separate 
 them. To overcome this difficulty, he had to buy 
 where he could and sell where he must. This was no 
 little task among a number of thirty or forty people, 
 but finally it was accomplished as far as possible and 
 the caravan set out. The negroes — men and women, 
 the babies and the gray-haired grandparents-— were to 
 follow their master. There were five or six verj^ old 
 ones — Aunt Creasy, Aunt Kizzy, Uncle Toby, Aunt 
 Rachel, and Uncle Jack — who, as I remember them, 
 were oracles of wisdom, holding direct communication 
 with spirits, wizards and witches; and who would on 
 occasion deal out some of their mysterious spells to 
 us listening, wondering children, in the long, quiet 
 evenings that followed our settlement in the new coun- 
 try. Dear old Kentucky memories were to them hal- 
 lowed things of the beautiful, irrevocable past ; and 
 their faltering, trembling voices, their heavy lips, and 
 wrinkled faces only made their pathetic stories the 
 more sacred and the more tender to our too credulous 
 ears. 
 
 "Our father was to follow, after the settlement of 
 some business at Georgetown. Of the incidents of 
 the trip we must remain ignorant almost entirely, as 
 the writer — one of the babies in the carriage — can 
 
 — Forty — 
 
THE EARLY YEARS 
 
 only remember a place called Purgatory, in Illinois, 
 where the road led through a swamp; and the mem- 
 ory goes that it really was a purgatory, as the image 
 of the floundering horses is vividly before her. An- 
 other scene that was impressed indelibly is the cross- 
 ing of the river in the ferryboat at Saint Louis, and 
 how frightened our mother and grandmother were. 
 The rest of the journey is lost in the baby memories 
 of the mind that is trying to record these incidents. 
 
 "Our Uncle Milton, who had charge of the negroes, 
 was moving on slowly, but was not long after us in 
 reaching the place of our destination. Our party, af- 
 ter tarrying with relatives for several weeks in Cal- 
 loway county, arrived in Pettis on the evening of the 
 twelfth of November, eighteen hundred and thirty- 
 three, and went into camp — so our grandfather's jour- 
 nal says — in the Lamine river bottom, at what is now 
 known as Scott's Ford. From about ten o'clock in 
 the evening until daybreak, they witnessed the cele- 
 brated display of meteors in the heavens. Dear old 
 Peggy, who was cook for our grandfather in his later 
 life, and died in eighteen hundred and ninety-eight, 
 at the age of seventy-seven, told vividly how fright- 
 ened the negroes were at the falling of the stars. 'We 
 were in camp by the Lamine river,' she said, 'and we 
 all thought the judgment had come. We could hear 
 the stars falling like hail on the tops of the tents. 
 The old folks all prayed, and we children "hollered." 
 The elements were ablaze. It done lasted for hours, 
 and we all never expected to see daylight no more !' " 
 
 — Forty-one — 
 
IV 
 IN HER NEW HOME 
 
Only the home can found the state. 
 
 — Joseph Cook. 
 
 A cottage, if God be there, zvill hold as much of 
 happiness as might stock a palace. ._ .. 
 
 One's early home is no more than the memory of 
 
 early years. The image is never marred. There is 
 
 no disappointment in memory, and one's exaggerations 
 
 are always on the good side. ^ c;- x 
 
 -^ ^ — George hnot. 
 
 "Home can never be transferred — never repeated 
 in the experience of the individual. The place conse- 
 crated by paternal love, by the innocence and sports 
 of childhood, and by the first acquaintance of the heart 
 zvith nature, is the only true home." 
 
 In all my wand'rings round this world of care, 
 In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 
 I still had hopes my latest hours to crown, 
 Amidst these humble bow'rs to lay me down; 
 To husband out life's taper at the close. 
 And keep the flame from wasting, by repose: 
 I still had hopes, for pride attends us still. 
 Amidst the swains to shozv my book-learn' d skill. 
 
 Around my fire an evening group to draw, 
 And tell of all I felt and all I saw; 
 And, as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue. 
 Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 
 I still had hopes, my long vexations past. 
 Here to return — and die at home at last. 
 
 — Goldsmith. 
 
Chapter IV 
 
 IN HER NEW HOME 
 
 The first sure symptoms of a mind in health 
 Is rest of heart, and pleasures felt at home. 
 
 — Young. 
 
 Home is the resort 
 Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where 
 Supporting and supported, polished friends 
 And dear relations mingle into bliss. 
 
 — Thomson. 
 
 Cling to thy home! if there the meanest shed 
 Yield thee a hearth and shelter for thy head, 
 And some poor plot, with vegetables stored, 
 Be all that heaven allots thee for thy board — 
 Unsavory bread, and herbs that scattered grow, 
 Yet e'en this cheerless mansion shall provide 
 More heart's repose than all the world beside. 
 
 — Leonidas. 
 
 There is no braver story in history than the story 
 of the pioneers. It is replete with all that is heroic 
 in faith, courage, labor and sacrifice. The priva- 
 
 — Forty- five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 tions of the early settlers, however, had compensations 
 that seldom come to those who live in the leisure and 
 the luxury of the older communities. The perils of 
 even the highest civilization are greater than those that 
 beset life in new and sparsely settled countries. Those 
 who live in solitary places "find tongues in trees, books 
 in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good 
 in everything." It is the testimony of Street that Na- 
 ture is man's best teacher. She unfolds- her treasures 
 to his search, unseals his eye, illumines his mind, and 
 purifies his heart ; and influence breathes from all the 
 sights and sounds of her existence; she is wisdom's 
 self. 
 
 Some of the most admirable women who have ever 
 lived were born and reared on the frontier. They shed 
 the sweet light and grace of a holy example where 
 few besides God and the angels could see and under- 
 stand. In patient toil and personal sacrifices the foun- 
 dations were laid for homes, schools, churches, towns 
 and cities, which have become the splendid heritage 
 of a younger generation. Thus one sows and another 
 reaps, and gathers fruit to life eternal, that both he 
 that sows and he that reaps may rejoice together. 
 There will be no dearer, sweeter remembrances in 
 heaven than those of the early settlers, who sowed 
 precious seeds in solitary places, caused the wilder- 
 ness to be glad, and made the desert to blossom as 
 the rose. Man's first commission, given in the Gar- 
 den of Eden, was to be fruitful, to multiply, to re- 
 plenish the earth, and to subdue it. Later the prom- 
 
 — Fortv-six — 
 
IN HER NEW HOME 
 
 ise was given that while the earth remains, seed time 
 and harvest, cold and heat, summer and winter, and 
 day and night shall not cease. At this remote day 
 God does not leave himself without witness. He still 
 sends the rain from heaven, and fruitful seasons, fill- 
 ing our hearts with food gladness. The seasons come 
 and go, and go and come, to teach man gratitude. 
 
 Mrs. Smith tells in the following paragraphs some 
 incidents and experiences in founding the home in the 
 West : 
 
 "Among our grandfather's colored men were a car- 
 penter, a stonemason, and a millwright, besides the 
 farmhands ; and among the w^omen a weaver, a spin- 
 ner, cooks, and housemaids, so that the elements of a 
 rude civilization were in the family. On a tract of 
 timber land which our grandfather had bought on 
 Muddy creek, several cabins were ready ; and into 
 these we moved with our grandfather. A little later 
 our mother's oldest sister, her husband, Mr. Redd 
 Major, and their little family of three girls and one 
 boy, located not far away. These were pleasant days 
 to me, and in the golden retrospect there is no want 
 of any luxury or happiness in the dear humble homes, 
 lighted as they were by my mother's and grandmoth- 
 er's gentle faces, and Aunt Elvira's good cheer, that 
 made all the children happy. There were, also, dear 
 Aunt Marion and Aunt Melcena. and Cousin Ann, and 
 Cousin Evelyn, the oldest of Aunt Elvira's daugh- 
 ters. I looked with the envy of a child at their rap- 
 idly advancing womanhood, and a kind of reverence 
 
 — Forty-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 came over me, as I thought that mine with its privi- 
 leges v^ould never come. The other children of Aunt 
 Elvira were 'Bine' or Vienna — somewhat older than 
 myself — 'Johnny,' the youngest of all except my baby 
 sister. 
 
 "The cabins which were occupied during the first 
 winter were rude and crowded. The next year our 
 grandfather built some better and more commodious 
 ones on the southwest quarter of section seven, which 
 lies about three miles northwest of Georgetown. 
 These were arranged in a row, two and two together, 
 connected by an open passageway roofed over. His 
 own family occupied two of them until he could build 
 a better house; this, when built in eighteen hundred 
 and forty, was christened Elm Spring, and became 
 our grandfather's permanent home. The boys, Mor- 
 ton and Monroe, were sent back to Georgetown, Ken- 
 tucky, to complete their education. Later Milton 
 taught school in a log house built for the purpose about 
 half way between our Uncle Major's and our grand- 
 father's, where the children of both families first 
 started to school in the new country. Here he had as 
 pupils the neighbor's children, as well as his own lit- 
 tle sisters, Marion and Melcena, and the nieces and 
 nephews. 
 
 "When our grandfather removed from the cabins 
 on the Muddy he sold them and the land about them 
 to our father. We had been living there about a year, 
 when one day a great misfortune befell us. Our 
 mother and father, with sister, had gone to visit our 
 
 — Forty-eight — 
 
IN HER NEW HOME 
 
 Uncle Mentor, who had just brought his bride to a 
 log-cabin home in our locality. While they were away 
 our dear little house took fire and burned to the ground, 
 destroying all that we had. It was a serious loss. It 
 was our little all, brought at great expenditure from 
 our old home in Kentucky, and each piece had its 
 precious associations. All the relics and heirlooms 
 from our grandfather Smith were destroyed. We 
 were left destitute, indeed. Nothing was saved, not 
 even an article of clothing. I happened to be at my 
 grandfather's about a mile away for a few days and 
 had a change of clothing. Except for this, we were 
 deprived of everything and had to begin anew. My 
 only memory of the sad event is of seeing my mother 
 weep when she and my father, after turning away from 
 their home, came to my grandfather's for refuge. The 
 tableau of the negroes and white people is vividly im- 
 pressed on my memory, all looking toward the red 
 smoke that was still going up in the west. A kind 
 neighbor, Mrs. Reece, who lived about a half mile 
 from us, gave to my little sister a white cotton dress, 
 homegrown, homespun and homewoven. My mother's 
 eyes would fill with tears to the last day of her life, 
 when she would speak of this neighborly act. 
 
 "The calamity which overtook us was the more seri- 
 ous because there were no stores within our reach 
 from which to replenish our household goods, but 
 from our good grandmother's supply, our lost bed- 
 ding was partially restored, and our father's deft fin- 
 
 — • Forty-nine — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 gers and willing heart soon supplied a more homely, 
 perhaps, but more precious, set of furniture from the 
 black walnut trees that skirted the stream nearby. Two 
 walnut chests, I recall, to the depths of which I often 
 had to go, standing on tiptoe — the one for clean bed- 
 ding, and the other for the laundried cotton under- 
 wear, which always had to go through a second air- 
 ing on chairs in front of the fire before being used. 
 Well do I remember, also, the bedstead with short up- 
 right posts that served for father and mother; and 
 the lower one, the little trundle-bed, with its rollers, 
 both of which might be called awkward in the pres- 
 ent stage of civilization, but which served well their 
 purpose in that day. That same little bed gave many 
 a sacred repose to our child forms, and many an un- 
 easy resting — or unresting — place when we were 
 shaken by the ague, from which none of us escaped. 
 The trundle-bed was, also, a shrine where the little 
 sisters knelt at night and said the prayers which they 
 had first learned at their mother's knee." 
 
 The fire upon the hearth is low, 
 And there is stillness everywhere, 
 And, like wing'd spirits, here and there 
 The firelight shadows come and go. 
 And as the shadows round, me creep, 
 A childish treble breaks the gloom. 
 And softly from a further room 
 Comes: "Now I lay me down to sleep." 
 
 — Fifty — 
 
IN HER NEW HOME 
 
 And, somehow, with that pray'r 
 And that szveet treble in my ears. 
 My thought goes back to distant years. 
 And lingers with a dear one; 
 And OS I hear my child's "Amen," 
 My mother's faith comes back to me — 
 Crouched at her side I seem to be. 
 And mother holds my hand again. 
 
 Oh, for an hour in that dear place — 
 Oh, for the peace of that dear time — 
 Oh, for a glimpse of mother's face! 
 Yet, as the shadows round me creep, 
 I do not seem to be alone — 
 Sweet magic of that treble tone. 
 And "Noiv I lay me down to sleep." 
 
 - — Eugene Field. 
 
 — Fifty-one 
 
V 
 LIFE IN GEORGETOWN 
 
The place is dignified by the doer's deed. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 He who thinks his place below him, will certainly 
 be below his place. 
 
 — Saville. 
 
 A true man never frets about his place in the world, 
 but just slides into it by the gravitation of his nature, 
 and szvings there as easily as a star. 
 
 — Chapin. 
 
 Whatever the place allotted to us by Providence,, 
 that, for us, is the post of honor and duty. God esti- 
 mates us not by the position we are in, but by the way 
 in which zve fill it. 
 
 — Edwards. 
 
HOME AT GEORGETOWN 
 
Chapter V 
 
 LIFE IN GEORGETOWN 
 
 Where you are is of no moment, but only what 
 you are doing there. It is not the place that ennobles 
 you, but you the place; and this only by doing that 
 zvhich is great and noble. 
 
 — Petrarch. 
 
 Mrs. Smith could say of Georgetown, her second 
 home in the West, as Henry Grattan said of the cause 
 of Irish hberty : "I stood by its cradle, and I walked 
 with its hearse." 
 
 The village was laid out when she was a child five 
 years old. Gen. David Thomson, her grandfather, 
 was allowed to name the place. He called it George- 
 town, in sacred memory of the town in Kentucky from 
 which he came. The location was near the center 
 of the county, and beautiful for situation. The ground 
 was high, rolling, and covered with a natural growth 
 of trees. Two crystal springs furnished an abundant 
 supply of water at all seasons. By an act of the legis- 
 lature the town was made the county seat, and a beau- 
 tiful brick courthouse was built. Thirty years later 
 
 *'Mr. Geo. W. Bamett, a well-known attorney of Sedalia, &ave valuable 
 assistance in the preparation of this Chapter. 
 
 — Fifty- five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 the seat of justice was changed to the rising young 
 city of Sedaha. The population, soon or late, fol- 
 lowed the court, and "dear old Georgetown" became 
 a deserted village. 
 
 The home of General Smith, built in Georgetown 
 after the one destroyed by fire in the country, was 
 the second home built in the town. It was not long, 
 however, till the village began to grow by leaps and 
 bounds in population, religious, social and commer- 
 cial importance. Two brothers, Watson and Cliflford 
 Wood, came with their families, made beautiful homes 
 and opened a well equipped dry goods store. They 
 were admirable people who belonged to the aristoc- 
 racy of character and whose influence was felt for 
 good both in the religious and the social life of the 
 community. 
 
 There was no physician nearer than Arrow Rock 
 or Boonville. It was a score of miles to one of 
 these places, and two score miles to the other. In 
 such a situation the average person could scarcely af- 
 ford to be sick. Man's extremity, however, is God's 
 opportunity. It is also often the doctor's opportunity 
 as well. The first resident physician in Georgetown 
 was Dr. Wilkins Watson, of Virginia, a singularly 
 gifted and skillful man. Together with his wife and 
 two little girls they were a winsome family. Their 
 home at once became a social center of refinement and 
 culture. This good physician, a general practitioner, 
 was a duplicate of Ian Maclaren's "Doctor of the Old 
 
 — Fifty-six — 
 
LIFE IN GBORGBTOWN 
 
 School," the hero of his graceful little book, "Be- 
 side the Bonnie Brier Bush." 
 
 "Among the various callings there is one which 
 seems to confer a singular elevation and winsomeness 
 of character. Its members have a firmer hold on the 
 love of the people than any other body of men. They 
 have won their just and enviable esteem by a habit 
 of unparalleled self-sacrifice. No one serves his fel- 
 lows at greater cost to himself, or with a more abso- 
 lute disregard of himself than a physician. If any- 
 one, indeed, has fulfilled the sermon on the mount, 
 and exhibited the spirit of Christ in action, it is this 
 man. Yet how few have been his religious privileges, 
 who is largely cut off from the word and the sacra- 
 ment, who labors while others worship, and is apt 
 to be beset by various trials of faith. It is evident 
 that he must enjoy some powerful compensation and 
 that some influence atones to him for what sanctifies 
 others and he has lost. It is certain that this fine 
 influence must be the constant contact with suffering 
 from day to day, till under the necessary composure 
 of his manner, and a natural repudiation of senti- 
 ment his heart has been shaped to pity and his will 
 to service. They who serve unceasingly before the 
 altar of suffering receive their reward." 
 
 It is a trite but true saying that "it never rains, 
 but it pours." The location of Dr. Watson in George- 
 town was soon followed by the arrival of Dr. Morse, 
 Dr. Snoddy, Dr. Spedden, Dr. Farris, Dr. Bidstrap, 
 and Dr. Westerfield, all good men, efficient in their 
 
 — Fifty-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 ancient and honorable profession. The law was rep- 
 resented by able men, some of whom later won dis- 
 tinction in national affairs. James L. English, the 
 Hughes brothers, George Heard, father of Jno. T. 
 Heard, many years a member of Congress, and 
 Judge Russell Hicks, were among the first lawyers. 
 Around the middle of the last century two strangely 
 gifted and brilliant young men, graduates of Center 
 College, Danville, Kentucky, located in Georgetown, 
 and began the practice of law. One was Geo. G. Vest 
 and the other was John F. Phillips. At the beginning 
 of the Civil War Mr. Vest cast his fortunes with the 
 South, and represented his state in the Confederate 
 Congress at Richmond. Mr. Phillips, on the other 
 hand, drew his sword in defense of the Union, and 
 rose to the rank of colonel. After peace was made, 
 Mr. Vest, for four and twenty years, was in the United 
 States Senate, and used to be fond of speaking of him- 
 self as a senator of two republics. Col. John F. Phil- 
 lips was once elected to Congress. Later President 
 Cleveland appointed him United States district judge. 
 His capacities and attainments would grace the su- 
 preme bench. Major William Gentry was for many 
 years a member of the County Court, and later w^as 
 made Judge emeritus. 
 
 The first ministers of the gospel at Georgetown were 
 Rev. Mr. Wolf and Rev. Allen Wright. Judge Ramey, 
 Judge Warren, and Mr. Ellis, the village blacksmith, 
 were to the manor born and kings of the realm. The 
 names of some other families, who lived in the town 
 
 — Fifty-eight — 
 
LIFE IN GEORGETOWN 
 
 in her palmy days, were Hopkins, Ford, Moore, Wil- 
 liams, Montgomery, Henderson, Lightfoot, Benson, 
 Agee, Courtney, De Jarnette, Brown, Hogue, Bard, 
 Sneed, Barry, Ryland, Barnes, McClure, Robinson, 
 Fristoe, Clopton, Blakemore, Jenkins, McVey, Ramey, 
 Edmondson, and Jenny. Good Captain Kidd, whom 
 everybody loved, kept the only hotel in the place. He 
 had an estimable wife and eight charming daughters 
 who possessed all good graces both to keep a restful 
 home for weary travelers and to make merry for the 
 young people of the whole community. On public 
 days and long winter evenings this "tavern" was the 
 scene of many gay and happy gatherings. 
 
 "Thither went they gayly! gayly! 
 
 Where their eoming was a joy, 
 Just to pass away together 
 
 One long day without alloy. 
 Not a brozv with cloud upon it — 
 
 Not an eye that seemed to knoiv 
 What a tear is; not a bosom 
 
 That had ever nursed a woe. 
 
 "How swiftly! swiftly! szmftly! 
 
 Like the ripples of a stream, 
 Did the bright hours chase each other 
 
 Till it all seemed like a dream: 
 Till it seemed as if no Never 
 
 Ever in this zvorld had been, 
 To o'ercloud the bright Forever, 
 
 Shining o'er the happy scene." 
 
 — Fifty-nine — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 The following paragraphs from the graceful pen of 
 Mrs. Sarah E. Cotton will be a fitting close to this 
 chapter : 
 
 "My heart is moved to pay this tribute of love to 
 the memory of a sister who said many kind words of 
 me, and also of others who were dear friends of ours. 
 We were the closest companions both in girlhood days 
 and in the later years. Our life in dear old George- 
 town was halcyon and happy. Nothing ever occurred 
 — either of joy or sorrow — to dim its pleasant mem- 
 ory. Life for us ran quietly as the brook by which 
 we sported. 
 
 " 'A charm from the sky 
 Seemed to hallow us there, 
 Which, seek through the world, 
 Is not found elsewhere. 
 
 " 'Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes. 
 And fondly broods with miser care; 
 Time the impression stronger makes. 
 
 As streams their channels deeper wear.' 
 
 "In a genial atmosphere of faith, hope and love, my 
 sister grew into a perfect flower of womanhood. Her 
 life in the early years was full of dreams and fancies, 
 characteristic of the girl 'standing with reluctant feet 
 where the brook and river meet.' 
 
 "Fond of the romance of travel she made a jour- 
 ney to Niagara Falls, the natural wonder of the new 
 world. The visit was extended to the Saint Lawrence, 
 
 — Sixty — 
 
LIFE IN GEORGETOWN 
 
 and the great cities of Canada. Later she spent much 
 time in New York, and devoted a year to travel in 
 Europe. This passing from one country to another 
 and the constant change of scenery both broadened 
 her education and mitigated the memory of a sorrow 
 that was too deep for sympathy and too sad for tears. 
 I draw the veil over this ordeal and turn my thoughts 
 to happier things. 
 
 "She wrote beautifully both in prose and poetry. 
 Some of her poems are gems and possess real literary 
 merit. However, it is not on this account that I prize 
 them, but because they are particularly poems of the 
 heart. The secret of their beauty is the purity of their 
 thought. Even a stranger will discover in her lines 
 a wealth of sympathy and love as fragrant and re- 
 freshing as the breath of spring. Some one has said : 
 'My mind is my kingdom.' Sister had mental endow- 
 ments that would have been an apology for her using 
 this utterance, but she could more truly say: 'My 
 heart my kingdom is.' To be able to win and to hold 
 the affections is the supreme test of character. On 
 leaving London Lord Byron said : 
 
 " '/ go, hut wheresoe'cr I flee. 
 
 There's not one eye zvill weep for me, 
 There's not a kind congenial heart 
 Where I can claim the meanest part.' 
 
 "More precious to my sister than lands and houses 
 was the place she held in the love of those whose 
 
 — Sixty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 lives she touched in helpful ways. Without ostenta- 
 tion or display, modest and retiring, she was a woman 
 who wore the white flower of a blameless life. Lone- 
 ly without her I am still comforted with the reflec- 
 tion of what she did, the certainty of her reward, 
 and the hope of seeing her face to face in our Father's 
 house. 
 
 " 'It is sweet to think hereafter 
 When the spirit leaves this sphere, 
 Love on deathless wings shall waft her 
 To those she long hath mourned for here. 
 Life from which 'twere death to sever, 
 Eyes this world can ne'er restore. 
 There as warm, as bright as ever. 
 Shall meet us and be lost no more. 
 Oh! if no other boon were given 
 To keep this heart from wrong and stain, 
 Who would not try to win a heaven 
 Where all zve love shall meet again?' " 
 
 — Sixty-two — 
 
VI 
 RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES 
 
Love never fails, though knowledge cease, 
 
 Though prophecies decay. 
 Love, Christian love — shall still increase 
 
 Shall still extend her sway. 
 
 True religion 
 Is always mild, propitious, and humble, 
 Plays not the tyrant, plants no faith in blood; 
 Nor bears destruction on her chariot-wheels; 
 But stoops to polish, succour, and redress. 
 And builds her grandeur on the public good. 
 
 — Miller. 
 
 Religion is equally the basis of private virtue and 
 public faith; of the happiness of the individual and 
 the prosperity of the nation. 
 
 — Barrow. 
 
 True religion is the foundation of society, the basis 
 on which all civil government rests, and from which 
 power derives its authority, laws their efficacy, and 
 both their sanction. 
 
 — Burke. 
 
 Religion is as necessary to reason as reason is to re- 
 ligion. The one can 7iot exist without the other. A 
 reasoning being would lose his reason in attempting to 
 account for the great phenomena of nature, had he not 
 a Supreme Being to whom to refer. Well has it been 
 said, "If there had been no God, mankind would have 
 been obliged to imagine one." 
 
 — Washington. 
 
 — Sixty-four — 
 
MISS CHAPPELIER, MRS. SMITH 
 MISS VIE JONES, MRS. S. E. COTTON 
 
Chapter VI 
 
 RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES 
 
 True religion will make a man a more thorough 
 gentleman than all the courts in B-urope. You may see 
 simple laboring men as true gentlemen as any duke, 
 because they have learned to fear God; and fearing 
 him, to restrain themselves, which is the root and es- 
 sence of all good breeding. 
 
 — Charles Kingsley. 
 
 Religion is the fear and the love of God; its demon- 
 stration is good works. Faith is the root of both, for 
 without faith we cannot please God, nor can we fear 
 and love ivhat zve do not believe. 
 
 — Penn. 
 
 The early settlers of Georgetown were pious people 
 who reverenced God, divine institutions, and all sacred 
 things. They believed that the things of the kingdom 
 are of first importance. These Christians belonged to 
 the various religious bodies represented by those who 
 had come from the east where churches had been long 
 established, and trained both in the principles and the 
 practices taught in the New Testament. The homes, 
 the log school houses, and even the groves became 
 temples for the worship of God and the teaching of 
 
 — Sixty-five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 the divine word. After the courthouse was built it 
 afforded a place where devout people of every name 
 and of every creed could meet for divine service. Thus 
 the house of justice became also the house of prayer. 
 Mrs. Smith describes in graphic terms both the struc- 
 ture and the grounds : 
 
 "The building was erected handsomely and sub- 
 stantially, and the square was inclosed with a fence and 
 shaded with locust trees selected and planted by our 
 grandfather. In my eyes there never was a prettier 
 house. It was square, with a large door in the center 
 of each of the three sides, and a large window on each 
 side of the doors. The north side had the two win- 
 dows, but no door, the space between being occupied 
 by the judge's bench. This was a platform about four 
 feet high with chairs on it, and terminated at the two 
 windows with four or five steps. A balustrade fol- 
 lowed the whole length of steps and platform. A 
 stairway led to the second story. As my young feet 
 proudly ascended its lofty heights, I looked on the as- 
 sembled multitude with awe and admiration that have 
 not come to me since, even in the palaces of Europe. 
 The roof was beautiful, not simply a board-covered 
 comb, like our common cabin homes, but square and 
 shingled and terminated at its top with a lovely octag- 
 onal observatory, with green shutters hung to white 
 posts; and this also had a beautiful shingled roof. 
 The cupola in turn was surmounted by a tapering spire 
 that held a gilded globe with an arrow above on which 
 was pivoted a fish of gold that turned with the wind. 
 
 — Sixty-six — 
 
RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES 
 
 How could anything be prettier? That lovely red 
 brick wall, with its painted windows and doors, that 
 splendid roof, and that beautiful cupola, up two 
 stories high ! And the ladies could go in, too ; for 
 within its walls they had big meetings, great revivals 
 of religion, schools, and sometimes temperance 
 speeches and lyceums. You can have no idea how the 
 sun shone on the courthouse, and how lovely the 
 moonlight fell and played its soft caressing touches 
 about the great locust trees. No, you can never 
 know ! Dear old Georgetown !" 
 
 One of the early ministers who held revival serv- 
 ices in the court-house was the Rev. Allen Wright, a 
 strangely gifted and pious man, who was identified 
 with the religous body known as Disciples of Christ. 
 Mrs. Smith and her mother were converted under his 
 preaching and together came into the fellowship of the 
 church in Georgetown. The following tribute to Mr. 
 Wright was written by the lamented Moses E. L,ard, 
 his life-long friend : 
 
 "Allen Wright's power lay not so much in his mind 
 as in his religious and moral traits. He was eminently 
 social. Few men mingled with the masses so success- 
 fully as he. His sound heart was free from all malice 
 and imbued with the largest love. He delighted in 
 the free off-hand life of the crowd, especially the re- 
 ligious crowd. He was moulded by it rather than 
 moulded it. He caught at once its easy, innocent 
 spirit, and delighted more than most men in its flow 
 of racy, kindly feeling. He laughed heartily, abounded 
 
 — Sixty-seven — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 in rustic anecdotes, listened to what even a child would 
 say, and replied frankly; did not flatter any one, but 
 approved almost everything that seemed not positively 
 ■wrong. In his salutations he was cordial, usually 
 rather grave and sentimental, never light nor trashy. 
 In a crowd he did not seem grand but good ; he struck 
 no one remarkably, but left all loving him for his art- 
 lessness and purity. The common people saw in him 
 what no one else saw in him but the common people, 
 all for the reason that he never neglected them nor 
 slighted them. He got close to them and they came 
 close to him. In the humble, honest crowd, Allen 
 Wright was always king. His adaptation to them and 
 to their ways was perfect ; and they repaid him with an 
 affection as pure as it was universal. To see him in 
 a frontier cabin, hat off, coat off, boots off, sitting a 
 little heavily in the chimney corner, with the domestic 
 cob pipe, smoking and talking to the family in his own 
 peculiarly grave and tender style ; and the secret of 
 his wonderful power over the masses became at once 
 explained. With that humble family in all its poverty, 
 its toils, its hardships, its sorrows, its bereavements, 
 he sympathized with a depth which made him the idol 
 of their hearts and the delight of their homes. To be 
 in one such honest abode, just after dinner, as the 
 Christian mother stood beside her table washing her 
 dishes, and told him the simple story of her buried 
 dead; to witness the feeling with which he entered 
 into that tale, and drank in those maternal sobs; to 
 hear his comfortings, and see him gild the future with 
 
 — Sixty-eight — 
 
RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES 
 
 the hopes of its reunions in Christ; and dull must 
 have been the eye that could not see an element of 
 true greatness in Allen Wright. No bosom carried 
 a sorrow too secret or too sacred for him. He was 
 the confidant and the comforter of the stricken spirit. 
 Wherever death had blighted hopes or crushed hearts, 
 all leaned on him and wept as on a father. God had 
 mellowed his noble heart by afflictions in his own 
 family, and thus fitted him to act his part with won- 
 drous eifect in scenes like these. I never thought him 
 so great as when comforting the sorrowing children 
 of earth, and pointing them to the coming recom- 
 pense." 
 
 Many other eminent and gifted men preached the 
 gospel in Georgetown. It was virgin soil, genial al- 
 most to a miracle to the good seed of the kingdom. 
 Among the lovable and able ministers of the word 
 were Rev. George W. Longan, Rev. S. S. Church, and 
 Dr. W. H. Hopson. These gentlemen, in their palmy 
 days, were the equals of the most distinguished preach- 
 ers in this country. George W. Longan became the 
 ablest and most widely known essayist in the com- 
 munion of the Disciples of Christ. S. S. Church was 
 a striking figure in any company. He filled a leading 
 pulpit in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, for many years. 
 Later he was pastor of the First Christian Church in 
 Saint Louis. Dr. W. H. Hopson was one of the most 
 pleasing pulpit speakers in the state. He had all the 
 gifts of an orator. In sacred eloquence he was a 
 master. For many years he was the pastor of a great 
 
 — Sixty-nine — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 church in Richmond, Virginia. Later he was the be- 
 loved minister of a still greater church in Louisville, 
 Kentucky. 
 
 In eighteen hundred and fifty one Dr. Hopson held 
 a series of evangelistic services in Georgetown. An 
 interesting feature of the revival was the conversion of 
 fourteen young ladies from some of the best families 
 of the town. Ten of these converts made the good 
 confession at the same time. At the next service four 
 others followed the example of their companions, and 
 gave their hearts to Christ in the perpetual covenant 
 of love. When these young women appeared for bap- 
 tism they were all dressed in black silk. It was a 
 strange fancy, and made a striking scene. The ar- 
 rangement, however, was made among themselves, 
 and was equally pleasing to everyone. It was a beauti- 
 ful and impressive picture when the fourteen converts, 
 dressed in black, went into the water, their arms 
 around one another, and all remained till all were bap- 
 tized in the name of Him who led them out of dark- 
 ness into light. 
 
 Any mention of the men of the first rank who held 
 religious services in Georgetown in the early days 
 would be incomplete without some notice, however 
 brief and inadequate, of the Rev. Levi C. Marvin, a 
 Universalist minister of the school of Hosea Ballon. 
 He was born and reared in New Hampshire. He was 
 well educated, a gentleman of polished manners, beau- 
 tiful disposition, and high social position. When speak- 
 ing on the love of God, His wisdom, grace, mercy, 
 
 — Seventy — 
 
RELIGIOUS INFLUENCES 
 
 goodness and compassion, he was invincible and made 
 a profound impression. Wherever he preached he 
 made converts to his peculiar views of religion, duty 
 and destiny, even if these converts made no public 
 confession of their conversion. It was thought that 
 Gen. David Thomson, Mrs. Smith's grandfather, was 
 among this class. Mr. Marvin was also an old school 
 abolishionist in spite of the fact that most of his 
 friends were slave holders. This is the best evidence 
 of his honesty and sincerity. His home was at Clinton. 
 In eighteen hundred and sixty he was the only man in 
 Henry county who cast his vote for Abraham Lincoln 
 and Hannibal Hamlin. It is a striking tribute both to 
 his high standing and the character of the good people 
 among whom he lived that he could vote as he did 
 without being intimidated or molested in any way. 
 This observation is made for the information of a 
 younger generation who can have no adequate idea 
 of how intense was the feeling on the slavery question 
 in the days preceding the Civil War which began soon 
 after the first election of Abraham Lincoln. Two 
 years later public sentiment had so changed that Rev. 
 Mr. Marvin was elected to the lower house of the 
 state legislature. When the house was organized he 
 was made the speaker. His brother, Major A. C. 
 Marvin, a Douglas Democrat, was the president of the 
 senate. When the two houses met in joint session to 
 elect a United States senator the two brothers sat side 
 by side on the platform as presiding ofificers of the as- 
 sembly. 
 
 — • Seventy-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 The friends of Rev. Mr. Marvin used to be fond of 
 telling the following circumstance : 
 
 After going through the distressing experiences of 
 the Civil War he was asked if he had changed his 
 mind on the subject of hell and the everlasting pun- 
 ishment of the impenitent. He made the suggestive, 
 characteristic, and emphatic reply : 
 
 "If there is no hell there ought to be one — at least 
 for some people !" 
 
 Seventy-two 
 
VII 
 HER JOURNAL 
 
The hours are viewless angels, 
 
 That still go gliding by, 
 And bear each minute's record up 
 
 To Him who sits on high. 
 
 — Crauch. 
 
 Not wholly can the heart unlearn 
 The lessons of its better hours. 
 
 Nor yet has Time's dull footstep worn 
 To common dust the path of flowers. 
 
 — Whittier. 
 
 Still on it creeps. 
 Bach little moment at another's heels. 
 Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up 
 Of such small parts as these, and men look back 
 Worn and bewilder d, wondering how it is. 
 Thou travellest like a ship in the wide ocean, 
 Which hath no bounding shore to mark its progress. 
 
 — Baillis. 
 
 "Spare moments are the gold dust of time: — of all 
 the portions of our life, the spare moments are the 
 most fruitful in good or evil. They are gaps through 
 zvhich temptations find easiest access to the garden of 
 the soul." 
 
 Much may be done in those little shreds and patches 
 of time, which every day produces, and which most 
 men throzv away, but which nevertheless will make at 
 the end of it no small deduction from the life of man. 
 
 — Colton. 
 
GEORGE SMITH-MARTIN 
 
Chapter VII 
 
 HER JOURNAL 
 
 The moving finger writes; and, having writ 
 Moves on; nor all your piety nor wit 
 Shall lure it back to cancel half a line, 
 Nor all your tears wash out a ivord of it. 
 
 — Fitzgerald. 
 
 Early in life Mrs. Smith began to keep a journal 
 in which she carefully noted passing events, and some- 
 times offered moral reflections on the incidents she 
 recorded. This constant practice of reducing her 
 thoughts to writing gave her great facility and beauty 
 of expression, and disciplined her mind to sustained 
 and systematic thinking. Her composition is always 
 graceful and much of it classical both in conception 
 and expression. After the lapse of three score years 
 the handwriting is still beautiful, legible, and as plain 
 as print. In these degenerate days of the typewriter 
 and the postal card it is refreshing to read these ample 
 pages written by a woman's hand and dictated by a 
 woman's heart. The graceful writing of the olden 
 time is a lost art. Her letters that remain, are also 
 models of beauty, such as Thomas DeQuincy had in 
 mind when he wrote the following paragraph : 
 
 — Seventy-five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 "Would you desire at this day to read our noble 
 language in its native beauty, picturesque for its idio- 
 matic propriety, racy in its phraseology, delicate, yet 
 sinewy in its composition — steal the mail-bags and 
 break open all the letters in female handwriting." 
 
 The following extracts are from her journal which 
 was begun when she was twenty-five years old and 
 continued till a short time before her death. For the 
 sake of brevity all dates are omitted : 
 
 "By the grace and the mercy of my Holy Father I 
 am permitted to record the return of another birthday, 
 to look back on the varied lights and shadows, the 
 hopes and the disappointments, the loves and the 
 friendships, the childhood, youth and maidenhood of 
 twenty-five years. Have I nearly gained the zenith of 
 the hill of life? I am halting a short time on this em- 
 inence to view the beautiful landscape, the sweet mem- 
 ories of the past, and the bright hopes in the future, 
 before with the jostling crowd I begin the descent !" 
 
 "The whole secret of happiness lies in a firm and 
 unflinching discharge of duty, and perfect confidence 
 and trust in the God of love, to hope for the best and 
 to be prepared for the worst; to lift the heart above 
 the world, to endure all things for the glory of Him 
 who suffered on the cross that we might live." 
 
 "I called to see Miss Mollie Snell who came up 
 yesterday from Boonville, and found her all the 
 Doctor represented her to be, pleasing, intelligent, and, 
 
 — Seventy-six — 
 
HBR JOURNAL 
 
 what I presume on longer acquaintance, will be a 
 pretty face, though my first impression is not that 
 she is pretty, but decidedly intelligent." 
 
 "How glad and thankful I am that I have such a 
 sweet home, devoted parents, kind and gentle sister, 
 and affectionate friends. Let me not receive all these 
 blessings without some return; let me study to make 
 myself worthy, to dispense joy and love to some 
 precious hearts, that I may not live in vain." 
 
 "I have spent this Lord's day sitting with mother at 
 her fire, and reading Dodridge's sermons on the evi- 
 dences of Christianity, the Bible and the Harbinger." 
 
 "While in Jefferson City, went to church on Sun- 
 day. Heard an excellent discourse from the Rev. Dr. 
 Boyle. When the Lord's supper was spread, his in- 
 vitation to all Christians was so beautiful and so com- 
 prehensive that I knelt with the Methodists around 
 the altar. I enjoyed it and felt that we were children 
 gathered around the table of our common Father." 
 
 "Went to the penitentiary. Saw the convicts in their 
 various occupations, their different apartments, and 
 felt that human nature is poor, weak and frail, with- 
 out the elevating influences of religion." 
 
 "I woke with a song of gratitude and praise in my 
 heart to Him who gives the light of this beautiful 
 Sunday morning from the effulgence of his own glory. 
 Be my guide today. Oh, Lord, lead me as a little child, 
 
 — Seventy-seven — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 for without thy love and blessing I am miserable in- 
 deed. Help me to be pure, to have the gentle and 
 lovely graces of a w^oman and a Christian. Keep 
 me in the way of holiness, and let all that I have and 
 all that I am be devoted to thy service for Christ's 
 sake." 
 
 "Heard Mr. Fackler deliver a farewell sermon this 
 morning which was both beautiful and appropriate, 
 solemn and impressive, from the text : 'Finally, breth- 
 ren, farewell.' He dwelt on the past, its joys and sor- 
 rows, and looked into the future with another people 
 than those who so long had received from his hands 
 the heavenly manna." 
 
 "While with friends in the old Kentucky home I do 
 not find much time to be alone, but often the silent 
 beatings of my heart are wafted to the ear of Him 
 who never sleeps, for blessings on the loved ones left 
 behind. Visited the cemetery at Lexington, saw the 
 vault where the ashes of Henry Clay are deposited, 
 and the mound on which his monument is to be erected. 
 Spent some time wandering among the narrow homes 
 of the dead." 
 
 "Went to Ashland, the home of our immortal Clay, 
 but it seemed the glory of it, like the spirit of its 
 great master, had fled. The old homestead has been 
 torn away by the hands of his son to give place to a 
 more elegant and fashionable edifice. It seems sacri- 
 ligc, for it was sacred to the hearts of the people of 
 
 — Seventy-eight — 
 
HBR JOURNAL 
 
 the whole union, and should have been preserved by 
 his children for the sake of its memories. The walls 
 of the new house are half finished, but I got a piece of 
 w^ood of the step leading to his study, to make canes 
 for father and grandfather." 
 
 "Was at Lord Alexander's, as he is called on ac- 
 count of his great wealth. Saw his fine imported 
 stock, and the celebrated race horse, Lexington, for 
 which the sum of twenty-nine thousand dollars has 
 been refused." 
 
 "Visited the old home, in Kentucky, where we used 
 to live, and where the ashes of my little brother are 
 buried. I could see the solemn procession follow from 
 the door his little form, move slowly across the yard 
 and deposit it very near the house, as if human care 
 and love could lessen the chill of death. I tried to 
 imagine the grief of my parents, as the little angel was 
 torn from them before their hearts had learned sub- 
 mission to the will of Him who 'chastens whom he 
 loves.' I thought of the loneliness in their home de- 
 serted by the little prattler, their only child. I thanked 
 God that they and we, their daughters, have not been 
 chastened in vain, that we now look forward to a re- 
 union beyond the grave where the sun is ever shining 
 and separations never come. I went into the old 
 dilapidated house that my mother and father lived 
 in when they were first married. I stood on the floor, 
 looked on the walls and breathed in the same rooms 
 where my parents' early married life, and my infancy 
 
 — Seventy-nine — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 were passed. Upstairs I saw father's name on the 
 wall. Just below I added the names of the other three. 
 It was a sacred place to me. I wished to spend hours 
 there, but had to go back." 
 
 The scenes of my childhood so dear to my heart 
 All pensive I visit, and sigh to depart; 
 Their flowers seem to languish, their beauty to cease, 
 For a stranger inhabits the mansion of peace. 
 
 But hush'd be the sigh that untimely complains, 
 While friendship and all its enchantment remains. 
 While it blooms like the flozver of a winterless clime. 
 Untainted by chance, unabated by time. 
 
 — Campbell. 
 
 On the nineteenth day of August, eighteen hundred 
 and fifty-nine, she makes the following mention of her 
 marriage : 
 
 "Thursday, the nineteenth day of last May, was ush- 
 ered in with a clear sky and a glowing sun. The birds 
 were joyous in the springtime of their existence, and 
 I, a timid, sensitive girl, was led to the marriage altar 
 in my father's home by Mr. James H. Martin.* The 
 ceremony was pronounced by the Rev. John De Jar- 
 nette. 
 
 "We had a merry little party assembled and all 
 passed off with seeming gaiety, my mother, father. 
 
 *Later her name was changed to Smith by Act of Legislature of the State of 
 New Jersey. 
 
 — Eighty — 
 
HE-R JOURNAL 
 
 and sister participating. But in our hearts were emo- 
 tions beyond expression. The beautiful past, the un- 
 known future ! — gratitude for the one, fear and hope 
 for the other, while above all were unceasing prayer, 
 earnest petition for the blessing of our Father in heav- 
 en. Three months have passed, three of pleasure, with 
 an occasional earth cloud, but I have reason for much 
 gratitude. 
 
 "Father, help me do right, help thy handmaid do 
 thy will and be Thou her guide and support." 
 
 The following entry made in Mrs. Smith's journal 
 on July fifteenth, eighteen hundred and sixty, is a 
 beautiful expression of a mother's love, and a mother's 
 devotion to her babe : 
 
 "Changes come over all things earthly, and so they 
 have o'er me. My boy is four months old — having be- 
 gun his earthly pilgrimage on Saturday evening, the 
 tenth of last March. To his mother he is beautiful, 
 with his golden hair, blue eyes and exquisite complex- 
 ion. He is not playful, and of course, we think it is 
 because of some extra talent that makes him quiet and 
 sedate. 
 
 "I feel deep solicitude for him to excel in good- 
 ness and in intellect. Great sprightliness, or any 
 superficial charm, I am willing to sacrifice to real 
 worth. I should like him to be a man of stern princi- 
 ples, who would rather be right than to occupy high 
 places in this world's honors." 
 
 — Bighty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 One year later she wrote the following mournful 
 words : 
 
 "An angel came and hushed my baby's cries, and 
 while I prayed that he might stay, stopped his breath- 
 ing, stiffened his little limbs, and bore his spirit to 
 heaven." 
 
 Our little life — 
 Born of one fathomless eternity — 
 Steals on a moment, and disappears 
 In an eternity as fathomless. 
 
 There is a special providence in the falling of a 
 sparrow; if it he now, 'tis not to come; if it he not to 
 come, it will he now; if it he not noiv, yet it will come; 
 the readiness is all. 
 
 — Shakespeare. 
 
 "On the brow was written with God's own finger, 
 'Everlasting peace;' on the still breast, 'Perfect pur- 
 ity;' in the palms of the little hands, 'No rough scar 
 of earthly w^ork shall ever stain them;' on the white 
 round feet, 'Earth's thorns shall never wound them;' 
 on the sealed eye-lids, 'No tears shall wet them;' and 
 on the serene lips, 'No cry of pain shall pass them.' " 
 
 — Eighty-two — 
 
VIII 
 PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
To live well is to think what is true, 
 To feel zvhat is beautiful, 
 And to desire what is good. 
 
 —Plato. 
 
 Her form was fresher than the morning rose. 
 When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd, and pure 
 As the lily, or the mountain snow. 
 
 — Thomson. 
 
 Some souls lose all things hut the love of beauty; 
 And by that love they are redeemable, 
 For in love and beauty they acknowledge good, 
 And good is God. 
 
 — Bailey. 
 
 There was a soft and pensive grace, 
 A cast of thought upon her face, 
 That suited well the forehead high, 
 The eye-lash dark, and downcast eye, 
 The mild expression spoke a mind 
 In duty firm, composed, resigned. 
 
 — Scott. 
 
 Nothing truly can be term'd mine oTim 
 But what I make mine own by using well. 
 Those deeds of charity which we have done 
 Shall stay forever with us; and that zvealth 
 Which we have so bestow' d, we only keep; 
 The other is not ours. 
 
 — Middleton. 
 
HOME AT SEDALIA 
 
Chapter VIII 
 
 PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
 The angels sang in heaven when she was born. 
 
 — Longfellow. 
 
 Her cheek had the pale pearly pink 
 Of sea-shells, the zvorld's szveetest tint, as though 
 She lived, one half might deem, on roses sopp'd 
 In silver dew. 
 
 — Bailey. 
 
 Nature was lavish in her gifts to this brilliant and 
 attractive woman. Like Helen, of Argos, whose face 
 launched a thousand ships and burnt the topless tow- 
 ers of Ilium, she was such a pleasing personality that 
 everybody claimed kin with her. She was above the 
 medium stature, perfect both in form and feature. Her 
 fine oval face, frank and open countenance and large 
 wondering brown eyes were full of expression. In 
 animated conversation they kindled with light and en- 
 thusiasm. In repose her face had about it the sad 
 mystery of one who had suffered, and over it was the 
 aureole of a saint. Her voice, soft and low, was musi- 
 cal as Apollo's lute. It bespoke a refined, sensitive, 
 and gentle heart. Her disposition — rosy as the morn- 
 
 — Eighty -five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 ing — was retiring, trusting, and confiding. In thought, 
 feeling, expression and conduct, she lived on a level 
 far above the selfishness, hate, anxiety, and ambition 
 of this dim spot that men call earth. Hers was a 
 life of good will, which is the only absolute good in 
 the world, and is life indeed. The fruit of such a 
 character is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, 
 goodness, faith, meekness, temperance against which 
 there is no law. Such a life finds its inspiration in the 
 sermon on the mount, the Shepherd psalm, and Paul's 
 tribute to love. 
 
 "Her crozvn zcas in her heart, not on her head: 
 Not deck'd with diamonds, and Indian stones, 
 Nor to be seen: her crown was called content; 
 A crown it is that seldom kings enjoy." 
 
 Her home in Sedalia, where she lived so many 
 beautiful years, was a Mecca to which all made their 
 pious pilgrimage when in need of help, sympathy, and 
 advice. Every one, however humble his condition, or 
 social position, found a listening ear, an understanding 
 heart, and a helping hand according to the measure 
 of his need. The Lord led her along a way she knew 
 not. Through varied experiences she came to know 
 the human heart, and how best to administer the 
 needed help. The large estate inherited from her 
 father and mother she held in trust as a good steward 
 of the manifold grace of God. It was used for the 
 comfort of her home, the happiness of her friends, the 
 good of all, regardless of either race or color, for 
 
 — Eighty -six — 
 
PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
 works of benevolence, education, and the advance- 
 ment of the Christian religion both at home and in the 
 lands beyond the seas. Never a society woman, she 
 was a woman in society, and, with peculiar grace dis- 
 pensed a generous hospitality. She believed women 
 to be the first and greatest factors among the social, 
 moral, and religious influences that make for the ad- 
 vancement of the race in the finer and the diviner 
 things of life. She gave herself with singular intel- 
 ligence, sympathy, and devotion to reforms of every 
 kind. With all her heart she believed that as God 
 rules the world that truth will not be forever on the 
 scaffold, and wrong forever on the throne. The Lord 
 be praised, she lived to see the dawn of the better day 
 for which the world has waited long. The secret of 
 her confidence was faith, and hope, which springs 
 eternal in the human breast. 
 
 "The sun set, but not on her hope; 
 Stars rose, her faith was earlier up." 
 
 There is not a more beautiful story in history than 
 the story of her continued kindness to young women, 
 young men, and widows. "The mercy I to others 
 show, that mercy show to me," was a prayer which she 
 could consistently pray. The best her most devoted 
 friend could wish for her was that as she had done for 
 others so, under like circumstances, might it be done 
 for her. Her life was an object lesson on the golden 
 rule translated into conduct. She believed that salva- 
 tion should be expressed in terms of character rather 
 
 — Eighty-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 than in terms of doctrine. This is the teaching of a 
 striking expression in the book of Revelation : "It was 
 given to her that she should array herself in fine linen, 
 pure and bright, for the fine linen is the righteous acts 
 of the saints." Through the patronage of Mrs. Smith 
 many girls of small means were given advantages for 
 education, culture, and social position that seldom 
 come to even the daughters of wealthy parents. To 
 be a guest in her home for years — as some were — was 
 a liberal education to one responsive to such a refined 
 and genial environment. To a chosen few she gave 
 the culture that only comes from travel and study 
 both in this country and in Europe. The traveled mind 
 is the catholic mind educated from exclusiveness and 
 egotism. "Nothing tends so much to enlarge the mind 
 as traveling, that is, making visits to other towns, 
 cities, and countries besides those in which we were 
 born and educated." Saint Augustine used to say: 
 "The world is a great book, of which they who never 
 stir from home read only a page." The young women 
 who shared the bounty of their generous friend made 
 good use of the opportunities at hand, and in return 
 gave the unchanging love and gratitude of fond hearts, 
 and used their accomplishments to increase the hap- 
 piness and to enrich the lives of others who were not 
 so fortunate. 
 
 "A grateful mind 
 By owing owes not, hut still pays, at once 
 Indebted and discharg'd." 
 
 — Bighty-eight — 
 
PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
 Mrs. Smith's home was, also, a retreat for the widow 
 who had no helper, especially for the one who was a 
 life-long friend either of herself or of her father and 
 mother. It was easy for her to practice the teaching 
 of Israel's wisest king: "Thine own friend, and thy 
 father's friend forsake not." It is as essential in the 
 Christian religion to care for the widow and the or- 
 phan in affliction as it is to keep oneself unspotted 
 from the world. It is a beautiful and suggestive fact 
 that it was left for James, the Lord's brother, to give 
 expression to the truth that active benevolence and 
 personal purity are the fundamental considerations in 
 the faith once for all delivered to the saints. If these 
 are the essence of pure religion before our God and 
 Father, great is the reward of our sister in heaven 
 where even a cup of water given in the name of the 
 Master will be remembered. When she finished her 
 course and reached the other side, some whom she 
 had fed, clothed, sheltered, and comforted till they 
 gained the peace of death and the victory of ever- 
 lasting life, were there to say : "Well done, thou good 
 and faithful friend; enter now into the joy eternal of 
 thy Lord !" Her ministry of love to the lowly was a 
 fulfillment of the Master's words spoken under the 
 solemn sanction of accepted death: "I was hungry, 
 and you gave me meat; I was thirsty, and you gave 
 me drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in; 
 naked, and you clothed me ; I was sick, and you visited 
 me; I was in prison, and you came to me." 
 
 — Eighty-nine — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 "She was the pride 
 Of her familiar sphere — the daily joy 
 Of all who on her graceful life might gaze, 
 And in the light and music of her zuay 
 Have a companion's portion." 
 
 There was something in Mrs. Smith's character that 
 was finer than anything she ever said or ever did. 
 This was her Christ-Hke endurance of affhction. Dur- 
 ing most of her later years she was an invalid confined 
 within the narrow spaces of the home, and rarely 
 able to attend divine service, or to visit neighbors and 
 friends. Much is written in history of heroic deeds, 
 but much more remains to be said of heroic endur- 
 ance. It is easier for the average person to bear the 
 heat and the burden of the day in active toil than it 
 is to patiently endure the ills — physical and mental — 
 that weigh on the soul. Dr. Jno. Watson says in one 
 of his graceful little books: "If it were given us to 
 choose the way wherein we should walk, is there one 
 of us would not prefer the way of doing to the way of 
 suft'ering? What soldier would not rather charge on 
 the most forlorn hope, with an almost certainty of 
 dying in the breach, than stand on the deck of a sink- 
 ing ship till she made the last plunge, and the cold 
 waters closed over his head? He who charged had 
 done something; putting heart into an army, showing 
 the road to victor}^, giving his body for a bridge ; but 
 he who stood did nothing, striking no blow, advancing 
 no cause, leaving no memorial. A mother's heart is 
 
 — Ninety — 
 
PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
 light as she watches over her children and toils for 
 their welfare, but she would fret and worry were she 
 laid aside and commanded to rest. Any servant of 
 Christ would ten times rather face a hostile world 
 even to death in the declaration and the defense of 
 the evangel, than be silenced and hear afar the sound 
 of the battle. It is not given to us to know which has 
 done most for a household; the strong man who won 
 for them the meat which perishes, by the sweat of his 
 face, or the gentle sufferer whose grace made clean 
 their souls. We value the patriot whose words and 
 deeds establish righteousness in the market-place, but 
 may assign too little effect to his fellow held in pri- 
 son and in bonds." 
 
 It is a beautiful figure that represents our Lord sit- 
 ting as a purifier and refiner of silver, passing the ore 
 through the crucible of fire till the dross is consumed, 
 the silver refined, and his own image reflected in the 
 metal. It is the crushed olive that yields the oil; the 
 pressed grape that gives forth the wine; and it was 
 the smitten rock that gave the people water. The 
 broken, contrite heart is rich in holiness, fragrant in 
 grace, and in the sight of God is the pearl of greatest 
 price. "They who sail on the surface of a summer 
 sea gain no treasures but those who, weighed down 
 with sorrow, fear not to sound the depths, return to 
 the light with pearls in their hands. One vigil with 
 Christ in Gethsemane teaches more than can be heard 
 in all the synagogues, than all we gather in our pleasant 
 days. We learn at last to say : 'Thy will be done,' and 
 
 — Ninetv-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 to make our final surrender. If it be that hearts pass 
 through Misery's presses, heaven is already bending 
 over us in benediction, and the angels of God are mak- 
 ing haste to be our ministers." It is the testimony of 
 the wisest and the best of men that affliction teaches 
 wisdom, culture, refinement, and sympathy that can 
 be learned in no other way. Mr. William E. Glad- 
 stone paid this tribute to his mother: "Her character 
 was deeply and thoroughly imbued with love. With 
 strong and searching processes of bodily affliction she 
 was assimilated in mind and heart to her Redeemer. 
 Few mortals suffered more pain, or more faithfully 
 recognized it as one of the instruments with which God 
 is pleased to forward that restoring process for which 
 we are placed on earth." 
 
 After the death of her mother and her babe, Mrs. 
 Smith lived with her father and sister, in a pathetic 
 affection deepened by a common sorrow. The loss of 
 her only child was a blow from which she was slow 
 to recover. More than two score years she carried in 
 her heart this heavy sorrow. Her love for her son 
 found increasing strength with increasing days. It 
 came to be the ruling passion strong in death. This 
 little nestling gone to heaven was the sweetest memory 
 of her home. Like our Lord, having loved her own, 
 she loved him till the end. All good men reverence a 
 mother's devotion — even though it be the devotion of 
 a mother-bird that does not fall on the ground without 
 our Father. Birds fly away from battlefields except 
 when there are nestlings. A tree was set on fire by a 
 
 — Ninety-two — 
 
PERSONAL TRAITS 
 
 hot shot from a gun-boat. A soldier passed by when 
 it was a pillar of flame, and there was a mocking bird 
 dead on her nest with her wings spread out over her 
 young — all of them dead. The captain, when he saw 
 it, saluted and rode on into the battle. 
 
 When Mrs. Smith realized that her last hour on 
 earth had come, she was the same calm, self-poised 
 woman that she had always been. One whom she 
 loved with singular devotion, and on whom she had 
 bestowed special benefaction, sat beside her couch and 
 held her hand — "a fair, frail hand that scarcely 
 seemed of flesh — so wasted, white, and wan it was. 
 The great, wondering brown eyes had sunk deep away 
 in their sockets — and their light shone dim as tapers 
 dying on an altar." To her young friend she bore 
 this grateful testimony : "Vie, I am glad you are do- 
 ing your duty in the world." 
 
 The last thought to which her tongue gave expres- 
 sion was for the one whom she loved and trusted 
 above all others. "What wiU we do with sister?" she 
 whispered in tones soft as a dream of beauty. Look- 
 ing for the last time into the fond face that was bend- 
 ing over her she said : 
 
 "The Lord bless thee, and keep thee ; the Lord make 
 His face shine upon thee, and be gracious to thee; the 
 Lord lift up His countenance on thee and give thee 
 peace." Then, "softly as a cloud, a golden cloud, 
 upon a summer day, floats from the heat of land out 
 o'er the sea, so her sweet life passed away." 
 
 With the exception of three years Mrs. Smith spent 
 
 — Ninety-three — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 all her life in one place, and was buried in the cemetery 
 on a wide prairie where she gathered wild flowers 
 when a child. She carried in her heart the family his- 
 tory of scores of her neighbors as well as the history 
 of the founding and the growth of the most beautiful 
 city in central Missouri. Her familiar figure in the 
 home, the house of God, and on the streets of the 
 town, joined the present with the past, and opened 
 a treasure-house of sacred memories. Such a career 
 is an inspiration to the young to make life a beautiful 
 and noble calling which will be followed by a lofty 
 destiny and the dawn of immortality. 
 
 — Ninety-four — 
 
IX 
 HER POETRY 
 
Truth shines the brighter clad in verse. 
 
 —Pope. 
 
 Poetry comes nearer to vital truth than history. 
 
 —Plato. 
 
 You will find poetry nowhere unless you bring some 
 tvith you. 
 
 — Joubcrt. 
 
 Poetry is the music of thought, brought to us in the 
 music of language. 
 
 — Chaljield. 
 
 A poem's life and deatJi dependeth still 
 Not on the poet's wits, but reader's will. 
 
 — Brome. 
 
 Love well 
 The poet who may sow your grave with flowers, 
 The traveler to the far land of the past. 
 
 —Willis. 
 
 Poetry is the sister of sorrow; every man that suf- 
 fers and weeps, a poet; every tear is a verse; and 
 every heart a poem. 
 
 — Andre. 
 
 Poetry has been to mc its own exceeding great re- 
 ward; it has given me the habit of wishing to discern 
 the good and the beautiful in all that meets and sur- 
 rounds me. 
 
 — Coleridge. 
 
Chapter IX 
 
 HER POETRY 
 
 The life of a poet sKould be a poem. 
 
 "It seemed her pain had made her lay more szveet 
 As I have heard the nightingale doth sing 
 Pierced by a thorn; and God pains the hearts 
 Of poets most who sing the sweetest song." 
 
 Poets and painters have done more for the educa- 
 tion, the elevation, the happiness, and the inspiration 
 of the race than the philosophers. To the average 
 mind philosophies and commentaries are as dry as 
 Slimmer dust. Poetry is the oldest form of literature, 
 as may be seen from the Book of Job, which is a 
 solemn tragedy, and Homer's Iliad, the greatest epic 
 in any tongue. Poets and painters live in closest 
 touch with nature and nature's God. When they write 
 poems, or paint pictures, it is from the heart of 
 things. Both are strangely endowed with a sixth sense, 
 that is the ability to see, to understand, and to reveal 
 to others the invisible. This makes them, next to our 
 Lord, the greatest and the best of all teachers, because 
 they live more and have their being in the realm of 
 the infinite and the unseen. It is the testimony of the 
 
 — Ninety-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 Divine Spirit that the things which are seen are tem- 
 poral, but the things which are not seen are eternal. 
 Some one has said that poetry is truth told in a 
 beautiful way. For this reason the most beautiful 
 poetry in the world is the poetry of the Bible. This 
 form of speech easily lends itself to the expression of 
 religious thought and feeling. George R. Wendling 
 makes the significant remark in one of his brilliant lec- 
 tures that "there is not enough poetry in infidelity to 
 make a single verse of song." The Old Testament 
 prophets were singers as well as seers. Isaiah, the 
 poet-prophet, was the forerunner of Christ both in 
 the manner and the matter of his teaching. His 
 prophecy is in reality the fifth gospel. The fifty-third 
 chapter of Isaiah would be a fitting introduction to the 
 study of the arrest, the trial and the crucifixion of our 
 adorable Lord, as reported by the four evangelists. 
 
 Much of the Master's teaching, with slight change, 
 can be thrown into rhythmic phrase. This is especially 
 true of the sermon on the mount. Dull indeed must 
 be the ear that cannot detect the poetry on almost 
 every page of the gospel narratives. The apostle Paul 
 adorned his sermons and epistles with quotations both 
 from the Hebrew and the classic poets. More than a 
 score of such quotations are found in the epistle to the 
 Romans. His sermon preached on Mars' Hill at 
 Athens, reported by Luke, the beloved physician, is 
 a masterpiece of sacred eloquence. On this brief ad- 
 dress his fame as an orator at last will rest. Instead 
 of reading the Jewish Scriptures he selects his text 
 
 — Ninety-eight — 
 
HBR POETRY 
 
 from an inscription on one of the many pagan altars 
 to be seen on every hand, and illustrates and enforces 
 his teaching with a line found in two Greek poets : 
 "For we also are his offspring." These two poets 
 were Aratus, a Celician, one of Paul's own country- 
 men, and the other was Cleanthes. The following are 
 the opening lines in the poem by Aratus : 
 
 ''From Jove we begin — who can touch the string 
 And not harp praise to Heaven's eternal King? 
 He animates the mart and crowded way, 
 The restless ocean, and the sheltered hay. 
 Doth care perplex? Is loivering danger nigh? 
 We are his offspring and to Jove we fly." 
 
 Cleanthes begins his sublime hymn to Jupiter, which 
 contains forty lines, with this stanza : 
 
 "Most glorious of the gods, immortal Jove; 
 Supreme on earth beneath, in heaven above! 
 Thou great first cause, whose word is nature's lazv. 
 Before thy throne we mortals bend with awe; 
 For we thine offspring are. To man is given — 
 To man alone — to lift a voice to Heaven." 
 
 Mrs. Smith learned in suffering what she taught in 
 song. It costs a great deal to be a poet as it does to 
 be a blessing. Strait is the gate and narrow is the 
 way that leads to the highest grade of service, and few 
 there are that find it. Only those who pay the price 
 
 — Ninetv-ninc — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 
 have the reward of a useful Hfe. The real cost of a 
 book is the labor one must give in understanding it. 
 The one without the other is of little value. This is 
 the meaning of the paradox: "To him that hath shall 
 be given, and he shall have more abundance ; but from 
 him that hath not shall be taken even that which he 
 hath." This is true, because fidelity to match the ca- 
 pacity and the opportunity is the highest achievement. 
 This is the one thing that is everything. The matter 
 of first importance is what a man is, rather than what 
 he does or what he says. The life is more than 
 meat, and the body is more than raiment. It is 
 Christ's method to make the tree good, and the fruit 
 will be good also. A good man out of the good treas- 
 ure of his heart brings forth good things; and an evil 
 man out of the evil treasure brings forth evil things. 
 Men do not gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles. 
 
 "Howc'er it he, it seems to me 
 'Tis only noble to be good; 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets 
 And simple faith than Norman blood." 
 
 The greatest forces, both in nature and redemption, 
 move through silent courses. The dew of summer and 
 the frost of winter are not distilled in a storm. In 
 the quiet night while men sleep both come on every 
 tree, and flower, and blade of grass in the countr}' and 
 in the town. So, also, the real benefactors of the race 
 are the sweet and virtuous souls who work in quiet 
 
 — One Hundred — 
 
HBR POETRY 
 
 ways, and sometimes in lonely places, giving to the 
 world inspiring sentiments and high ideals. It was 
 said by a thoughtful mind that when Millet painted 
 the two peasants standing in the field, with bowed 
 heads, at the hour of evening prayer, listening to the 
 bells in the convent tower, he did more for labor, 
 and the laboring man, than if he had seized a spade 
 and worked in the fields of France for fifty years. 
 The poets have done quite as much for the conversion 
 of the world as the evangelists. Multitudes have been 
 won to Christ by a song even when the sermon had 
 failed. An interesting story is told of Augustus Top- 
 lady. More than a hundred years ago he was a lad in 
 England. His parents were pious people, but the son 
 in spite of many prayers, sermons, and entreaties, was 
 still resolved never to become a Christian. In the 
 providence of God, however, his good mother and her 
 son made a visit to Ireland. On the Lord's day they 
 went to a place of worship where a good man was to 
 preach. This minister was most earnest in his sermon. 
 He put the question to the unsaved whether they 
 would give themselves to Christ, or remain in their sins. 
 Every time the pastor repeated the question, the young 
 man said in his heart : "No, I will not." At the close 
 of the sermon his heart seemed harder than ever ! The 
 minister gave out an invitation hymn. It begins : 
 "Come ye sinners, poor and wretched." The con- 
 gregation, stirred by the sermon, sang the song with 
 the spirit and the understanding. What the sermon 
 could not do the singing of the hymns did. It moved 
 
 — One Hundred One — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 his heart as the waters when the wind blows on the 
 face of the sea. It was the Spirit of God calling him 
 through the hundreds of voices singing the gospel that 
 day. This lad, saved by a song, became a minister of 
 the word and author of the stately hymn : 
 
 "Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in thee." 
 
 Whatever was Mrs. Smith's experience in pain and 
 sorrow it did not destroy the poetry in her heart, 
 which, like the Aeolian harp, was responsive to the 
 tempest's breath, and filled the night with praise. "She 
 counted only the hours that are serene, took no note of 
 time but by its benefits, watched only for the smiles, 
 neglected the frowns of fate, composed her life of 
 bright and gentle moments, turned always to the sunny 
 side of things, and let the rest slip from her unnum- 
 bered or forgotten." A minor key in her poems sug- 
 gests that experience had taken her below the sur- 
 face of things down into the mystery of the world, its 
 sin, its suffering, and its sorrow. It was hers to suf- 
 fer much, but she was given beauty for ashes, the oil 
 of joy for mourning, and the garment of praise for 
 the spirit of heaviness. Some of her poetry "cheers 
 like a sunbeam; charms like a good story; inspires 
 like a brave leader; binds like a golden chain; and 
 guides like a heavenly vision." The following "Rhap- 
 sody" is a fair sample of her poems which will com- 
 pose the second part of this little book: 
 
 — One Hundred Two — 
 
HBR POETRY 
 
 "Dear little baby, hozv strange it does seem 
 To see your face laughing so sweet in a dream. 
 Are the angels that brought you so close to our shores 
 That you still catch the light of their bright, dripping 
 
 oars, 
 Cleaving the waters of heavenly hue. 
 That bear them away from me and from you? 
 Are their whispered goodbyes, and the kisses they 
 
 fling — 
 Voiceless to me as a bird on the wing — 
 So full for my baby of promise and grace, 
 That heavenly glory is shed o'er his facet 
 Do they tell you alone of mirth and of song, 
 And of flower-strewn paths for your feet in the 
 
 throng. 
 And bring you, my darling, to bless me awhile 
 With the grace and the charm of your magical smile f 
 
 'Ah! Questions are vain. We only can know 
 That the years with their changes must come and 
 
 must go: 
 That the lives that are past, and the lives that are 
 
 brought 
 Are by our Father with mystery fraught; 
 That the joy you bring to a world growing old 
 Is more precious than jewels in caskets of gold. 
 It is mine for today — yes, mine for all time — 
 Here and hereafter — eternally mine!" 
 
X 
 HER POEMS 
 
Poetry itself is a thing of God. He made his 
 prophets poets; and the more we feel of poetry do we 
 become more like God in love and power. 
 
 — Bailey. 
 
 Poetry is something to make us wiser and better, by 
 continually revealing those types of beauty and truth 
 ivhich God has set in all men's souls. 
 
 — Lowell. 
 
MRS. MARTHA E. SMITH 
 
Chapter X 
 
 HER POEMS 
 
 PRAYER 
 
 Father, my heart I bring to Thee, 
 That Thou my greatest need may'st see; 
 Hard, unworthy, frail and weak, 
 Thy tender aid I humbly seek. 
 This world of light, and love and song, 
 Doth chant Thy praise in echoes long; 
 Each tiny bird, and flower and tree, 
 Gives glad, sweet strains of minstrelsy, 
 All Nature tunes her soul to sing 
 Thy praise, and all her glory bring 
 To honor Thee, my God and King; 
 But I, alas, with my torn wing. 
 Low in the dust must ever lie. 
 Unless Thou lift my soul on high 
 And give my tired feet the strength 
 To walk in Wisdom's ways at length. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., 1878. 
 
 — One Hundred Seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 TRANSFORMATION 
 
 When Summer hath waned into Autumn's bright hue. 
 And frosts take the place of the earlier dew, 
 With a tenderness only that dear mothers know, 
 Death hideth her darlings away 'neath the snow. 
 
 The life that seemed waning in storm and in heat, 
 In exquisite casket lies safe and complete ; 
 Each tiny seed wrapped in its shell on the sod, 
 Fulfilling in silence its mission to God. 
 
 No life is destroyed, only changed in its kind, 
 And Summer will give it again to the wind; 
 Bud, leaf and blossom all perfect again 
 Will adorn with gay beauty the pathway of men. 
 
 Twin sister of life, rejoicing I come, 
 With laurel and wreath for the good thou hast done ; 
 O process of Nature! — O wonderful thought — 
 Life gives us death, from death life is wrought. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., 1878. 
 
 One Hundred Eight — 
 
HBR POEMS 
 
 DR. B. B. TYLER ON HIS FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY 
 
 On life's rugged road 'tis sweet to stand 
 
 On the top of its loftiest peak, 
 And gazing afar toward the possible land, 
 
 Its ultimate boundary seek. 
 It is thine today, that wonderful sweep 
 
 In the distance, so mellowed and fair 
 That the touch of the Lord seems almost to reach 
 
 Thy face in its uplift of prayer. 
 Transfigured by faith the past all appears 
 
 A garlanded way opened wide; 
 A glorious vista of joy and of tears, 
 
 The dear, dear friends, the altar, the bride. 
 But the call of the Reaper oft heard to the fold 
 
 Hushed many of those loved ones to sleep ; 
 "Beside the still waters" they love as of old, 
 
 And vigil eternal they keep. 
 Oh, marvelous love ! For the oncoming years 
 
 We pray His righteousness still 
 To illumine thy pathway and dispel all thy fears. 
 
 While loving and working His will. 
 
 New York, April 9, 1890. 
 
 One Hundred Nine — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 A DOLLAR FOR THE CHURCH 
 
 A poem must come, a dollar be made, 
 
 Tho' rhymes and dimes are not my trade. 
 
 Still must I try; my wings must fly. 
 
 Out of my brain must come a strain 
 
 Of jingle and tingle to mix and to mingle 
 
 The dryest of worth with heartiest mirth ; 
 
 That saints that are wrinkled, 
 
 And saints that are gray, 
 
 That saints that are youngest, 
 
 And saints that are gay, 
 
 May laugh and beguile one sweet hour away. 
 
 But oh, that dollar; how can I get it? 
 I cannot beg, how can I fix it? 
 A bright idea. The Christian will 
 Bring it, Subscribe, subscribe. 
 Dear friend, without a bribe. 
 At once, at once, subscribe, sub; 
 A shoulder cold: 
 "No Christian needed in our fold." 
 
 Sedalia, 1895. 
 
 — One Hundred Ten- 
 
HER POEMS 
 
 BABY HANDS-OLDER HANDS 
 
 In childhood's hours — for joy or woe 
 
 A day is a ponderous thing. 
 The morrows are all too stately and slow, 
 
 Delaying the pleasures they promise to bring. 
 
 But on they go — both sure and fleet, 
 
 These days of slow advance. 
 And baby hands and baby feet 
 
 Go gaily on in the dance. 
 
 But a little while and the past will hold 
 
 A measure so full of days 
 That baby memories growing old 
 
 In looking back will count decades. 
 
 Ah well, if baby hands and baby feet 
 
 Have kept their record true, 
 The older hands and older feet 
 
 Will have no cause to rue; 
 But all be joy and all be sweet 
 
 To lay at the Master's holy feet. 
 
 New York, October, 1889. 
 
 — One Hundred Bleven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 GARFIELD'S STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 
 
 (Trip to Lon^ Branch. When he was dyin^) 
 
 Bow to your God, ye men called divine ; 
 Kneel on the sod, ye men from the mine ; 
 Swift run your train, O good engineer ; 
 Brave, though he dies, there's nothing to fear. 
 
 Hark : "Let her go," the dying man said ; 
 Speed, then, your train, and onward they sped; 
 Too late, alas ! the breeze from the wave 
 Kissed his pale brow, but too late to save. 
 
 Room for the hearse, a great soul is gone; 
 Break, oh, ye hearts, the dark deed is done; 
 Toll all ye bells, a world bows in grief ; 
 Roar all ye guns, dead, dead, lies your chief. 
 
 Mourn, all ye fair, your hero lies low; 
 Songs fill the air, but all tell of woe; 
 Droop for your son, ye flag of the free ; 
 Wail all ye lands, from sea unto sea. 
 
 Jersey City, October 1, 188L 
 
 — One Hundred Twelve 
 
HBR POEMS 
 
 THE CHILD'S SONG 
 
 Kitty, kitty, go to sleep, 
 
 Shut your eyes, now don't you peep; 
 
 Sing with me your little song, 
 
 But do not make it very long. 
 
 Hurry, kitty, for you see, 
 Mamma soon will come for me; 
 And I must see you safe in bed, 
 All covered up except your head. 
 
 And while I rock you in my chair. 
 You must purr your little prayer; 
 Although you say it soft and low, 
 Christ will hear it all, you know. 
 
 Mamma makes me bend my knee, 
 But kitty, dear, you can't, you see; 
 For you're too little yet to try, 
 See : I'm so tall, and big, and high. 
 
 And then you can't say any words. 
 No more than chicks or little birds; 
 But when you do your best to tell. 
 He will hear you just as well. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., February 18, 1879. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirteen — 
 
MBMOIRS 
 CONSOLATION 
 
 (To Mr. and Mrs. T. A. Gunnell, of Colorado Springs, on the death 
 of their daughter, "Kate") 
 
 "There is no death," save death for Hfe, 
 Our Hfe is here the wealth of death; 
 
 No hfe on earth our God doth give 
 That is not nurtured by its breath. 
 
 Your darhng only closed her eyes 
 To open them on deathless life; 
 
 The eternal hills of Paradise 
 Are hers, with everlasting life. 
 
 No death nor anguish will she know 
 In that fair realm where life is love, 
 
 No shadow cloud her radiant brow 
 Where Peace eternal reigns above. 
 
 Let not your home be hushed and stilled 
 Where erst her voice made melody, 
 
 The keys her fairy fingers trilled 
 Will yield again their symphony. 
 
 O, stricken ones, be strong and brave, 
 
 Your storm-swept hearts our Lord will still ; 
 
 The world is full of souls to save. 
 Your child is safe. Abide His will. 
 
 New York, March 10, 1890. 
 
 — One Hundred Fourteen — 
 
HBR POEMS 
 
 MY FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY 
 
 Out of God's eternal treasure, 
 
 Moving swiftly through the spheres, 
 
 Come to us with unvoiced measure 
 
 Days and weeks and months and years. 
 
 They are jewels for our keeping, 
 And by toil must polished be; 
 
 While in darkest hours of weeping 
 They gather light we cannot see. 
 
 Tho' the task is long and heavy, 
 Bravely we must bear it all; 
 
 For even gems without their grinding 
 Ne'er can grace a kingly hall. 
 
 Time, with furnace-heat and mallet. 
 Helps us deal the needed blows ; 
 
 And will lose no scattered fragment 
 From the anvil where it glows. 
 
 Then at last sweet rest will find us, 
 Decked in years and years of gems, 
 
 And the darkness left behind us 
 Will be aglow with diadems. 
 
 — One Hundred Fifteen — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 So today I tread the highlands 
 Of the glorious, golden time, 
 
 Where the pilgrim scarce can enter 
 Without prophecy sublime. 
 
 Sedalia, January 10, 1880. 
 
 THRENODY 
 
 Oh, ye strange city of the dead, 
 
 Ye are not strange to me ; 
 
 Hearts with more of love 
 
 Than earth could hold 
 
 Are in thy strong embrace, 
 
 And I did share that love, 
 
 Feet whose swiftness 
 
 Outran for me the fastest 
 
 Flight of time; and dear folded 
 
 Hands that were quick to bind 
 
 My slightest wounds, 
 
 And lip and eye whose 
 
 Inwrought souls hid 
 
 All my faults in sympathy 
 
 Divine, lie sleeping in thy shades. 
 
 Ah, for me such 
 
 Noble ser\dce hath been 
 
 Wrought in such sweet way, by them, 
 
 That love did give to love 
 
 A prophecy of Heaven. 
 
 — One Hundred Sixteen — 
 
HBR POBMS 
 
 Only yester morn through 
 
 Thy silent groves another form 
 
 Was borne, a dear tired 
 
 Form, whose dimpled 
 
 Hands did clasp my 
 
 Own at school, and later walked 
 
 Beside me in the young 
 
 Romance of life. 
 
 Anon, our hands did 
 
 Touch in mid-day's shine 
 
 And storm, and we 
 
 Wept and joyed together as time 
 
 Went on. And now her 
 
 Sinless life, with the stamp of grief 
 
 In deepest lines 
 
 Upon her sad brow. 
 
 Is yielded up 
 
 To God in all her chastened 
 
 Beauty. Each pain and sorrow 
 
 Suffered here, and borne so patiently, 
 
 Beams now a gem of glory 
 
 In her coronet of love and joy. 
 
 And so it is not strange to me 
 
 This land of hallowed dead, 
 
 Their music sweet fills all the air. 
 
 On this my soul is fed. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., September, 1898. 
 
 — One Hundred Seventeen- 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 TO "GRANDMA" KULLMER, ON HER 
 EIGHTY-NINTH BIRTHDAY 
 
 Sweet spirit that so long hath graced 
 
 The royal feast of life, 
 And given thy service in the ranks 
 
 Of holy Christian strife. 
 
 We come with loving words to greet 
 Thy presence while we may; 
 
 To weave a garland for thy brow 
 On this glad Christmas day. 
 
 In all our years that backward lie, 
 
 Thou hast led the way. 
 And all that dreadful seemed to youth. 
 
 Made beautiful as day. 
 
 The awful path where trials lay 
 
 In wait for tender feet. 
 Dismayed us, till we saw beyond. 
 
 Thy face so pure and sweet. 
 
 The lowering clouds, the storm and stress. 
 From which we shrank with fear, 
 
 Changed in thy blessed company 
 To Heavenly calm and cheer. 
 
 Like leaves that in the warm embrace 
 
 Of sun and dew unfold, 
 The glow of Jesus' love thy face 
 
 And form benignly hold. 
 
 — One Hundred Eighteen — 
 
HER POBMS 
 
 Filled at His fount of love, thy heart 
 
 Reflects His love again, 
 Then giveth out, in word and deed, 
 
 Unto thy fellow men. 
 
 And so we come with joy to greet 
 Thy presence while we may. 
 
 To weave a garland for thy brow 
 On this, thy natal day. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., December 25, 1898. 
 
 TO MILDRED BARD 
 
 (On receiving her picture) 
 
 Roses lie all about thy path, my child, 
 And sunshine gilds thy day. 
 
 But He who grants this joyous life 
 May sometime cloud thy way. 
 
 Then take and trust a Father's love. 
 
 He doeth all things well. 
 Be yours the Hope — the Faith to move — 
 
 The shadows to dispel. 
 
 Life is sweet, my little friend. 
 To those whose hearts are true. 
 
 And Love's the passport in the end 
 That makes our Heaven secure. 
 
 — One Hundred Nineteen — ' 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 A FRIEND'S SILVER WEDDING 
 
 (Mr. and Mrs. Sam Beiler) 
 
 In all the world there's not a girl 
 So dear to me as darling Jennie; 
 
 She'd say me nay in such sweet way 
 It didn't scare me worth a penny. 
 
 Her step was high and her tender eye 
 Beat all the eyes of lovers faery; 
 
 When turned on me, bade darkness flee, 
 I longed to call her "mine, my dearie." 
 
 A time there came when hope was gone, 
 For 'neath the stars one silent evening 
 
 I left her with a heart forlorn. 
 
 And gave my heart to bitter grieving. 
 
 Another time she gave a smile, 
 
 That smile her maiden love confessing ; 
 
 And in all these years, 'tis true, my dears, 
 Oh, girls, you cannot beat me guessing. 
 
 And thus tonight, with love bedight, 
 I here unfurl the silver lining; 
 
 For every cloud has turned to light, 
 Transformed by Cupid's soft beguiling. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty — 
 
HER POBMS 
 
 In fragrant fells and bosky dells, 
 Where'er a loyal lover dwells, 
 
 No word so sweet as one that tells 
 Of wedding bells, sweet silver bells. 
 
 Oh, bells sublime, oh, bells divine, 
 Oh, happy, heavenly wedding bells. 
 
 The silver bells, the golden bells. 
 The everlasting wedding bells. 
 
 Ring out, ring out your glad refrain, 
 
 Ring 'round the earth your happy chimes; 
 
 Ring out, and out, and out again, 
 And ring to Heaven the glad Amen. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., 1897. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 TO AGNES DALBY 
 
 (On receiving a beautiful picture of herself) 
 
 Pausing here in grace and beauty 
 
 Heart and soul all undefiled, 
 I would throw life's fairest flowers 
 
 For thy feet, my darling child. 
 
 And in all thy happy morning 
 
 Stamped by heaven with richest ray 
 
 Youth and joy thy face adorning, 
 
 Hope's sweetest song should be my lay. 
 
 And on and on through womanhood 
 
 More grace, more beauty and more song, 
 
 With love divine, (not understood) 
 Should keep thy steps thy way along, 
 
 September, 1900. 
 
 ON BIRTHDAY OF MY FRIEND, MRS. JAEL 
 GENTRY, 1903 
 
 Oh, blessed baby, with eyes of blue 
 
 Laughing and sobbing the whole day through ! 
 
 Day by day each year hath wrought 
 And added grace, a wealth of thought, 
 
 A halo on thy brow hath thrown 
 Of duty well and bravely borne. 
 
 — One Hundred Tzvcnty-two — 
 
HBR POBMS 
 
 That baby, now with crown of white, 
 Her life aglow with heavenly light, 
 
 Is laughing still — with eyes of blue 
 
 And working still — the whole day through 
 
 And blessing still— in many ways, 
 
 Oh, grant her more — more years of days. 
 
 MY VALENTINE 
 
 In every clime beneath the sun. 
 Where'er the rapid years do run. 
 Until both sun and stars decline, 
 I'll hold you as my Valentine. 
 
 And when the sands of life run low, 
 And fortunes come and fortunes go ; 
 In tottering age, in life's decline, 
 You still shall be my Valentine. 
 
 And when both days and years are past. 
 And we have reached the eternal vast, 
 E'en then and there you shall be mine, 
 My ever living Valentine. 
 
 February, 1895. 
 
 One Hundred Twenty-three ■ 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 HELP FOR THE POOR 
 
 Mothers, look out from your warm, sunny homes 
 Where comfort and love have made their abode, 
 
 And count, if you can, the dear little ones 
 Whom poverty drives away from your door. 
 
 From carpets so soft that your tread is unheard. 
 From firesides crackling and sparkling with mirth. 
 
 From cradles where naught but the love coo is heard, 
 From walls that shut in all the pleasures of earth. 
 
 Let your feet go in search of the waifs of the town. 
 Look into their hovels of want or of shame. 
 
 And show them the beauty of labor and toil. 
 And teach them to work for a home and a name. 
 
 Little untrained hands that are empty and cold, 
 Little hearts that have never been lifted in prayer, 
 
 Little feet that are wandering away from the fold. 
 Little moans that are lost on the dull wintry air 
 
 Are waiting for balm you only can bring, 
 
 The light you can throw on their darkened way; 
 
 The gladness of song you only can sing. 
 The glorious love that brightens your day. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-four — 
 
HER POEMS 
 
 Like toiling insects beneath the dark sea, 
 
 We are building a fabric our Father hath planned, 
 
 Where each one must work, tho ' in shadow it be, 
 Till eternity's light reveals where we stand. 
 
 Teach them the gladness of work, and a song will be sung, 
 
 Hallelujahs the angels will hear; 
 "The sweat of thy brow" is the magical word 
 
 That rings down the ages in tones loud and clear. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., 1884. 
 
 REMINISCENCE 
 
 (Coming to Sedalia) 
 
 An impulse eternal from the Great and the Good 
 Stirred the heart of our father as he turned from the wood 
 And built in the prairie a home in its wild. 
 Where solitude reigned supreme, undefiled. 
 
 Under its roof tree sweet fancies were told 
 
 Of the future, excelling King Midas of old ; 
 
 Suns rose and set, stars shone on high, 
 
 And the winds, undisturbed, trailed their Avay from the sky. 
 
 The family housed, he went out in the blast 
 And battled for progress and privilege vast ; 
 All alone for a time he wrought with a will, 
 Knowing Heaven at last his wish would fulfill. 
 
 Sedalia. Mo.. February 24, 1895. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 A CHILD AND THE BUTTERFLY 
 A Tfoc Story 
 
 (Dear Little Maggie Laidlaw) 
 
 "Butterfly, butterfly, beautiful thing! 
 
 Did you catch from the rainbow your many haied wing? 
 
 Did the sun, as you came through the skies, 
 
 From palette o 'erf lowing with exquisite dyes, 
 
 Drop splashes of paints on your wings soft and white, 
 
 And send you to me in this Avhirl of delight? 
 
 ' ' Butterfly, butterfly, light on my hand ! 
 
 Just look and you'll notice how still I can stand. 
 
 I will hurt you no more than the trees and the flowers, 
 
 Where you frolic and play all the long summer hours. 
 
 I'll pluck a bright "star"* from the grass at my feet. 
 
 And hold it up high while my call I repeat." 
 
 Over the fence and aAvay to the street, 
 The butterfly swept on his wing wild and fleet, 
 And left the child chasing it down to the gate. 
 Calling, "Butterfly, butterfly, why can't you wait?" 
 The scene and the tones in my mind linger yet, 
 Making picture and music I cannot forget. 
 
 The next summer came with its flowers and birds ; 
 Its skies deep and blue, holding billows of pearls. 
 Its pleasures and gladness, from Heaven above, 
 
 ♦Dandelion. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-six 
 
HER POEMS 
 
 Were weaving about us, a fabric of love. 
 
 When alas ! The beautiful child craving beautiful things, 
 
 Was borne from our arms upon angels' bright wings. 
 
 The dear little hands that our own had kept warm, 
 The frolicksonie feet we had guarded from harm ; 
 Grew pulseless and still — the spirit had fled, — 
 We were watching alone with our glorified dead. 
 Like the child for the fly, now we call and we wait, 
 Looking still toward the sky, standing still at the gate. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., June, 1878. 
 
 A LITTLE TRIBUTE TO MRS. A. D. JAYNES 
 
 Oh, come and bring flowers, earth's richest flowers, 
 And lay them all down down at her feet ; 
 
 She loved you and blessed you in life's sunny hours. 
 And now she is resting in sleep. 
 
 'Tis no time to weep, 'tis no time to mourn, 
 
 When her victory of life is complete -, 
 But bring chaplets, rare chaplets of flowers. 
 
 The richest of flowers, and lay them all down at her feet. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., December 1, 1900. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-seven — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 PARODY 
 
 The melanch'oly days are come, the saddest of the year, 
 The punkin pie is almost done, our jubilee is near; 
 Heaped in barrels down below, the fragrant apples lie 
 A-waitin' for the sewin' bee an' girl with laffin' eye. 
 
 The win's a-howlin' 'round the house, the rain is fallin' fast, 
 The leaves are flyin' up an' down, the sunshine all is past ; 
 The hay is in the barn, an' the corn is in the shock, 
 An' the boys '11 go a-huskin', whether schule keeps in or not. 
 
 An' gramma keeps a-knittin' — a-knittin' for us all — 
 
 An ' I hold the hanks while Mimy winds the ball ; 
 
 Our Mimy is a daisy, with cheeks like apples red, 
 
 An ' she blushes, an ' she blushes at everything that 's said. 
 
 The wren is gone, an 'all the birds, and the rabbit thro' the leaves 
 Keeps up a noise, a constant noise like rain from drippin' eaves; 
 The win's a-blowing all the day, an' from the trees the crow 
 Seems a-grievin' for the flowers that perished long ago. 
 
 But Mimy's lips are like the rose, her eyes the sweetest blue, 
 An' then her hair ain't very red, but just a golden hue; 
 An' the sunflower's nothin' to the yaller dress she wears 
 When we are out a-walkin', an' aigazing at the stars. 
 
 An ' when a good day comes, as still such days will come 
 To call the squirrel an' the bee from out their winter home. 
 An' I hear the nuts a-droppin', e'en tho' the trees are still 
 An' all the day is smoky o'er the waters of the rill. 
 
 — One Hundred Twenty-eight — 
 
HBR POEMS 
 
 Ah, then I wouldn't care how many summers died 
 
 If Mirny could be only forever at my side; 
 
 No gloom would ever darken that happy home of ours, 
 
 For 'twould blossom as the rose with Eden's fairest flowers. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., November 10, 1890. 
 
 SIXTIETH BIRTHDAY REFLECTIONS 
 
 A Spinner who wrought with the speed of the wind, 
 On an errand of mercy was sent to mankind; 
 From the throne of the Master his mandate was given : 
 Draw out a thread so strong, so sublime. 
 That nothing can rend it; nor malice, nor hate. 
 Draw it out ! Draw it out, the task is divine. 
 From morn until night no rest must thou take; 
 From night until morn the same diligence make — 
 Through sunshine and tempest, in storm and in calm. 
 Relax not thy vigil, withhold not thine arm. 
 Wouldst know this thread from the realm of day? 
 'Tis the Christ love in mortals, those beings of clay. 
 Who frail as a bubble have come in their pride. 
 With this golden thread their only true guide 
 Through the storms and quicksands of this lowly earth 
 It leads back to heaven, the place of their birth. 
 And guarding it well from stain and from rust ; 
 'Tis the anchor of safety that will hold for the Just. 
 
 New York, 1890. 
 
 — One Hundred Tiventy-nine — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 INVALID REVERIES 
 
 My morning was bright with a glorious sky, 
 And I joined the toilers hurrying by; 
 But my hands were soon idle, my feet became still, 
 Impatient, I cried, "Is it really God's will?" 
 
 I'm weary with beating 'gainst cold prison bars 
 That shut out my life as clouds do the stars ; 
 I'm chafing to join the bold busy throng, 
 Who are giving their work as birds do their song. 
 
 Oh, bounteous heaven, is there nothing for me, 
 Save idling here on the sands of the sea, 
 Watching the workers who haste to the shore, 
 Their sheaves safely garnered, their labors all o'er? 
 
 The waters already are touching my feet. 
 No work have I done that for Heaven seems meet; 
 What shall I say to the "Spirit who grieves" 
 To carry me over with "nothing but leaves?" 
 
 Oh, for strength in the vineyard to work for one day; 
 But if that is denied me, still let me pray 
 That God will accept me as one of the throng 
 Who worships and loves Him with unceasing song. 
 
 St. Louis, October, 1879. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty — 
 
HER POEMS 
 
 THOUGHTS ON THE CLOSE OF A BEAUTIFUL 
 YOUNG LIFE 
 
 "Time is short, and work must be done," 
 
 And her delicate fingers wove night and day; 
 
 So swiftly they wrought their fabric of love 
 
 That the blush of the morn was still on her cheek, 
 
 Its dews not yet brushed away by her feet. 
 
 When the web and the woof of her life were all told, 
 
 And fell into our arms, rich fold upon fold. 
 
 Finished, finished! Oh, God, it is soon 
 
 To close such a life. For so sweet a boon 
 
 To go out from our perishing earth — 
 
 So weak, so needing the help she could give, 
 
 Could heaven not spare her yet a short time to live? 
 
 Still, Father, we bless thee, thou lovest the fair, 
 
 And our angel is safe, tho' gone from our care; 
 
 But, Father, we grope, it is dark, give us light. 
 
 Let us not sink, but have strength to bear. 
 
 To do, and to dare, to work in the world's busy throng. 
 
 Our darling so brightened our pathway here 
 
 That we knew little of sadness, thought little of fear. 
 
 Take thou now our hand, dear Lord, 
 
 And lead us, tho' blindly, by thy living word, 
 
 And let us not cringe as the slaves of a King, 
 
 But knowing thy love, tho' we weep, let us sing. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., June, 1887. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty-one — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 MY SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY 
 
 Oh, I can never forget, it clings to me yet, 
 The bound and the swing of life's merry spring. 
 When with sister at play at the breaking of day, 
 When the world, newly born, woke the stir of the morn, 
 
 And the whispering stars with Orion and Mars, 
 Were fanned in the sky by the wind passing by. 
 Making melody sweet, that danced in our feet, 
 And bowed the great trees in the whispering breeze. 
 
 Or when our little tasks ended, our mother suspended 
 A few moments more her watch at the door. 
 And in race or in dance, away we would prance, 
 Beguiling the time in laughter and smile. 
 
 So it comes to me yet with but little regret, 
 For my seventy years have banished the tears, 
 The vista between filled with beauty serene 
 Is vocal with song all the day long. 
 
 Oh, the lark's note on high, and the wind sailing by. 
 We hear it today as together we pray, 
 
 "Nearer, Nearer, My God, to Thee," hand in hand, oh, let us 5 
 More and more Thy love divine, more and more, oh, make 
 Thine. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., 1890. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty-two — 
 
HBR POEMS 
 
 DEATH 
 
 With reverent awe, oh, dreaded Death, 
 
 I beg to lift thy somber veil 
 The while I seek with bated breath 
 
 To find God's love in thee prevail. 
 
 Oh, let me come and lift the pall. 
 Perchance, e'en glory I may see; 
 
 For He who made and loveth all, 
 
 Hath crowned our earthly life with thee. 
 
 Then let me linger near thy side 
 As friend and friend together go. 
 
 And waiting in thy portal wide. 
 Abide my time 'till all I know. 
 
 It cannot be that thou dost hide 
 In awful covert lone and bare 
 
 Save but to crush some awful pride 
 And give for love a wild despair. 
 
 No, thy wing is brooding in the air. 
 In every sound thy tale is told ; 
 
 Thy Maker's law doth everywhere 
 Demand a new life for the old. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty-three — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 By thee my pulses first were stirred, 
 By thee my wants are all supplied; 
 
 New songs in life had ne'er been heard 
 If older music had not died. 
 
 Without thee I had never known 
 The pleasure of this life on earth; 
 
 And can I doubt that from thy throne 
 We gain the great immortal birth? 
 
 Then creep no more, O soul of mine. 
 
 Through paths by Death itself made bright. 
 
 But plume thy wings for fairer clime, 
 And soar with her to higher light. 
 
 Oh ! let our vanished ones have wings 
 To speed them on to worlds sublime, 
 
 For universal Nature sings, 
 
 "The Hand that made us is divine." 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., August, 1878. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty-four — 
 
HBR POBMS 
 
 PASSING OF THE CENTURY 
 
 Oh, Time, withhold thy hand. Take not yet away from us 
 
 This century grand. This century on whose fair tablets men 
 
 Have writ such noble deeds. We know the good old 
 
 Eighteen hundred, and now, ere thou hast closed the door, 
 
 Ere the lock is turned forever on this hallowed name. 
 
 And we are thrust in stranger halls, may we not wander back 
 
 And clasp once more the hands we loved and grasped. 
 
 And hear once more from lips that loved, our name 
 
 In love? What has this Nineteen Hundred with its long 
 
 Stretch of years to exchange for our happy past? 
 
 We pray thee wait a little while before the change. 
 
 And make more sure of all the wonders men have wrought, 
 
 And now hold out to thee. Old' Time. 
 
 The clouds that draped the world in darkness all 
 
 Day long, sped rapidly away, and while I mused, 
 
 The stars joined hands and danced in gladness. 
 
 The good old year with sweeter face than I had ere beheld, 
 
 And eyes that beamed o'er all the world in love. 
 
 Laid all her burdens down, gathered up her 
 
 Jewels of Truth and Righteousness and 
 
 Shedding happiness from her golden wings, 
 
 Waved a glad good night, and vanished 
 
 Into that hallowed past that already 
 
 Holds for us so much of the beautiful. 
 
 — One Hundred Thirty-five — 
 
MEMOIRS 
 
 The fair New Year had come while I lingered 
 
 With the old. And life went bounding on to the 
 
 Music of the stars, as from creation's dawn, 
 
 And the lesson, that only Love and Faith and Hope 
 
 And character are immortal, and that the 
 
 Pure in heart alone shall see God, was borne into my soul 
 
 With the gladness of the night, and I was happy 
 
 And welcomed Nineteen Hundred 
 
 As the other sped away. 
 
 Sedalia, Mo., January 1, 1900. 
 
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