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 OUR TWO LIVES; 
 
 GRAHAM AND I 
 
 BY 
 
 A. Hi K. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH & COMPANY, 
 
 900 BROADWAY, COR. 2Oth ST.
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, In the year 1878, by 
 
 AKSON D. F. RANDOLPH & Co., 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. CL 
 
 EDWARD O. JENKINS. ROBERT RU 
 
 fR'NTER AND STEREOTYPER. BINDER, 
 
 *> N. WILLIAM ST., N. Y. M HUMAN TMI
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HERE it is; three o'clock in the 
 afternoon, and I have but just now 
 remembered that this is the anniversary 
 of my marriage-day ! It seems heathen- 
 ish not to have thought of it before; 
 but my hand? have been fully occupied, 
 and there are days when a housekeep- 
 er has little time for sentiment. Now I 
 have remembered it, thoughts and feelings 
 crowd thick and fast on brain and heart. 
 How long back in the past my marriage 
 seems ! Yet it was only five years ago to- 
 night. 
 
 How vividly it all rises before me that 
 dear old parlor, where I stood under grand- 
 father's picture ; the wreath of white roses 
 
 I* (5)
 
 6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 round it ; the throng of faces, felt, rather 
 than seen ; the voice of the aged pastor, 
 whom I loved like a father, and whose bene- 
 diction still lingers in my ear these, and 
 the thrilling sense of unseen witnesses, all 
 come back to me now. 
 
 Was it a mere fancy that my dear father, 
 who would have been so deeply moved at 
 giving his only child into the keeping of 
 another, was near me then, though the 
 green turf had been lying many a year on 
 his beloved face ? Was he not really there, 
 knowing and sympathizing in my joy ? 
 Could all this be taking place in my life, 
 and he feel no interest he who had always 
 watched over me with such intense anxiety ? 
 
 It is, of course, impossible to answer such 
 a question; but I know that the conscious- 
 ness 1 had of his presence, if only a pleasing 
 fancy, gave an added sacredness and joy to 
 the occasion. 
 
 After my engagement to Graham, I had 
 been tortured by doubts and misgivings 
 not of him, but of myself. I knew I loved
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. j 
 
 nim truly and tenderly; but I was in all 
 things so much his inferior, bringing him 
 no dower of wealth, or grace, or beauty. 
 Could I hope to make him happy, anJ 
 should I ever become what he had a right 
 to expect his wife to be ? 
 
 I was nothing but a poor little school- 
 teacher, and he was the only son of the old- 
 est family in the county, having intellect, 
 education, and family connections to boast 
 of not wealth, though I do not think I 
 could have married him if, in addition to all 
 the rest, he had been wealthy ; but, by 
 some accident, that had been lost, and he 
 had only his profession, with a small pit- 
 tance added, to begin with. But the King- 
 ston family pride was proverbial ; and I was 
 the least of all nobodies, so far as family was 
 concerned. 
 
 But, on the eve of my marriage-day, these 
 doubts fled away, and a great peace came 
 into my soul. Not that I felt any more 
 worthy; but I placed myself and my future, 
 by a new consecration, in God's hands;
 
 8 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 giving body and soul, the present and the 
 future, into His holy keeping, with a new 
 sense of his fatherly love and care. 
 
 I think I may say, and I would say it rev- 
 erently, that my Heavenly Father's mar- 
 riage gift to me was Faith; a sweet, un- 
 doubting trust in His nearness and protec- 
 tion. I was all weakness, but He was 
 infinite strength, and His strength was 
 an exhaustless fountain, from which I 
 might always draw; therefore, I need not 
 fear. 
 
 It was very blessed thus to rest, as it 
 were, under the shadow of His wing, and 
 to have every wave of doubt and fear hush- 
 ed into peace upon my marriage morning. 
 
 The day was full of bustle and excite- 
 ment; but, while the surface was stirred by 
 thoughts of veils, bridesmaids, and wed- 
 ding-guests, deep below lay the unruffled 
 peace; and I took my marriage-vow with 
 the sustaining hope that God's blessing 
 rested on my soul. 
 
 Five years ago to-day, and how changed
 
 OUR 2 WO LIVES. 9 
 
 I am ! The timid, shy girl of twenty-two is 
 now a practical and rather stout matron of 
 twenty-seven, self-relying, full of care, and 
 with little time to sentimentalize ; only that 
 just now, when Graham is away, I have 
 gone back to my old habit of scribbling. It 
 is not so very quiet, though ; for my two- 
 year-old Bessie, " Queen Bess," as we often 
 call her in sport, our pet and darling, is 
 scampering about the room, full of mischief 
 and childish prattle. 
 
 Graham was right when he said marrying 
 would take the nonsense out of me ; it did, 
 and I have grown healthier in mind and 
 body. How could I help it with such a 
 sensible, patient husband? Not but that he 
 has plenty of faults, as most mortal hus- 
 bands have, I take it \ but he is upright and 
 honest to his heart's core ; a manly man, 
 without a particle of meanness or jealousy 
 in him^a man whose faults I can forget, 
 and in spite of them thoroughly honor and 
 respect. I am thankful for this. There are 
 plenty of men whose wives can never re-
 
 fO OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 spect them ; and, respect being wanting, 
 marriage must be a sad mockery. 
 
 " Who live true life can love true love," 
 
 Mrs. Browning says ; and none others, she 
 might have added. 
 
 My home is not in the least like my girl- 
 ish ideal of one; that was a sunny, cosey 
 little cottage, with vines and verandahs all 
 about it ; this is a square, old-fashioned cas- 
 tle of a house, every room marked off by 
 straight lines, all just of a size, and opening 
 into a broad hall, without a piazza or vine 
 near it ; but we have two magnificent old 
 elms waving over the high gambrel roof, 
 and they are its pride and glory. It cer- 
 tainly is a handsome old house, though not 
 in the least adapted to me ; it should have a 
 stately mistress sweeping through it in silks 
 and satins, doing the honors royally ; while 
 I have no more presence than a midge, and 
 always shrink painfully from strangers. 
 
 It was built by old Mr. Kingston, Gra
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. \\ 
 
 ham's grandfather, and in his day was filled 
 with high-born guests; afterwards, his fa- 
 ther lived here ; and two years ago, at his 
 death, Graham decided to come into it, 
 much against my wish. Our first home was 
 a tiny little cottage, brimming over with 
 sunshine ; with small parlors, straw mat- 
 tings and chintz-covered furniture ; and, 
 more than all, Baby, herself an incarnated 
 sunbeam, had been born in it, and my heart 
 clung to every board and nail. This was 
 grand and gloomy, with old-fashioned wood 
 panelings, dark-wall papers, solid mahoga- 
 ny chairs and sofas covered with funereal 
 hair-cloth, and having a mouldy, unaired 
 smell about everything ; just the house, I 
 told Graham, to see witches and hobgob- 
 lins in. And to think of bringing Baby into 
 such a place ! It was terrible to think of, 
 and a real trial to me. But Graham had 
 set his foot down, and would hear of noth- 
 ing else ; and so, wife-like, I submitted, half 
 crying my eyes out when he was out of 
 sight, calling it "the old crow's nest," and
 
 12 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 all soils of horrid names. I took that time 
 to do it; because, if we must come, I did not 
 choose to bring any more gloom into the 
 dingy old place with me. 
 
 It was natural enough, I knew, that Gra- 
 ham should want to keep the old family 
 mansion his father had given him ; and we 
 were too poor to own two but it was a 
 sore wrench to leave the dear little " Bird's- 
 nest," as we called the cottage ; and I cried 
 like a baby when I went into the rooms for 
 the last time, and thought of all we had 
 enjoyed there ; not that those three years 
 had been all happiness; but, as a whole, 
 they had been very bright, and no other 
 place could ever have such precious asso- 
 ciations as our first married home. 
 
 How well I remember the day we moved ! 
 As if to enhance the sadness, it was one of 
 the dismallest of May mornings ; not rain 
 ng exactly, but so raw and chilly that, like 
 the little old woman in the nursery rhyme, 
 " we began to shiver and we began to 
 shake," long before the end of our five
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. \<$ 
 
 miles' ride. It had been a fearfully busy 
 time ; for, as if preparation for the flitting 
 was not enough, Baby began to get a tooth, 
 and wailed day and night, as if her little 
 heart, too, was breaking over the change ; 
 so I had not been over to the new (or rather 
 the old) house ; and Graham had said he 
 would see that things were all put to rights 
 there. Putting " to rights," after a man's 
 fashion, it would be ; and I groaned in spirit 
 at the prospect. We were to take over 
 what little we had in the " Bird's-nest ;" but 
 the main part of the house would keep the 
 same old furniture. 
 
 Weary and sad enough ; and, I fear, re- 
 bellious, too, did I feel when I clambered 
 up into the carry-all that day, or rather on 
 to it ; for everything that had not gone be- 
 fore was crowded into that till it was a 
 sight to behold behind and before, under 
 the seat and over it, back of us, front of us, 
 right of us, left of us, over us and under us, 
 were packed, squeezed, jammed and ram- 
 med, boxes, baskets, bundles, pails, pitchers,
 
 I4 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 pots and pans till the whole looked as if 
 old Chaos had come back again ; and on 
 the top of everything I was perched, with 
 Baby in my arms, so covered up with 
 shawls and blankets that nothing but the 
 remotest end of her dear little nose could 
 be seen. How Graham ever got himself in, 
 in addition, remains to me a miracle to this 
 day ; but he did, and drove us over. 
 
 Not much was said on the way, the raw- 
 ness creeping into our very bones and chill- 
 ing our spirits ; indeed, I kept my mouth 
 shut, on principle, sure that something hate- 
 ful would pop out if I opened it. We went 
 slowly, of course, with all that breakable 
 freight on board ; so the weather had time 
 to change, and the clouds had lifted, and 
 a watery gleam of sunshine struggled 
 through, as we drove into the broad street 
 of Ash wood ; but never was a mortal in a 
 more unamiable frame of mind than I, when 
 having been extricated from the carry- 
 all, I dragged myself up the back door 
 steps.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 15 
 
 Baby had been asleep, but woke up just 
 then, and gave a succession of howls as her 
 father carried her in ; exhausted, I dropped 
 into the nearest chair and took her ; the 
 poor little thing was as cold as a frog, and 
 it seemed an age before we could get her 
 milk warmed, during which she screamed 
 without cessation at the top of a very ex- 
 cellent pair of lungs. 
 
 " Scream on, poor Baby," was my mental 
 ejaculation ; " it is fitting you should enter 
 this old dungeon with a wail, for precious 
 little enjoyment will you or your poor 
 mother ever know within its walls !" 
 
 This pleasant contemplation was broken 
 in upon by a cheery voice at my elbow, 
 saying, 
 
 " Wife, when you are ready, we '11 go 
 over the house, and see what is wanting." 
 
 How like a man, never tired himself or 
 dreaming anybody else can be ! What my 
 soul craved, was to sit in that dusty chair in 
 that disordered kitchen the remainder of my 
 natural life; but Baby having drunk her
 
 l6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 milk like a little pig, and gone back to 
 dream-land, had been dumped down on a 
 pile of blankets ; so there was no reason 
 why her cross mother should not follow her 
 lord and master on an exploring expedition 
 round the house. 
 
 First, we went into the broad hall that 
 ran through the house, paneled with dark 
 wood, with a spacious staircase and broad 
 landings, on one of which a tall, old clock 
 was dismally ticking off the minutes. This 
 would have been called elegant by many, 
 but not by me in that frame of mind; it 
 simply looked cold and cheerless. It was 
 the same with the large, dim parlors; 
 everything was heavy, rich, and unhome- 
 like. 
 
 I made few comments, still keeping my 
 mouth shut on principle; but, as Graham 
 talked incessantly, seeming in remarkably 
 find spirits, no one noticed it. 
 
 At length, Graham opened a door with 
 a great bang he always will bang a door 
 leading, at the back of the hall, into what
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. i* 
 
 we had fixed on for a sitting-room, it being 
 somewhat less cheerless than the others, 
 though cheerless enough to me. 
 
 But what did I behold ! Was I dream- 
 ing ? Had I lost my eyes and got a new 
 pair, or what was it ? 
 
 An enchanted palace, a fairy grotto, a 
 bower of beauty lay before me. In sober 
 English, a room with sunlight streaming all 
 ove it from a new bay-window, with a 
 bright, flower-strewed carpet on the floor ; 
 chairs, easy -chairs and lounges, covered 
 with lively-patterned chintz ; hanging bas- 
 kets, from which drooped lovely vines, with 
 pretty pictures, carved brackets, statuettes 
 and vases scattered everywhere about the 
 very realization of my ideal of a charming 
 sitting-room. 
 
 I don't know what I did ; something very 
 absurd in the way of hugging my husband, 
 and dancing about the room, I fear ; for it 
 all came over me in a flash how hard he had 
 been working to give me this surprise ; how 
 long ago he must have planned it, and how 
 2*
 
 1 8 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 carefully he had consulted my taste in every 
 little detail. I did not think it had been in 
 him to do such a thing, the dear old dar- 
 ling ; and I meantime fretting and repin- 
 ing ! 
 
 I tried to tell him, but he never fully 
 knew only one could do that how 
 ashamed of myself I felt ; and how fer- 
 vently I resolved there should always be 
 God helping me the sunshine of love and 
 peace in that old house ; yes always, let 
 whatever of outside gloom might come ! 
 
 If husbands did but know what an in- 
 centive to good behaviour gratitude is ! 
 Mine does know ; and this, I am sure, 
 is one great secret of what little good- 
 ness as a wife I have shown in these five 
 years. 
 
 Out of this ideal sitting-room opened a 
 large airy bed-room ; on that, too, a fresh 
 wall -paper had been hung, over which 
 pretty bright flower-wreaths ran ; just the 
 paper to study if I should ever be obliged 
 to lie in my bed with nothing else to do I
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ig 
 
 had tried that, with only blank white walls 
 to cheer me ! 
 
 If I were a good fairy, one of the very 
 first things I would do would be to put 
 lively pictures or cheery wall-papers on the 
 rooms of invalids ; for what is to keep 
 hosts of such from going frantic by gaz- 
 .ng on blank white walls with their poor, 
 longing eyes, which must look somewhere, 
 day in and day out and alas ! alas ! too 
 often, night in and night out besides I am 
 sure I don't know. 
 
 These lovely rooms made the whole house 
 brighter, and by degrees I managed to get 
 every part of it aired ; as the sun shone in, 
 the ghosts and spiders trooped out, and 
 Baby crows there now, as merrily as she 
 ever did in the cottage ; and her tiny feet 
 go pattering up and down the great hall, as 
 though it had been made for her to romp 
 in, with no fear of the ancestral Kingstons 
 before her eyes, the darling ! 
 
 So to-day, though my preference would 
 still be for a smaller house ; and I do not
 
 20 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 yet feel quite at ease in the company par- 
 lors, always managing to get my guests into 
 the sitting-room, if possible I flatter myself 
 there is a warm, human atmosphere pervad- 
 ing the whole house ; and my heart swells 
 with unutterable gratitude when I remem- 
 ber how much I have enjoyed here, and 
 how good God has been to me, to us all, in 
 these two years.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 I HAD written that chapter and just 
 laid down my pen, when I saw Miss 
 Patty Train coming up the yard. As 
 soon as she had taken breath, after plump- 
 ing herself down into a rocking chair, 
 she began to open her budget of ca- 
 lamities, talking in her hoarse, croaking 
 tones, that always reminds me of a tomb- 
 stone. 
 
 " I 'spose you know, Miss Kingston," she 
 said, " there's scarlet fever down to Beebe's : 
 Laury and Tom are both down with it, and 
 the doctor says Laury won't live the night 
 out. She's jest the same age as your Bet- 
 sey, born the very day after. I allus re- 
 member that, because I was in to Miss 
 Beebe's that very afternoon ; and Sally Mor- 
 gan, she was there too ; and, says she, ' Law- 
 
 (21)
 
 22 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 yer Kingston 's got a baby born last night, 
 and they are mighty tickled about it.' 
 ' They 'd better not feel too crank,' says I ; 
 ' 'taint noways likely 'twill live long ; wo- 
 men like her don't have babies with any 
 constitution. She has lived a spell, you 
 see, but then she's allus been a puny, weak- 
 ly thing, and she ain't had nothin' yet no 
 scarlet fever, nor mumps, nor measles, nor 
 whoopin' cough them's what carries child- 
 ren off,' I tell 'em." 
 
 My Bessie puny and weakly ! Who ever 
 heard such nonsense ? Yet it frightened me 
 to hear of scarlet fever in the neighborhood, 
 the one disease I had stood in mortal terror 
 of ever since Bessie was born. 
 
 41 It 'ud go hard with Betsey if she was to 
 get the fever," croaked on Miss Patty, in her 
 dismallest tone, "and she's been exposed, 
 for Miss Beebe says she see you and her go 
 into Tim Maloney's t'other night ; and Tim's 
 Pat had just that minute gone out of Miss 
 Beebe's kitchen, where Miss Beebe was a 
 settin' with Laury in her lap, trying to warm
 
 OUR TIVO Lfl'ES. 23 
 
 her up a little by the kitchen stove, and she 
 was just a breakin' out with the rash, the 
 very time to give it. ' I'll jest run round 
 and tell her,' says I, ' for, like as not, Miss 
 Kingston hain't heard a breath about it, and 
 ain't a mite worried about Betsey.' " 
 
 Yes, I had stepped in at Tim Maloney's 
 that night to see his wife about some wash- 
 ing, and Bessie and Pat had stood close to- 
 gether staring at each other as children 
 will; and he just from the side of Laura 
 Beebe, who was dying of scarlet fever ! I 
 could not help feeling a good deal alarmed.. 
 
 '-' How was Laura first taken ?" I asked. 
 
 " Oh, just as they allus be ; fust hot and 
 then cold ; and all to once she was in a rag-in' 
 fever, and her skin as red as any beet you 
 ever see. They didn't send for no doctor, 
 thinkin' at first 'twan't nothin' but a cold ; 
 but as soon as he laid his eyes on her, he 
 raid she'd die. If I was you, Miss Kings, 
 '.on, I'd clap a mustard poultice onto Bet- 
 sey's stomach, and get her feet into hot 
 water as quick as ever I could, and then
 
 24 OUR Tiro LIVES. 
 
 put her to bed with a dose of seeny ; 'twon I 
 do her no harm, you know and her face 
 does look proper red, I declare !" 
 
 Bessie had just come in, her cheeks all 
 aglow from romping in the garden. I calle^ 
 her to me, examined her pulse, looked at 
 her tongue, felt of her skin, and, alarmed as 
 I was, could find nothing out of the way ; 
 and once more running my eye over her 
 sturdy little figure, broad chest and ruddy 
 cheeks, could not help saying, a little tri- 
 umphantly : 
 
 " I don't call that a puny child, Miss 
 Train." 
 
 " Them's just the ones to be took off sud- 
 denly," she said ; " the fever '11 go harder 
 with her for being so full-blooded. I'd give 
 her a dose of physic anyhow, 'twon't do her 
 no harm, you know." 
 
 I did not agree with Miss Patty there ; a 
 dose of nauseous drugs to disturb and irri- 
 tate her stomach would be sure to do a well 
 child harm ; but I was weak enough to soak 
 her feet, and give her aconite, because she
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 $ 
 
 happened to cough once or twice, and said, 
 " Yes, mummer," when I asked her if her 
 throat was sore. To be sure she said, " Yes, 
 mummer," with equal alacrity, when I asked 
 if her throat felt well; but Miss Patty's 
 croak had taken effect ; the child might 
 have been exposed, her flesh did seem hot, 
 Graham was gone; and what if anything 
 should happen ! 
 
 My eyes filled with tears when she lisped 
 her " Now I lay me down to sleep," and I 
 kissed her more passionately than ever. 
 Oh, how fervently I prayed that night that 
 God would spare me my sweet lamb ! 
 
 I had a restless night, constantly watch- 
 ing Bessie's breathing, and, fancying it was 
 too quick, more than once lighting the lamp 
 to see if there had been any change, and 
 wondering if it would not be safer to have 
 the doctor in the morning. Graham would 
 not be home till night, and I always felt so 
 helpless when he was gone. 
 
 In the morning, I had partly slept off my 
 alarm, yet not entirely, and I anxiously
 
 26 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 watched the child as she played with ner 
 tiny cups and saucers. 
 
 " Suddenly she said, " Now, I'll/ay /" and, 
 bowing her curly head, she murmured, 
 " Our Fader who art in Heaven ; for Christ's 
 sake, Amen." 
 
 At another time, I should not have noticed 
 this ; but when she pushed back her play- 
 things and began to sing, rocking back and 
 forth in her little chair, 
 
 "Jesus loves me, when I die 
 He will take me to the 'ty,' 
 
 it affected me strangely, and I telt as if 
 Jesus were going to take her to Him- 
 self. 
 
 " I'll send for the doctor," I said ; " that 
 can't do any harm, as Miss Patty says." 
 
 But, just then, the door opened, and Gra- 
 ham's dear old homely face looked in ; 
 the face that always brings sunshine and 
 strength with it. 
 
 " The Court adjo:irned last night ; so you 
 see I am home twelve hours sooner than I
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 27 
 
 expected. But what's the matter, wife? 
 you look forlorn !" 
 
 I felt far less forlorn with his strong arm 
 around me ; but I told him about the scarlet 
 fever and my fears. He looked at the child 
 anxiously ; a moment, then caught her up 
 in his arms, tossed her up to the ceiling, and 
 shouted : 
 
 "You old Mother Bunch, you are the 
 wettest child in town, Miss Patty Train to 
 the contrary, notwithstanding." 
 
 " I, too, could laugh then, though I watch- 
 ed the child closely for a week or two. 
 
 That night, when Baby we still call her 
 so, the darling was asleep in her little crib, 
 Graham laid down his newspaper and pro- 
 posed to read to me, as he often did at 
 evening. 
 
 " No," I said, " I'd rather talk to-night 
 about Bessie. It troubles me, Graham, 
 when I see how I cling to that child. If she 
 were to be taken away, I couldn't bear it 
 it would kill me. I can't say ' Thy will be 
 done,' when I think of it. Life would be so
 
 28 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 desolate I couldn't live without my baby P 
 and I sobbed hysterically. 
 
 " But, my dear, if ^ the Lord were actually 
 to come for her, don't you suppose he 
 would help you to give her up ? He 
 doesn't ask you to give her up now. ' Dying 
 grace,' as good old Deacon Booth used to 
 say, ' doesn't come till the dying hour,' and 
 that is as soon as it is needed." 
 
 " But I ought to be able to say, Thy 
 will be done,' even if He wills to take her 
 from me." 
 
 "And can't you, Annie ? Don't you feel 
 so certain that He wills only what is best 
 for you and for her, that you can trust him 
 to do as He pleases ?" 
 
 " But His will might break my heart," I 
 cried, " and I can't want Him to do that ! 
 Can you say it ?" 
 
 I turned and asked the question sharply, 
 for my heart was sore, and his coolness irri 
 tated me. 
 
 He did not answer at once, but shaded 
 his face with his hand, and thought.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 29 
 
 " Yes," he said at length, his voice full 
 of emotion, " Yes, Annie, I think I can. 1 
 am so certain He knows so much better 
 than we whether it is best she should grow 
 up to face the trials and temptations of life 
 on earth, or be early carried to lie in His 
 bosom, that I dare not take her future into 
 my hands dare not say, my will be done." 
 
 " You don't love her as I do," I said, still 
 excited, and with a spirit of opposition in 
 my heart ; " no man ever does ; she isn't a 
 part of your very life as she is of mine." 
 
 " God only knows how very dear she is 
 to me," he said ; " but you are right, Annie, 
 no man can love as a mother does." 
 
 " No, indeed !" I said. And I went to 
 the crib and stood gazing a long time at 
 Bessie as she lay across it, her curls all in a 
 moist tangle, and her arms thrown out in 
 those strange, graceful postures sleeping 
 children manage to get into. 
 
 " No, no father loves you as I do," I re- 
 peated to myself. " But Christ loves her as 
 well," was my next thought. I believed
 
 JO OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 this with my understanding, but I did not 
 feel it in my heart. Who could love her so 
 dearly ; or depend on her, as I did, for com- 
 panionship and solace, for sunshine and joy, 
 every minute of my life ? 
 
 She turned over, half-opened her rosy 
 mouth, and cooed, as she has a habit of do- 
 ing in her sleep perhaps all babies do but 
 what do I know of other babies ? 
 
 It would be hard to convince me that any 
 other ever had such cunning little ways as 
 mine. What was she dreaming of what 
 seeing in that soft slumber ? Angels, se- 
 raphs, heaven ; who could tell ? I bent 
 over and kissed her forehead, eyes, cheek, 
 and lips, and then each soft, dimpled hand, 
 my tears flowing fast meanwhile. Could I 
 ever give her up ? The very thought of it 
 was agony. 
 
 I sat down by Graham, leaning my head 
 on his shoulder. 
 
 " Yes, little mother," he said, softly, " you 
 love her best, I don't doubt that ; but 1 
 sometimes wonder if we have any just idea
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 31 
 
 of what true love is. Love certainly forgets 
 self, and thinks first of the good of the loved 
 one ; you sacrifice yourself perpetually for 
 Bab}* never thinking of it as sacrifice, be- 
 cause you love her so. And I believe you 
 would still do so if she were to be taken to 
 heaven that because you love her the best, 
 you would the soonest rejoice in yourself 
 bearing all the suffering, knowing she was 
 perfectly and forever happy. Yes, I think, 
 you love her even well enough for that, 
 Annie." 
 
 " I ought to," I said ; but I wept still, 
 less bitter tears, though. 
 
 " I know I love Bessie a great deal too 
 well," I murmured. " I have known it 
 ever since she was born, and it worries 
 me." 
 
 " T don't think so," said Graham. " 1 
 doubt if we can love too well. God is all 
 love, and the more we are like Him the 
 more we shall love; the trouble is not in 
 the quantity but the quality of our love. If 
 it were wholly pure, wholly unselfish, it
 
 32 OUR Tiro LIVES. 
 
 couldn't be too deep or intense ; foi all 
 true loving lifts us to a higher plane, bi ing- 
 ing us nearer to God and the eternal good- 
 ness." 
 
 It was not quite clear to me that he was 
 right. 
 
 " We may love an unworthy object," I 
 said, " and that doesn't elevate us. Take, 
 for instance, a wife with a bad husband ; she 
 loves him doatingly; and, for that irason, 
 tolerates his vices, and thus lowers her own 
 moral tone, unconsciously coming down 
 nearer to his level every day she lives with 
 him."' 
 
 " T don't agree with you," said Graham. 
 " If her love is true love, that is, free from 
 selfishness, I think this very love makes her 
 clearer to see and quicker to feel her hus- 
 band's faults, just in proportion to its 
 strength ; and that the more she loves him, 
 the more she will shrink away from his sins 
 with loathing, while loving the sinner ten- 
 derly. There is Mary Beebe, with her in- 
 temperate husband ; she don't love his vices.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 33 
 
 but him, in spite of them ; and her own 
 soul has been growing constantly whiter in 
 all these years of agony." 
 
 " Yes ; I own it is so, in her case," 1 said. 
 
 "And how God loves sinners, while infi- 
 nitely abhorring the sin. You don't sup- 
 pose that Christ's loving sinners, and mix- 
 ing with them familiarly, ever degraded 
 Him ?" 
 
 " What a question, Graham ! Of course 
 not; but then we are not like Him." 
 
 " No, we are not ; and that solves the 
 whole difficulty and brings me back to my 
 starting-point. Pure love, love like Christ's, 
 cannot be too intense. We may make idols 
 of our children, but it is when we cling to 
 them selfishly and Or our enjoyment. And 
 the way to remedy it is to love them in the 
 right way, not less." 
 
 " It is astonishing how self mixes up with 
 all thai is best in us," I said. 
 
 "Yes, even a man's love for his wife and 
 children, often the best thing in him, is 
 pretty sure to have some taint of selfishness,
 
 34 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 whether he knows it or not. It creeps even 
 into our love for our heavenly Father ; we 
 too often think of the joy and good it will 
 bring to us." 
 
 We talked a good while, saying how 
 strangely good and evil were mixed togeth- 
 er in our hearts, and how disgusted we be- 
 came with ourselves whenever we dared 
 sift our motives honestly. 
 
 " I don't know how those who believe 
 men are born pure, account for all the bad- 
 ness there is in the best of us," said Gra- 
 ham. " I should have believed in a fall if 
 the Bible said nothing about it ; human na- 
 ture, as it is revealed to us every day of our 
 lives, shows so much that is wrong and un- 
 like its divine original." 
 
 " So much that is good and beautiful, 
 too," I said. " Certainly, I have great faith 
 in the perfectibility of human nature, but 
 very little in our being born perfect or un- 
 tainted." 
 
 " Even the baby," I said, " shows a great 
 deal of naughtiness so early, the germs of
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 35 
 
 what will become real badness unless check- 
 ed." 
 
 "Yes; we have to train, not an angel, 
 but a little being full of goodness and bad- 
 ness curiously mixed together. We must 
 strengthen the one and uproot the other." 
 
 Then we talked over our ideas of educa- 
 tion and family government; favorite top- 
 ics since Bessie's birth, both our *heads 
 being brimful of delightful theories, most 
 of which, I must say, thus far, Baby has ut- 
 terly upset. Then followed an evening 
 prayer ; the time when our souls are al- 
 ways drawn nearest together the most 
 precious hour of all the day. I suppose 
 there are husbands and wives who never 
 pray together; but how far apart their 
 souls must dwell, and how little they cai? 
 know of the purest enjoyment a true mar- 
 riage gives ! 
 
 After the good-night kiss to Baby Gra- 
 ham never fails to go to the crib and kiss 
 the darling birdie the last thing we went 
 to sleep, at least Graham did ; but I had
 
 36 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 that question of submission to settle with 
 myself. 
 
 It was one of those nights when a body 
 thinks. It humiliated me to see how little 
 of real unselfishness there was in my love 
 even for my child, and how little of true 
 submission in my heart. And yet it seemed 
 to me I did desire to be unselfish and Christ- 
 like; but I was so far, so very far from 
 being it ! I wanted my will to be conform- 
 ed to His, for I knew it was a good and 
 every way perfect will ; that is, I wanted it 
 with a part of my being, while a part of 
 me cried out for selfish indulgence, and to 
 have my own desires gratified. It was the 
 old antagonism between good and evil 
 which sometimes asserts itself in very posi- 
 tive forms. The spirit of a child, submis- 
 sion to its father's will, was what I ought to 
 have, but had not. I wanted my own way, 
 especially in regard to my child ; and I knew 
 if she were to be taken from me, I should 
 rebel, even against the Almighty. The 
 question, Could I give her up? had now
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 37 
 
 risen in my heart, and it would not down at 
 my bidding. Was I then a rebellious, in- 
 stead of a dutiful child ; had evil more 
 power over me than good ? I prayed long 
 and earnestly to be made better; to be 
 made loving and childlike to the innermost 
 depth of my being, and after many hours 
 of struggle there came a calm ; the billows 
 grew quiet, as of old, when the Lord Jesus 
 said, " Peace, be still." A new conception 
 of God's love and goodness stole into my 
 heart ; I saw he loved me tenderly, even as 
 I loved my child ; how then could he harm 
 me ? My heart glowed as I thought of it ; 
 and I whispered, "Lord, do with us as 
 Thou wilt ; I am Thy child, to be led and 
 governed by Thee, and my child is Thine ; 
 I will fear no evil, for Thou art with us." 
 
 Was I still selfish ? I was still thinking 
 of me and mine, but He, who knoweth our 
 frame, I hope permits such consideration 
 for self. In time, if we seek His aid, we may 
 hope to be lifted out of ourselves into a 
 wider place, and 
 4
 
 38 OUK TWO LIVES. 
 
 " Change the dream of me and mine 
 To the truth of Thee and Thine. 
 Until all things fair and good, 
 Seem our natural habitude." 
 
 In the morning 1 I told Graham, " I hope 
 I can say, ' Thy will be done !' " 
 
 His face lighted up with that beautiful 
 smile which always comes when he is 
 pleased to the heart's core. 
 
 " He wills we should have her now and 
 enjoy her," he said, taking her in his arms. 
 
 He is by nature far less impulsive than I 
 am ; and God's peace seems to always-abide 
 in his heart, making his daily life beauti- 
 fully consistent and unselfish. O what 
 right have I to such a husband ? I often 
 ask myself this question ; but he is mine. 
 God has given him to me ; and, unworthy as 
 I am of the gift, I do and will rejoice in it. 
 I do not lose sight of his faults, though I 
 mean to think of them only enough to help 
 him as a true wife should ; for a true wife I 
 want to be, not a blind worshiper or a 
 mere echo of his opinions, as some wives are
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 39 
 
 I wonder if all mothers have to pass 
 through a struggle before yielding to God's 
 higher claim on their own flesh and blood. 
 Since that night I have had a new feeling 
 toward my child; because, though she is 
 mine, given to me by God, she is His first 
 and foremost. I look on her fair young 
 face and fold her to my bosom with an ad- 
 ded joy and tenderness, my little God- 
 given treasure, to be yielded up whenever 
 He shall call for her ; for, much as I love 
 her, I know He loves her still more tender- 
 ly, and far, far more wisely. 
 
 But I hope she will be spared to us for a 
 long life-tirr.3 yet if it be His will!
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GRAHAM'S careless, easy ways 
 about money matters, do annoy 
 me. He is a hard worker in his profes- 
 sion, yet he never makes any headway. 
 Judge Irwin says he is not a shrewd lawyer. 
 I'm glad he isn't; I don't consider that a 
 fault ! He is apt to take the unpopular side, 
 and get poor rather than rich clients, which 
 isn't a fault either, only sometimes vastly 
 inconvenient, and keeps one constantly anx- 
 ious lest our expenses should outrun our 
 means. 
 
 The house and grounds ought to be bet- 
 ter kept up : this might be made such a 
 charming place, if there were walks cut and 
 shrubbery and flowers put out : but we 
 cannot afford to hire it done, and Graham 
 has no more idea how to do it himself than
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 4I 
 
 Bessie ; he has not the least tact or capa- 
 city for working with his hands. 
 
 We keep the lawn well mowed, and I have 
 a tiny flower-bed, which is the delight of 
 my eyes ; but the place is by no means 
 what it might be if my husband were rich, 
 or what Miss Patty calls " & faculized man." 
 But we can't have everything ; if he were 
 shrewd and money -making, perhaps he 
 wouldn't be the high-minded, upright, 
 noble man in whom I glory. It is so much 
 to know one's husband can never be bought, 
 or made to do a mean thing ! 
 
 1 wrote here last in the early spring ; and 
 now the golden October light is on the 
 elms. It has been a charming summer, the 
 pleasantest of my whole life. Bessie had 
 no scarlet fever, and has grown plumper 
 and funnier every day. She is almost three, 
 now, though she hasn't straightened out her 
 grammar yet, and still talks about her
 
 42 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " shoeses and stockingses." I'm in no hurry 
 about that ; for I often think, with a sharp 
 pang, how fast the charm of babyhood is 
 vanishing out of her, and how soon she will 
 be a great, tall, awkward girl, unless she 
 takes after her mother and is an underling. 
 How one wants a child, especially a daugh- 
 ter, to be everything that is beautiful and 
 graceful ! 
 
 She is a good little puss, on the whole, 
 though she often needs correcting, and is by 
 no means one of the saintly kind that terrify 
 their mothers with fears of early death. She 
 is pretty, too, with , beautiful complexion, 
 large, hazel eyes, and brown curls ; at least 
 everybody says so, and her mother is not 
 disposed to contradict it. And how her 
 father doats on her ! I should hardly dare 
 say now I love her best, though, of course, 
 it is in a different way. 
 
 Yes, Queen Bess has thriven, and my 
 flower-garden has thriven, the twelve feet 
 square having dazzled our eyes all summer 
 with its pinks, verbenas, gladiolas, and ge-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 43 
 
 raniums ; while the little bouquets of mig- 
 nonette and sweet-peas, which I have kept 
 in-doors, have " fragranted the room," as 
 Bessie phrases it. There never was a 
 lovelier summer ; just sunshine enough and 
 just rain enough to keep everything fresh 
 and growing. 
 
 Graham has thriven, too, and in such a 
 wonderful way as astonishes us all, having 
 been just appointed Reporter to the Su- 
 preme Court ; and Judge Irwin informs me, 
 with his most pompous bow, that " it is an 
 appointment to be proud of a distinction 
 seldom conferred on so young a member of 
 the Bar." 
 
 Every one says it is great good fortune, 
 and no doubt it is ; but the best of it is that 
 he deserves it. He has always been an inde- 
 fatigable student, and isn't so very young 
 thirty-five last June. 
 
 " His thorough knowledge of the law, his 
 stainless integrity, as well as his fine general 
 scholarship, admirably fit him for the place ;" 
 so say the newspapers, which the young
 
 44 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 wife eagerly devours when they say such 
 things ! 
 
 It is pleasant to know he is, at last, appre- 
 ciated ; for it has been all up-hill, and poorly 
 paid work since he began to practice until 
 now; this, perhaps, makes success all the 
 sweeter now it has come. Then it is so nice 
 to have the salary, which will make us really 
 comfortable. I go singing about the house 
 with a light heart, snatching baby Bess up 
 twenty times a day, devouring her with 
 kisses, and telling her all about it. 
 
 " Fse doin 1 to be 'Porter, too," she says. 
 
 " So you shall, bless your little heart !" 
 Graham answers ; and then they go off into 
 a game of romps, the usual result of his com- 
 ing into the house. 
 
 I wonder how much of enjoyment Jona- 
 than Edwards got out of his children, who 
 always rose up when he entered the room, 
 and stood silently before him ! 
 
 We are so happy now, I almost tremble 
 for fear it will not last, which Graham says 
 is very foolish.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 45 
 
 " If God sends us joy, he asks, " why 
 cloud it over by dreading future storms 
 which may never come ? Let us open our 
 hearts and take in all the brightness, and be 
 thankful for it. When we need clouds and 
 storms they will come, and the Lord will be 
 in them as truly as in the sunshine." 
 
 I know this is true, and I will try to enjoy 
 everything with a thankful heart. 
 
 I wonder if it is wicked not to like all 
 good people. I don't like Mrs. Professor 
 Stone that is the name she puts on her 
 card and she is good, I suppose, in her 
 way. I am always annoyed when I see her 
 coming up the steps in her ponderous way ; 
 she .interrupts whatever I am doing, and 
 always stays to tea ; for, being the second 
 wife of a man who married my husband's 
 aunt for his first, she considers herself a 
 near relative, and happens in often, and it is 
 trying. I hardly know why she is so dis-
 
 46 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 agreeable. She is very critical for one 
 thing ; and when I see her coming I look 
 into every crack and corner to see if there 
 is a speck of dust or a cobweb anywhere ; 
 for I know her eyes will look straight at it, 
 the first minute, if there is. I'm afraid she 
 spies at the dust and cobwebs in her neigh- 
 bors' souls too ; she can't help it, perhaps, 
 but it isn't pleasant when so many are hang- 
 ing around. Then she has a canting tone, 
 when she speaks of religious things, which 
 1 can't abide. Why can't she talk about 
 these naturally, as she would of anything 
 else, and not in that sepulchral voice ? 
 
 I know our tones naturally become re- 
 verential in certain states of feeling ; but a 
 whine is never reverential. She is very 
 generous in giving to the poor, and I don't 
 doubt is a really religious woman ; but I am 
 dumb the moment she begins to talk on re- 
 ligious things. Is it my fault or her's ? 
 
 Yesterday she told rae about Elliott 
 Gray's conversion. Graham and I had 
 greatly rejoiced to know the dear boy had
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 47 
 
 begun a new life, and had talked of it in 
 tender tones ; but she put on her longest 
 face and dismallest whine, and went into de- 
 tails that shocked me. I suppose conver- 
 sion is just as real and glorious a tiling to 
 her as to me ; but I could never talk ol" it 
 in that way ; so she thinks I have no feel- 
 ing, and intimated as much. I haven't a 
 particle in her presence, and I always get 
 her on to housekeeping topics as soon as I 
 can. 
 
 She makes splendid hop-yeast and brown 
 bread, and on such matters is really edify- 
 ing. She thinks I'm a frivolous woman, 
 whose soul never kindles on higher themes. 
 How can she think otherwise? I don't 
 blame her for that ; but why is it that one 
 person will draw out the best there is in us 
 and another shut us up into total darkness ? 
 But so it is, and I do not see how it can be 
 helped. 
 
 After tea, Mrs. Prof. Stone went away, 
 having seen the grease spot on the kitchen 
 floor, the canker-worms on my rose bushes,
 
 48 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 and found out my bread was slack-baked, 
 and my preserved quinces a little pricked. 
 I consider myself a good housekeeper, but 
 things are always wrong when my keen- 
 eyed aunt-in-law is about; at other times 
 my floor is clean, my bread well baked, and 
 my fruit sweet and delicious. 
 
 It troubles me that I am so stirred up by 
 her ; if it is my fault, I want to know it. So 
 when Graham and I were by ourselves, I 
 said, 
 
 " Is it wrong not to like disagreeable peo- 
 ple, even if they are good Mrs. Stone, for 
 example ?" 
 
 "We certainly ought to value goodness 
 above everything else," he said. 
 
 " Of course we had, and the better people 
 are, the more agreeable they ought to be ; 
 but then they are not, you know ; and I 
 don't see why I shouldn't enjoy a bright, 
 agreeable person whose tastes harmonize 
 with mine, better than one who may be just 
 as good at heart, but has all kinds of hateful, 
 uncomfortable ways."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 49 
 
 " You will enjoy tier better, of course ; but 
 we ought to be able to recognize and ad- 
 mire genuine goodness everywhere ; it is so 
 mucn better to De good than merely pleas- 
 ing.' 
 
 " Oh 1 know all that," I said ; " but it is 
 better to oe good and agreeable than good 
 and disagreeable confess that, now." 
 
 " Certainty ' he said, laughing, " and for 
 more reasons than one ; an agreeable person 
 has so ncucn more influence, besides making 
 others happier. We ought to be pleasing 
 just in proportion as we are good ; but we 
 are not, as you say ; faults of education and 
 natura. peculiarities are not all at once rem- 
 edies by religion ; in time it must soften 
 everything harsh and unlovely, but not all 
 at once." 
 
 " And above all things I hate whining," I 
 said ; " whining about religious things." 
 
 " Yes, if anything should make a person 
 
 brignt and cheerful, it is religion; but we 
 
 are not all made up alike ; we can't all speak 
 
 in the same tones ; and what would be mere 
 
 5
 
 go OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 affectation in one person, is natural to an- 
 other. I sometimes think, dear, you are a 
 little fastidious in mere matters of taste; 
 too quickly repelled by what doesn't suit 
 you. Want of taste may be disagreeable, 
 but it is not a sin. I dare say Peter and 
 Matthew and Thomas didn't always talk of 
 religious things in an agreeable way." 
 
 I knew what he meant; they were low- 
 toned spiritually, and dreadfully trying, yet 
 Jesus never became impatient with them. 
 Graham always thinks what Christ would 
 have done, and so keeps calm and charita- 
 ble, while I fly out into little tempests. 1 
 was not hurt by what he said, but I went 
 and did just what I didn't want to began 
 to cry. I was ashamed of myself, but I 
 couldn't help it. 
 
 " I didn't mean to grieve you, dear," he 
 said ; " forgive me, if I spoke harshly." 
 
 " You didn't, and I'm not grieved. Don't 
 go to thinking I can't bear to be told of my 
 faults. I can. I want to know them and 
 cure them ; but somehow everything has
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 51 
 
 gone wrong and fretted me to-day. I do 
 want to be good and charitable, and love 
 everybody even if they do talk through 
 their noses/' I added, turning my sob into 
 a laugh. 
 
 " I know you do, dear," and then he said 
 things I cannot repeat; he always so over- 
 values what little good he can find in his 
 poor wife. 
 
 "Well, I'm going to try and like Mrs. 
 Prof. Stone," I said, when this affecting lit- 
 tle episode was over, "her whine, sharp 
 eyes, and all." 
 
 " Not like them, Annie, only try to make 
 the best of them, and to see the good that 
 is in her instead of the bad ; for she really 
 is a good woman, in spite of what is disa- 
 greeable." 
 
 It is curious Graham should think I am 
 fastidious, considering he belongs to an old 
 aristocratic family, while I am nobody. I 
 wonder if I am? Perhaps I do feel too 
 much annoyed by little things. I know I 
 am quick to see the ridiculous, and am al
 
 5 2 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 ways bringing disgrace on myself by laugh, 
 ing when I shouldn't ; it is well I am not a 
 minister's wife, I should be sure to get him 
 unsettled in a month. But I have no hard 
 feeling ; I just have my laugh, and it is all 
 over. I don't respect Miss Priscilla Prouty 
 any the less for wearing a huge yellow bow 
 on the very tip-top peak of a mazarine blue 
 bonnet; but I couldn't help laughing when 
 she came mincing along up the aisle and 
 nid-nodding her head, bonnet, bow and all, 
 if it was in the meeting-house. But if the 
 poor soul had seen it, it would have hurt 
 her feelings. I must be more considerate ; 
 less a child, and more a woman. 
 
 Graham's weakness is pride, family pride ; 
 he doesn't know he is proud, but he is a 
 real Kingston in that respect. He even has 
 a traditionary theory that the Kingstons 
 are a handsome family ! Well, all I can say 
 is that he, for one, is mortal homely ; not 
 that I care, it is enough for a man to 
 look as if he knew something ; but I often 
 wonder where Bessie got her beauty not
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 53 
 
 from her papa or mamma, I am free to 
 say. 
 
 Miss Katharine Kingston is coming here 
 soon for a week's visit. She is an aunt of 
 Graham's : 
 
 " the one ungathered rose 
 On her ancestral tree." 
 
 and he says she is tall and stately, and a bit 
 precise and prim. I hate prim people I 
 mean I don't like them, and am always 
 afraid of them, shrinking into my uttermost 
 insignificance in their presence. 
 
 But Graham admires Aunt Katharine, 
 and I can see is specially anxious she should 
 like his little wife She is over sixty, I be- 
 lieve, and very highly educated ; rather 
 strong-minded, too, I fancy, from one or two 
 things he has dropped ; " certainly a little 
 peculiar," he owns, on being cross-examined. 
 Yes, yes! well, most people are peculiar. 
 f shall try to do my best ; and, when I do 
 that, I am sure to make a miserable failure !
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 BESSIE'S birthday her third birth- 
 day came on a sunny October day, 
 as bright as her own little self. Long 
 before it was time to get up, I heard 
 her talking to her dolly, a shoeless, one- 
 armed, tattered old thing, which she insists 
 on hugging to her bosom every night. 
 
 " Does 'oo know 'oo is free years old to- 
 day ?" she asked it, solemnly. " 'Oo is, and 
 I must div' 'oo a lot of soogar-plums, and 
 'oo must be a dood little dirl, Mollie 'oo 
 mus'n't pull up mama's fowers, nor turn 
 down papa's ink-tand, nor run away, nor dit 
 plums out of mamma's toogar-bowl, 'cause 
 oo is a big dirl now, 'oo is." 
 
 I listened awhile to this chattering non- 
 ense, and then opened my eyes. As soon 
 
 (54)
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 55 
 
 as she saw I was awake, she bounded into 
 our bed and was hugged and kissed, as all 
 three-year-old damsels are, I take it, on their 
 birthday morning. But did any other moth- 
 er ever love her baby quite so well as I do 
 mine had ever another child so many be- 
 witching ways ? Pshaw ! how absurd I am ; 
 but it is hard to believe there was ever an- 
 other darling quite so sweet ; babies never 
 put their charms on exhibition before 
 strangers, so only their parents see their 
 most cunning and fascinating ways. But I 
 think it is safe to say no baby was ever more 
 beloved than ours has been from her very 
 birth. 
 
 She had a little birthday party, consisting 
 of four little girls about her own age, and 
 wore her white tucked dress, and had a 
 lovely wreath of roses round her pretty 
 curls, and looked like a real queen as she 
 sat at the table pouring white tea into her 
 tiny cups and saucers. There was a pretty 
 frosted cake, with a wreath round it, and 
 each child had what Bessie calls a " tookey-
 
 jj 6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 man," -with arms projecting at right angles 
 to his body, and oranges and apples and 
 nuts, and all " went merry as a marriage 
 bell- 
 Right in the midst of it Miss Katharine 
 Kingston arrived : tall and stately, certainly, 
 but benignant, too. When she found it was 
 Bessie s birthday, she insisted on going out 
 to see the children ; and when she had kiss- 
 ed them all round, she said, 
 " It's my birthday too, Bessie." 
 Bess opened her great eyes wide at this, 
 as if trying to comprehend it ; then, her face 
 dimpling alt over with smiles, she said, 
 " Den we jus' of an age, auntie !" 
 " So we are, darling ! bless you, so we 
 are !" 
 
 "Only sixty years difference," she said, 
 turning to me. 
 
 " Did 'oo have a take and a birthly party, 
 auntie ?" 
 
 " No, not a bit of either, darling." 
 " 'Oo sail have a piece of my take and a 
 leg of my man tookey." And she presented
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 57 
 
 them with the air of a genuine queen" a 
 real Kingston," Aunt Katharine said, sy- 
 nonymous terms in her vocabulary, I fancy. 
 
 I don't object to Bessie's being called a 
 Kingston, since I have seen Aunt Katharine, 
 who must have been a great beauty in her 
 day. She is certainly somewhat peculiar : 
 very tall, perfectly erect, and dressed in 
 quaint, old-time style, with funny little gray 
 curls lying close to her beautiful, broad fore- 
 head ; her manners are of the old style, too, 
 stately and formal, yet full of a certain 
 benignant grace, as old time manners are. 
 How impossible it would be to call her Kate, 
 or Kitty, or by any less royal name than 
 Katharine, which always takes us back to 
 the court of the old Henries. She took lit- 
 tle Bess into her heart at once : it was for- 
 tunate she came on the two birthdays, we 
 were all brought together so pleasantly and 
 easily. 
 
 It was a happy day from morning till 
 night ; and, when the guests had gone, I un- 
 dressed the tired little queen, too tired even
 
 58 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 to say her prayer, and who fell asleep in my 
 arms before she was fairly got into her 
 night-gown. I pressed her to my heart that 
 night, with a new sense of the preciousness 
 of my treasure. Graham and Aunt Katha- 
 rine were in the parlor talking over old 
 times, and I could not help staying a little 
 while by her crib to watch her in her rosy 
 sleep. 
 
 Would my precious one, I wondered, be 
 as sweet and innocent on her next birthday ? 
 Never again quite the baby Bess she is now 
 that is impossible. How I wished I could 
 keep her always three years old a little in- 
 nocent, sweet, loving child ! I often feel 
 that longing, and to-night it was so intense 
 as to actually be a pain. I know how unrea- 
 sonable and foolish it is. Surely the angels 
 will watch over and shield my darling as 
 the years move on ; and He who " giveth 
 his angels charge concerning them," will see 
 that her soul does not become defiled by sin 
 He will not cleanse. Why should I fear to 
 commit her to such guardianship ?
 
 OUR TJVO LIVES. 59 
 
 Mothers who have prayed by their three- 
 year-old baby's crib, know how I prayed 
 that night; and with what tearful eyes I 
 looked out on the starry sky, as I lowered 
 the curtain. Some lines I had heard Gra- 
 ham repeat, kept saying themselves ever in 
 my heart, 
 
 " God gives us love. Something to love 
 He lends us ; but when love has grown 
 To ripeness, that on which it throve 
 Falls off, and love is left alone." 
 
 My love is far enough from ripeness yet, 
 and I am glad to know it is so. 
 
 "Did you know it was Aunt Kathar- 
 ine's birthday?" said Graham, when I went 
 back to the parlor. " It really is an 
 honor to have her celebrate it by coming to 
 us." 
 
 "An honor and a pleasure," I said, and 
 said it from my heart. 
 
 "It isn't so bad a thing to grow old, 
 as you young folks think," said Aunt 
 Katharine ; " it is only getting a little
 
 60 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 nearer home; a little nearer to immortal 
 youth." 
 
 There is no cant or whine in her silvery 
 voice when she speaks of heaven ; the 
 "home" is evidently so present to her 
 thoughts, that it is as natural to speak of 
 that as of anything else about her. So dif- 
 ferent from Mrs. Prof. Stone's way ; one re- 
 pels, the other attracts me. For aught I 
 know, some might like Mrs. Stone's way 
 best ; for I agree with Miss Patty, that " this 
 is a curis world, and there's a sight of curis 
 folks in it." I suppose we are all curis to 
 somebody, though just as natural as life to 
 ourselves. 
 
 It is really charming to see how Aunt 
 Katharine and Baby Bess get on together. 
 I never knew the child take so to anybody 
 before; is it because they both have King- 
 ston blood running in their veins? Bessie 
 has queer fancies sometimes, taking to some 
 rough old man, or ragged child, and draw- 
 ing herself haughtily away from those you 
 expect her to like; and she can never be
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 6 1 
 
 coaxed into decent treatment of those she 
 doesn't like. " Just like her mother !" Gra- 
 ham says " horribly obstinate !" 
 
 It has been a charming October without 
 and within ; we kept Aunt Katharine three 
 weeks instead of one, and her visit was a 
 great pleasure to us all, and I think she too 
 enjoyed it. When I look at her, it seems a 
 charming thing to grow old ; the autumnal 
 brightness is different from the loveliness of 
 spring, but almost more attractive. Why 
 should not our whole life be the going from 
 one glory to another, and the last change, 
 from the terrestrial to the celestial, the 
 crowning glory of all? With Aunt Katha- 
 rine it will surely be so, for she has lived 
 near to God and heaven, and rauch of the 
 radiance of heaven is already shining round 
 her. With her, life is almost gone, with 
 Baby Bess, all to come. May it prove pure 
 and religious, whatever else it may be ! 
 6
 
 62 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 I had many nice, strengthening talks with 
 Aunt Katharine ; she has known severe tri- 
 als ; and out of them all has come this loving, 
 sweet-hearted woman of sixty-three. Why 
 need I fear to grow old, or to have Baby 
 grow up ? If there is sin in the world, there 
 is victory over sin, and always One to save 
 those who believe in Him from sin and its 
 consequences; so let me trust and take 
 courage, quieting all my fears. 
 
 I feel that I have gained a most valuable 
 friend in Aunt Katharine, almost a mother ; 
 she is so tender and sympathetic, as well as 
 wise and heavenly-minded. I like religious 
 conversation when it is spontaneous, coming 
 from a heart that is fuller of spiritual emo- 
 tion than any other. I detest cant ; but is it 
 not going to the opposite extreme to never 
 speak of Christ and heaven? I do not hesi- 
 tate to talk about Bessie and my love for 
 her, for fear somebody should think I am 
 hypocritical, and pretending to more feeling 
 than I really have; nehher do I whine when 
 I talk about her why should I? And why
 
 CUR TWO LIVES. 63 
 
 should I whine when I speak of Christ and 
 his love? When our hearts are brimming 
 over with love and grateful joy, the words 
 flow out spontaneously and naturally. 
 
 If we were going to Europe in a few 
 weeks, and were busy with our preparations, 
 would it not be unnatural never to speak of 
 it to our dearest friends of how we were to 
 go, and what we expected to see and do 
 there? Just so unnatural, it seems to me, 
 is it to live in close intimacy with friends, 
 and never once exchange a word in regard 
 to that land toward which we are all so 
 rapidly hastening ; why in this, as in other 
 things, should not the mouth speak out of 
 the abundance of the heart? 
 
 I know there are great differences of tem- 
 perament, as well as of education and habit; 
 so that with some silence is the natural in- 
 stinct, as utterance is with others ; and we 
 should all be spontaneous and natural ; and 
 above all, charitable; the silent not de- 
 nouncing those who talk, nor the talkers 
 those who keep silence.
 
 64 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 When religious feeling seeks expression 
 and finds it naturally, it certainly adds great- 
 ly to the richness and joy of our communion 
 with friends on earth. But there is some- 
 thing painful in the apparently flippant, 
 irreverent manner in which a soul's most 
 sacred feelings are sometimes laid bare be- 
 fore the public ; such, surely, can never be 
 the fitting or natural expression of a deeply 
 religious soul ; still, I would be slow to crit- 
 icize any sincere utterance ; for sincerity is 
 the great thing in the sight of God. 
 
 I believe my besetting sin is uncharitably 
 judging others. I wish I could get more 
 of Aunt Katharine's beautiful spirit of char- 
 ity into my soul the very charity of the 
 Gospel that not only speaketh, but thinketh 
 no evil. She sees the good in everybody, 
 and when forced to look at the evil, it evi~ 
 dently pains her pure soul. But it is hard 
 to cure one's besetting sin ; when you con, 
 gratulate yourself on having pretty well 
 subdued it, there it is, popping up its head, 
 just as alert and vigorous as ever! Well,
 
 QUA TWO LIVES. 65 
 
 perhaps if I live thirty-five-years longer, 
 and have as many trials as Aunt Katharine, 
 .may attain to a little of her sweetness. 
 
 Must it come through trial is suffering 
 the only way in which holiness can be 
 reached? I so shrink from suffering! How 
 could I bear to lose all I love best, as she 
 has, and be left alone in the world without 
 husband or child? But how foolish I am 
 to be thinking of evils that will probably 
 never come ! Let me enjoy the sunshine 
 while it lasts, as Graham says, and trust for 
 the future. 
 
 Mary Sterling, who is my chief young 
 lady friend, is a great comfort to me. She 
 is younger than I, but she likes the same 
 people and the same books I do, and to talk 
 about the same things. Graham is compel- 
 led to be away from home a good deal at- 
 tending court, and she runs in and spends 
 the long evenings with me, and we some- 
 times read aloud and sometimes have long 
 talks heart-talks, that do a body good. 
 
 She and Graham have been reading Ger-
 
 66 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 man together whenever he finds leisure. I 
 have not the least fancy for languages ; the 
 most I can do is to speak my own decently ; 
 but Graham is a good German scholar and 
 thoroughly enjoys these readings. It is 
 charming to see Mary's delight in both Ger- 
 man and Graham her two enthusiasms, I 
 call them. She looks up to him as if he were 
 the very Delphian oracle; and when he 
 reads some fine passage, her eye kindles and 
 her whole face becomes radiant ; a sweet, 
 lovely face it is, beautiful in the best sense, 
 mirroring every feeling of her soul just the 
 face I like to sit and watch. Dear girl ! we 
 both admire and love her ; and she says our 
 love is a great blessing to her, for she has 
 few intimate friends. She is reserved, ex- 
 cept to those she loves, and most people 
 consider her cold and haughty, but we find 
 her frank and very loving. 
 
 It was curious that, just after writing that,
 
 OUR TH'O LIVES, fy 
 
 I should have been made terribly indignant 
 by Mrs. no, I won't put her name on paper, 
 but call her Mrs. Gossip. She had made a 
 fearfully long call, and had at last got up to 
 go, when she said, in a most confidential 
 whisper, 
 
 " I hear Mary Sterling is at your house 
 a good deal, Mrs. Kingston." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, wondering what was 
 in the wind. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Kingston, I don't know as I 
 ought to say anything ; but people will talk, 
 you know, and Mrs. Jones thought you real- 
 ly ought to know it folks do say she's very 
 fond of your husband ; and such a pretty 
 girl, you know!" 
 
 I don't know what I said exactly, but 
 something that sent her out of the house in 
 quick metre, and angry, too, I "dare say. 
 What does the woman mean? Does she 
 suppose I am such a mean, jealous old thing 
 that I don't want my husband to enjoy a 
 pretty younfr girl as well as I do ? Thank 
 goodness, I'm not, and that I have a hus-
 
 68 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 band I can trust without one misgiving, even 
 as he trusts me ! Mary was at that moment 
 in the library reading with him ; and when I 
 went in, I looked into her true hazel eyes 
 with a new feeling of admiration, and kissed 
 her good-bye more tenderly that night than 
 I ever had in my life before. 
 
 The next time I met Mrs. Gossip was at 
 the sewing-society, and I took a wicked 
 pleasure in saying in her hearing that " Mr. 
 Kingston could not come ; it was his even- 
 ing for reading with Miss Sterling." How 
 it will set her tongue running ! I suppose I 
 ought not to have said it, but how could I 
 help it ? I love Mary Sterling dearly, and 
 Graham loves her, and she loves us both, 
 and I pity people who can only think low 
 thoughts ! 
 
 And Mfs. Gossip talks about women's 
 rights, and the injustice done them, and all 
 that. Yes, women should have their rights, 
 social and political, if anybody can find out 
 what they are ; but, above all things, they 
 should lift themselves out of the slough of
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. $g 
 
 malignant gossip; above their petty aims 
 and low, mean lives; thus emancipating 
 themselves from their worst degradation ; 
 an emancipation to be achieved by them- 
 selves, and not by legislation or extraneous 
 aid. 
 
 Mary Sterling is so far above all this! 
 She fought her w-ay up to a fine education 
 through many difficulties ; and her love of 
 knowledge, for its own sake, is wonderful. 
 I look up to her as my superior in most 
 things, and rejoice to do so ; thankful that 
 the beautiful gifts denied to me have been 
 granted to others. Yes, I will love her, and 
 admire all that is good and noble in her, in 
 spite of all the Mrs. Gossips in the world ! 
 
 Graham and I had a good laugh when I 
 told him what I said at the sewing-society. 
 " I'm afraid it will take poor Mrs. Gossip's 
 breath quite away," I said. 
 
 " Perhaps it would be a good thing if it 
 did," answered my spouse ; the severest 
 thing I ever heard him say. 
 
 " A vast deal of misery grows out of such
 
 70 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 abominable gossip," he added ; " out of petty 
 jealousies and concealments, too. Of course, 
 there may be danger in a familiar inter- 
 course between married men and young 
 women, where both are not high principled 
 and right-minded ; men and women who 
 are not pure, are not safe anywhere ; but I 
 think some women alienate their husbands 
 by their want of confidence, and by taking 
 it for granted that something is wrong if a 
 young lady comes into the house. Trust is 
 the basis of all true love, and when one is 
 lost the other is pretty sure to follow." 
 
 " But in a marriage without true love, a 
 wife may well be anxious," I said. 
 
 " Yes," he answered, " but then everything 
 is wrong from beginning to end." 
 
 Are there many such happy marriages as 
 mine? I ask myself often. I suppose all old 
 married fogies hug themselves in the same 
 dear delusion; but in my case it is no delu- 
 sion ; we thoroughly confide in and respect 
 each other, and this helps us to overlook a 
 great deal, and be patient with one another's
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ji 
 
 faults. And my husband's love is of that 
 kind which honors* and elevates any woman, 
 if I say it, who ought not. Marriage, where 
 there is genuine love and Christian princi- 
 ple, must elevate and ennoble ; but woe to 
 that woman or that man who mistakes a 
 mere fancy, having no basis in real respect 
 and honor, for genuine love ; when his or 
 her eyes are opened, dislike and contempt 
 will too surely follow. I can never be thank- 
 ful enough, that in my youthful impulses I 
 was saved from that fatal mistake ; a most 
 wretched woman I should have been, had I 
 waked from a fond delusion to find my hus- 
 band what some men are I
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SNOW is on the ground now, and 
 Christmas has just gone such a 
 different day from last year's ! No lit- 
 tle stocking hanging in the corner; nc 
 s^hout of childish glee ringing through 
 the house, but silence and tears instead. 
 For God has taken my baby my precious 
 one, my queen, my heart's delight, my 
 darling ! I have no baby now : what a 
 great ache comes when I think of it ; and 
 when do I forget it ? My eyes are a foun- 
 tain of tears ; yet I loved early to think of 
 her, and of all she was ; yes, and of all she 
 is, too. 
 
 Her illness came suddenly only a week 
 after Aunt Katharine left us, when she 
 seemed pe.-fectly healthy and strong : it was
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 73 
 
 diphtheria, that mysterious disease which 
 seizes its victim so savagely, strangling the 
 life out in an instant. She had played about 
 the house all day, and flew to the door as 
 usual when her father came home at tea- 
 time ; and before morning she was suffering 
 terribly, and in forty-eight hours was gone ! 
 It is pleasant now to remember that last 
 evening the undressing and putting her 
 into her little crib. How gleeful she was, 
 and how full of funny little antics, running 
 about the room in her night-gown, bobbing 
 little courtesies to the chairs, with her bright 
 eyes full of mischief, seeking by all kinds 
 of devices to delay being put to bed. Ah ! 
 had we only known it was the last time our 
 darling would ever have one of her wild 
 little frolics, how reluctant we should have 
 been to shorten it ! But I finally quieted 
 her, and she came and knelt down at my 
 knee, putting her dear little head in my lap 
 as usual, and saying her little prayer, add- 
 ing to the few lines, " Bless dear papa and 
 mamma" putting in of her own head - 
 7
 
 74 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " and love them dearly and make me a dood 
 little girl, for Jesus' sake, Amen." 
 
 Those precious, bird-like tones I think 
 they will always linger in my ear. She 
 will never talk plainly, now ; never in our 
 earthly speech. I have had my wish my 
 darling will never outgrow her babyhood 
 never be but three years and one month 
 old! 
 
 I was not waked that night till about two 
 o'clock ; then she cried out, " Mam-ma, 
 mam-ma," in a shrill, unnatural voice, and 
 seemed to be in great pain, but I could not 
 find out where. " Baby sick baby sick all 
 over," was all she could tell. After trying 
 some simple remedies without effect, Gra- 
 ham went for the doctor, who at first spoke 
 lightly of her illness; but, in a few hours, 
 she was very sick and terribly distressed. 
 I dare not think much about that day and 
 the following night ; it was all hard to bear ; 
 and at last her sufferings were so intense, I 
 was willing to see her breathe her last my 
 little cherished one, my lamb, my darling !
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 75 
 
 I feared then I should never be able to 
 think of her without that agonized look, 
 but her old bright face has come back to 
 me now in all its sweetness, and I seem to 
 hear her dancing step and her ringing 
 laugh about the house ; I am so glad of this, 
 for it would have been dreadful to be al- 
 ways haunted by that poor, pinched, suffer- 
 ing little face. 
 
 I was with her every moment, holding 
 her in my arms a good deal of the time, as 
 she seemed quieter there; and her last 
 words were, " 'Yes, mam-ma," with a closer 
 snugging down to my heart. She lived 
 some hours after, but was unconscious and 
 never spoke again. 
 
 When all was over, I bathed the dear lit 
 tie face and body with my own hands, put- 
 ting on one of her white dresses with its 
 pretty embroidered waist, tying the little 
 strings with a fearful choking at my throat ; 
 but I could not have let anyone else do it- 
 the last that could be done for my baby ' 
 We laid beautiful flowers about her, anr 1
 
 76 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 she never looked lovelier than when lying 
 in the little open casket ; only so cold and 
 still. 
 
 Graham closed the casket with his own 
 hands, and carried her to the carriage in 
 which we rode, lifting her out at the Ceme- 
 tery and laying her in the grave. We could 
 not bear that strange hands should do any- 
 thing for our darling ; she was so little and 
 timid, and clung so to us ! I kept quite calm 
 through all this ; much calmer than Graham, 
 who broke down completely more than once. 
 I had a sweet sense of having laid my little 
 lamb on the bosom of Jesus, my darling and 
 his darling, which sustained me. But I 
 broke down afterwards, and was in bed a 
 fortnight, too weak to speak or even think. 
 Aunt Katharine came to us then dear 
 Aunt Katharine, with her quiet, old-fashion- 
 ed ways, and her warm, young heart what 
 a blessing she was ! It was pleasant to 
 yield myself to her nursing and take no 
 thought for anything. I slept most of the 
 time for two weeks ; but the waking must
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 77 
 
 come, and it was terrible, with that strange 
 sense of something gone out of my house 
 and heart. I could gladly have yielded to 
 the listlessness and made no effort, but I 
 knew I ought to rouse myself, and come 
 back to life and its cares ; and when I shook 
 off the lethargy and sat up again and was 
 dressed, Graham's pleased, happy look re- 
 paid me for the effort. 
 
 " This is like old times," he said ; and 
 then we both burst into tears, and felt how 
 different it was and always would be. But 
 with his true heart to lean on, I could not 
 repine. I had never clung to him as I did 
 then ; as I do now ; my true-hearted, noble 
 husband, who never fails me. 
 
 Seven weeks have gone, and I am getting 
 accustomed to living without my baby; 
 though, if I see one of her playthings, or a 
 little worn shoe with the prints of her ros_y 
 toes in it, the agony all comes back. 
 
 Yet I have not suffered so keenly as I ex- 
 pected. It was well I had that struggle 
 with myself months ago, and so fully gave 
 7*
 
 78 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 her up to Him ; for, with all my tears and 
 the aching, very sharp sometimes, no pain 
 has been like that when I said, " I cannot 
 give her up !" Under the billows of sor- 
 row, there has been, deep down in my 
 heart, a blessed peace ; and, though my heart 
 was well-nigh breaking, I could say, " She 
 is Thine, Lord ; Thou canst not harm her : 
 Thy will be done." When she was first 
 taken ill, I prayed earnestly night and day 
 that she might be spared. But a little be- 
 fore her death, I had such a consciousness 
 of Christ's presence that it was almost like a 
 vision of Him standing by me ; and, looking 
 at me very tenderly, he seemed to ask in a 
 pleading voice, " Will you not let me take 
 the baby can you not trust me, even with 
 her?" Could I say, " No, Lord "? 
 
 I never think of her as alone, but always, 
 as with Him, softly tended by the loving 
 angels. But then I am so lonely so lone- 
 ly ! I hope I have not rebelled, but waves 
 of desolation will at times sweep* over me ; 
 though, as I have said, underneath them all
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 79 
 
 is peace. I know I shall be happy again, 
 not exactly in the old way, but quietly and 
 truly happy ; even now I can at times 
 rejoice that my darling is never to know 
 pain or sorrow again; her whole life was 
 crowded brimming full of brightness and 
 sunshine till those last two days. Only two 
 days of sorrow in her whole eternity ! Hap- 
 py Bessie, and selfish mother who would 
 have kept you back from heavenly bliss ! 
 
 I never knew till now what it must have 
 cost the Shunamite mother to say, " It is 
 well with the child." It was so much harder 
 for her, for Jesus had not then taken little 
 children into his arms and blessed them. 
 
 Everybody has been kind ; some so un- 
 expectedly so my heart was greatly touch- 
 ed. Poor Katy O'Brien, who lived with me 
 the two first years of Bessie's life, walked 
 three miles to get some sweet peas that 
 were growing in a box at a friend's house, 
 because Bess was so fond of them. Her 
 pitying look, as she said, 
 
 " Please, ma'am, and would ye just be
 
 80 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 afther puttin' 'em in her own svvate little 
 hand ?" went to my heart. They were put 
 there, and " fragranted" the room. 
 
 Miss Patty Train, too, came, with her 
 voice all in a quiver, 
 
 " I can't say a word I can't !" she cried, 
 and sank down into a chair, sobbing like a 
 baby. 
 
 There was genuine sympathy in her poor 
 withered-up heart that had never had a 
 baby to cry for, and I valued it; but before 
 she went away she worried me dreadfully 
 by asking all sorts of questions that pierced 
 the raw spot cruelly ; she did not mean to 
 hurt me, and how could she know she did ? 
 I am trying to bear patiently ail true at- 
 tempts at consolation, however painful. I 
 know how very hard it is to express sympa- 
 thy in bereavement without paining, we 
 are so differently constituted ; and at such 
 times the heart is so very tender and 
 shrinking. 
 
 Mrs. Stone was out of town when Bessie 
 left us, but she came to see me directly after
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. gi 
 
 ner return. How I dreaded to see her very 
 face and hear her dismal tones ! But I 
 think on the whole she did me good ; she 
 made me speak cheerfully by contrast, and 
 she made me think of the dust and cob- 
 webs, which was good for me. I know she 
 thought I hadn't a particle of feeling, but I 
 could not talk of my sorrow to her who 
 never had, nor lost a child. Poor woman ! 
 can that be the reason, I wonder, that she 
 seems so unsympathetic and unfeeling? 
 She stayed to tea and praised my milk-toast 
 and cookies ; they were nice, and how could 
 she know how my heart ached when I roll- 
 ed them out, because there was no need to 
 make " tookey mans" any more ! 
 
 Christmas was a hard day, especially in 
 the morning ; it was impossible not to recal 
 the bewilderment and delight of our darling 
 last year, and her pretty prattle about 
 " Santa Caws," and to weep a little over the 
 sad silence that now fills the house. It 
 came on Sunday, and we went to churcn; 
 the fine music and the finer sermon lifted
 
 82 ^ OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 us out ot our selfish regret, till we could 
 heartily respond to the anthems of praise 
 and thanksgiving that went up all over 
 Christendom, "that unto us is born a Sa- 
 viour, which is Christ the Lord." Who, in- 
 deed, should heartily rejoice in His birth IT 
 not those whose best beloved ones have 
 been taken to be with him in his risen 
 glory ? 
 
 Aunt Katharine kept Christmas with us ; 
 we trimmed the house with lovely ever- 
 green wreaths as usual, and gave our gifts 
 to those poorer than ourselves ; though, 
 when I carried some gifts to Tim MaJoney's, 
 I confess, with her six children, that mother 
 seemed the rich and I the poor one. My 
 heart is very tender now towards all little 
 children, though it always gives me a pang 
 to see a little girl of Bessie's age. I am so 
 glad Aunt Katharine knew and loved our 
 darling. Last night she said to Graham, 
 
 " I have been thinking how your mother 
 will enjoy Bessie in heaven ; she was so 
 passionately fond of little children."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. gj 
 
 " And you think she loves them still ?" I 
 said. 
 
 " With Christ and like Christ, and not love 
 little children ! that can never be," she said, 
 almost reprovingly. 
 
 " Do you suppose little children still re- 
 main little children, then?" said Graham. 
 
 That question had continually risen in my 
 mind, but I did not reason much upon it, 
 for I did not want to be argued out of my 
 belief that they do. Longfellow's lines keep 
 haunting me, 
 
 " Not as a child shall we again behold her; 
 
 For when with rapture wild, 
 In our embraces we again enfold her, 
 She will not be a child, 
 
 "But a fair maiden in her Father's mansion, 
 
 Clothed with celestial grace, 
 And beautiful with all the soul's expansion 
 Shall we behold her face." 
 
 And then that still more cruel line, 
 
 v Where she no longer needs our poor protection,
 
 84 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 no longer needs to be taken up and rocked 
 watched over and tended ; a bitter truth, if 
 it be one, to a mother whose baby has just 
 been taken out of her arms. I listened to 
 hear what Aunt Katharine would say ; she 
 said nothing, except, 
 
 " I don't know ; we have not been told." 
 
 " But of such is the kingdom of heaven," 
 I said. 
 
 " By that may be meant that only such as 
 are of a child-like spirit, as trustful and 
 teachable as little children, are to enter that 
 kingdom of heaven," said Graham. 
 
 " But is not the longing of every mother's 
 heart a prophecy ?" I asked " an instinct too 
 strong for God to disappoint? And what 
 a cheerless heaven it would be without any 
 children !" 
 
 " But children are constantly going 
 there," he said, " so there may be no lack 
 of children, even if our own have grown." 
 
 " And heaven full - of weeping Rachels 
 who will not be comforted, because their 
 children are not ! Other people's children
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 85 
 
 would never satisfy me, nor any other 
 mother!" I said. 
 
 I spoke sharply, and was sorry for it in a 
 moment ; and crept nearer to my husband, 
 laying my head on his shoulder, and beg- 
 ging him to be patient with his poor weak 
 wife. 
 
 It is easy to be selfish in our griefs, and I 
 am sure I have been. Graham has felt our 
 loss just as keenly as I, but he has been far 
 more considerate of others. There is al- 
 ways a look of pain in his face when he 
 comes home at night and finds no little Bes- 
 sie dancing down the walk to meet him no 
 joyful shout of welcome ; but in a moment 
 he smiles, and is as cheery as ever, and far 
 more tender; and I want to be made less 
 selfish and every way better by this sore 
 affliction, so that my darling may not have 
 died in vain. 
 
 That evening Deacon Jessup came in 
 good old homely Deacon Jessup ; a child- 
 less man who has buried five young chil- 
 dren. I have often seen the row of little
 
 86 OUR TWO LIVES 
 
 graves in the cemetery, and thought what 
 heart-aches he and his wife must have had. 
 He took my hand, pressing it till it ached ; 
 but it was a kindly grasp, ?nd there were 
 tears in his eyes when he saic, 
 
 " God's ways are not as our ways, Miss 
 Kingston." 
 
 Now Mrs. Stone had said the very same 
 words ; and it sounded as if she thought she 
 must say something out of the Bible, be- 
 cause there had been a death in the house ; 
 but in the good deacon's mouth they sound- 
 ed very differently. Bessie had been very 
 fond of the good old man ; and his hearty 
 " Good morning, my little lady," was sure 
 to bring out a " Dood morning, Misser Jes- 
 sy," in response, and the very last time she 
 went into the street, she ran away from me 
 to meet him, crying out merrily, " Toss me 
 up, Misser Jessy, toss me up, up, way up to 
 the sky !" and he came into the yard and 
 jumped her up and do\vn as high as his 
 long arms cou'd reach, to her great delight ; 
 she screamino and telling him, with a com-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. g; 
 
 ical twist of her little head, " I'm Mother 
 Bunch, I am," and we all laughed heartily, 
 and the deacon said, 
 " Children are curis little critturs." 
 So I was drawn to him, and when he said, 
 "God's ways are not as our ways," adding, 
 " but they are good ways, Miss Kingston," 
 I knew how hard it must be for him to say 
 that from his heart, with those five little 
 children all lying under the snow. But a 
 laughing face with tossing curls rose up so 
 vividly before me, I could not speak for an 
 instant; and he saw it, and sat down by my 
 husband, and talked about the weather. 
 After a while Graham propounded to him 
 the same question we had been discussing, 
 Whether those who died in infancy would 
 still remain little children in heaven ? 
 
 " Now, Squire, that's a thing I've thought 
 about a great deal, year in and year out, as 
 I may say," he answered, with a little quiver 
 in his voice, "for I've a good many little 
 ones there, you know, and if the} 7 are still 
 little I should like to know it. I should like
 
 88 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 to have 'em kept little, if it's for the best 
 But then I've sometimes thought maybe 
 'twouldn't be quite fair to them to keep 'em, 
 from growing any." 
 
 " But little children are so happy," I said. 
 
 " Yes, in their little way, so they be ; but 
 you see it's the natur' of things to grow and 
 keep a growin' ; and I don't suppose a little 
 child's sperrit could take in so much heav- 
 enly blessedness as a bigger one; 'twould 
 be pleasanter for you and me, Miss King- 
 ston, to find 'em when we get there lookin' 
 jest as they did when we was a trottin' on 
 'em on our knees; but mightn't it be sort 
 of selfish to have 'em kept back just for 
 that?" 
 
 Was I selfish still, thinking of my own 
 pleasure instead of Baby's good? But I 
 said nothing. 
 
 " Sometimes I've thought," continued he, 
 "that ma'be, just 10 please us, He'd let 'em 
 be babies till we got to 'em agin 'twon't 
 be long, you know and so let us have the 
 pleasure of seem' 'em grow up under our
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 89 
 
 own eye. But the truth is, we don't know, 
 but dreadful little about such things, be- 
 cause He hain't told us ; but then I don't 
 worry one mite about it ; He'll fix it all 
 right yes, exactly right. If it's best to 
 have 'em stay little children there, they will ; 
 and if it 'taint, they won't. There's but just 
 one thing we know for sartain," he added, 
 "that they are His lambs, and He's the 
 Good Shepherd." 
 
 " And that is enough !" said Graham, 
 softly. 
 
 " Yes," I said, softly too, silently adding, 
 to myself, " neither will I worry ; He'll fix it 
 right ; yes, exactly right." 
 
 " I thought a good deal of your little gal," 
 he said, when he got up to go, " 'twas hard 
 for you to give her up. I know all about 
 it ;" and he wiped his eyes with the back 
 of his hand ; " but, then, they'll be there a 
 waitin' for us, Miss Kingston, and we shall 
 find it's all exactly right." 
 
 So we shall. I will not yield to selfish 
 doubts ; I will not even wish t-./ keep my
 
 90 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 .child from growing up into the stature of 
 the tallest angel, if God so chooses. 
 
 How a little faith clears one's vision ! I 
 would give more for such an undoubting 
 faith as Deacon Jessup's, than for all the 
 knowledge in the world without it.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 RAHAM has read aloud to me a 
 good deal these winter evenings; 
 it is good of him to give me so much 
 time when he is so pressed by business ; 
 but he says it always rests and refreshes 
 nim to sit down with me in this quiet 
 way. I hope it does ; but I feel sure the 
 real reason is that he knows how sorely 
 I miss Bessie then. 
 
 He has taken up some of the old English 
 poets, of whom I knew almost nothing, and 
 I have quite fallen in love with Herbert and 
 George Withers; their heavenly thoughts 
 and quaint, musical rhymes fall deliciously 
 on both heart and ear. Vaughan is another 
 of Graham's favorites. We have not got so 
 very far beyond these men, after all our
 
 9 2 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 boasted progress ; nor so much nearer to 
 God and heaven ! Graham first learned to 
 relish these authors when he was in college ; 
 and Aunt Katharine, who fairly revels in 
 old English literature, used to get him to 
 read aloud to her ; it was a good thing for 
 him to acquire a taste for this wholesome 
 literature ; and, during the busy years that 
 have followed, he has always found time for 
 general reading ; and I see that even in his 
 office library a good many miscellaneous 
 authors crop out from among the musty old 
 law-books. 
 
 A bad thing this in Judge Irwin's eyes, 
 who shakes his head when he sees them, 
 and says, 
 
 "Law is a jealous mistress, my young 
 friend; and he who would win her favors, 
 must beware how .he flirts with other 
 charmers." 
 
 He always will call Graham young. Well, 
 at seventy, perhaps a man of thirty-five does 
 seem youngish ; and I do suppose Graham's 
 chances for dying a Chief-Justice on the Su-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 93 
 
 preme Court bench are not so goou as if he 
 never opened anything" but a law - book ; 
 but I am sure he is a better husband and a 
 happier man. It keeps him from being one- 
 sided; and helps him to take broad, com- 
 prehensive views, as all men should. 
 
 Now and then we have one of Shake- 
 speare's plays, which Graham reads ad- 
 mirably ; and, among other things, we have 
 read this winter " Emerson's Essays." Gra- 
 nam enjoys Emerson in a certain way ; he 
 is so suggestive of new thought, and so 
 stimulates and rouses him intellectually; 
 but I follow his mystical flights with diffi- 
 culty, and feel a sad sense of want at the 
 end. Graham has no sympathy with some 
 of his views, and acknowledges he does not 
 satisfy. 
 
 " But he leads you into such vast, grand 
 ranges of thought and speculation," he says, 
 " and quickens all your faculties into such a 
 keen activity." 
 
 " Yes," I answer, " but he seems always 
 reaching put after truth, withput finding it."
 
 9 4 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " Well, the reaching out is a good thing ; 
 the very aspiration is expanding and en- 
 nobling." 
 
 " But painful, too," I said, " if the search 
 is to be always baffled. Does our Father 
 mean his children should be always groping 
 in darkness, among mists and shadows?" 
 
 " No," said Graham, his eye kindling, " no, 
 he does not ! Christ has come, and says, ' 1 
 am the light of the world,' and ' He that fol- 
 loweth me shall not walk in darkness, but 
 shall have the light of life.' What could be 
 more positive than that? No, Annie, much 
 as I enjoy that style of authors, in a certain 
 way, I see more and more, as I read them, 
 how Christ, and Christ only, sheds light on 
 the great problems of life ; without Him 
 they are all unsolved, and such speculations 
 give me a deeper and more profound rever 
 ence for Him and His words, they make 
 me see, too, how necessary it was that God 
 should become incarnate ' God manifest in 
 the flesh' that we might get some clear 
 and just conception of Him, and not be left
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 95 
 
 forever groping about in doubt as to what 
 He is and what is to be our future destiny 
 Yes, Mr. Emerson is a wonderful man, a 
 splendid thinker and soarer, but even his 
 soul is dark till the true Light shines into 
 it ! Christ says, ' I am the way ;' and, soar as 
 lofty as the human intellect may, if it find not 
 Him, it finds not the way, nor the Truth." 
 
 " Nor the Life," I said, softly. 
 
 " No, most emphatically not the Life. 
 'He that hath the Son, hath life;* and he 
 that hath not the Son, hath not iife;' and He 
 says, ' I am the bread of life ; if any man 
 shall eat of this bread, he shall live forever.' 
 No, there is no true, glorious, blessed, eter- 
 nal life where Christ is not." 
 
 "Yet how many shut out this life," I said ; 
 " how many wretched, starving souls there 
 are in the world who are longing for joy, 
 and yet keep looking for it where it never 
 can be found !" 
 
 " Yes, this is the saddest of all sad facts," 
 said Graham, " and the one I can least com- 
 prehend."
 
 g& OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 Reading that compelled thought, has been 
 good for me this winter; sentimental fiction 
 is not what a wounded heart that needs 
 bracing, not weakening, requires ; nothing 
 tones up and exhilarates like a little hard 
 study. " Nothing of the best comes with- 
 out labor," as Graham says. 
 
 We talk a good deal about heaven in 
 these days; how can we help it when 
 our one little ewe-lamb is there, instead of 
 in our bosoms. We wonder what heaven is 
 like, what Bessie is doing there, and whether 
 she thinks of us and the old home ?, But all 
 our speculations do not carry us much be- 
 yond good Deacon Jessup's conclusion, 
 " He'll fix it all just right." 
 
 The more we talk about it, the more I feel 
 how little we really know about heaven ; 
 that is, of the details of the life they are liv- 
 ing there. We can indulge in delightful 
 theories, but they are only theories. I won-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 97 
 
 der that no more is revealed. Every one 
 who has lost a friend, has followed him into 
 the spirit world with intense longings for 
 more knowledge of that life what is he 
 doing? what is he thinking of? is he con- 
 scious of the old life, conscious of us, our 
 love, our agony, our longings? 
 
 We besiege the heavens with our impor- 
 tunate cries, but how silent the heavens are ! 
 never a voice comes back ; never the faint- 
 est echo to still our longings. The beautiful 
 blue sky is radiant ; the air breathes round 
 us with its soft, spirit-like sighing ; the birds 
 fly far away into its clear depths, but from 
 none of them comes a word or a sign from 
 our lost ones. It is only from the Bible 
 that we know even so much as that there is 
 a life beyond. " I am the resurrection and 
 the life," "Because T live, ye shall live 
 also," are the words that make this sure ; 
 but the Bible gives us only outlines of that 
 future state grand glorious ones, to be 
 sure, but still only outlines. It tells us of 
 the many mansions, but not how they are 
 9
 
 ^8 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 furnished, nor how the occupants are em 
 ployed. It speaks of the glory which shal' 
 be revealed, but not in what that peculia' 
 glory consists. John, in the Revelation 
 uses the most glowing imagery to convey 
 to us impressions of the sinlessness, the rest, 
 the brightness and beauty of heaven, but 
 none of the details for which our hearts 
 yearn are given. I am struck by this si- 
 lence ; I wonder why, having told so much, 
 he tells no more. 
 
 I talked this over with Graham. " God 
 doesn't seem to want we should know much 
 about heaven," I said. " When a friend 
 dies, the door is shut between us ; he liter- 
 ally passes within the veil, and we see and 
 hear nothing more of him. Why is this?" 
 
 " Perhaps because heavenly things cannot 
 be told. You can't teach a five-year-old 
 child how the planets move in their orbits, 
 nor why the moon changes in size every 
 night; you don't try to; if he asks you 
 questions, you say, * Wait, my child ; by-and- 
 bye, when you are able to understand it.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 99 
 
 you shall hear all about it.' It sounds very 
 much like this when we are told, ' Eye hath 
 not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it en- 
 tered into the heart of man to conceive 
 what God hath prepared for them that love 
 him.' For it doth not yet appear what we 
 shall be.' When anybody attempts to defi- 
 nitely map out the inconceivable glory, it 
 seems to me very much like a child's calcu- 
 lating eclipses or predicting the appear- 
 ance of a comet. All spiritual life is a mys- 
 tery, and heaven cannot but be beyond our 
 grasp while we are in the flesh, from its 
 very nature." 
 
 " I almost hope some of Swedenborg's 
 theories may prove true," I said, " they are 
 such beautiful ones." 
 
 "Very beautiful; but I imagine all who 
 reach heaven will find something even far 
 more beautiful and glorious than these has 
 been prepared," said Graham. " I am glad 
 it is Christ, and not Swedenborg or any 
 other mortal man, who is to prepare the 
 mansion, '/go to prepare a mansion.' is
 
 IOO OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 a very delightful assurance, for he alone 
 knows what a human soul requires to per. 
 feet and bless it. Human planners are apt 
 to make heaven very much like this world 
 over again, only a little greener and fairer, 
 and fuller of sunshine and flowers." 
 
 " Well, this world does sometimes seem 
 lovely and good enough to live in forever," 
 I said, " if the sin were only gone a great 
 if that, I know." 
 
 " Some have a theory that the new heav- 
 ens and earth are to be these same dear old 
 ones, refitted and purged of all that mars or 
 defiles them. You would like that, Annie." 
 
 " Yes ; it is a pleasant idea," I said. 
 
 "It may be the true one; we can't say, 
 because we are not told ; but in God's great 
 universe there may be places still more at- 
 tractive ; I think there probably are ; but 
 we need not trouble ourselves about it ; the 
 sense of the beautiful which God has given 
 us, will doubtless be gratified there to the 
 full by Him who has made this world so 
 fair. The locality is of small account : our
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. IO I 
 
 surroundings will no doubt be adapted to 
 us : and what we are to be there is the main 
 thing. And we know a good deal about 
 that; we are to be made spotlessly clean 
 and white ; to be without one impure de- 
 sire ; one low, mean, selfish thought ; to be 
 filled with all high and noble aspirations ; 
 with all truth and knowledge, and glowing 
 with perfect love with Christ and -like 
 Christ ah ! that will indeed be a heaven 
 worthy of an immortal soul!" 
 
 " I shall be satisfied when I awake in Thy 
 likeness," I said. 
 
 " Yes, no human desire can go beyond 
 that, or even begin to conceive of it," said 
 Graham ; " and if, as some imagine, the spir- 
 itual body is but an expression, an out- 
 growth, as it were, of the spirit, how very 
 pure and lovely it must be! Paul answers 
 the question, ' How are the dead raised up, 
 and with what body do they come ?' by say- 
 ing, ' God giveth it a body as it hath pleased 
 Him ;' and that is enough, for only the best 
 possible one would please Him he adds.
 
 IO2 OUA TWO LIVES. 
 
 ' and to every seed his own body ;' that is, 
 I suppose, that the germ of life, the soul, the 
 immortal part, will have its own individual 
 body ; but just what the form of it will be, 
 we are not told, nor need we be ; we can 
 safely leave all that with Him who fashioned 
 our present ones so wondrously." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ;" I said. 
 
 " I think more ts told us about that future 
 state, Annie, than you think ; the texts that 
 speak of it, when we examine them carefully, 
 contain more meaning than they seem to at 
 the first glance ; take, for instance, this one : 
 ' For it doth not yet appear what we shall 
 be; but we know' this much we are cer- 
 tain of' that, when Christ shall appear, we 
 shall be like Him.' Now, what a wealth of 
 meaning lies in these two words ; look at 
 them think of them ' Like Him: What 
 does it mean? That we shall be filled with 
 all truth, for one thing; for He is truth. 
 What an inspiring idea ! to get at the truth, 
 the pure truth, without any mixture of er- 
 -or and to be true, with no shams, or de-
 
 OUR TWC LIVES. lc< 3 
 
 ceptions, or falsities about us how glori- 
 ous ! the very thought of it is like taking 
 draughts of fresh air into the soul ! Here, 
 we are fettered and hemmed in ; there, the 
 realm will be boundless, and our power of 
 comprehension forever enlarging, and we 
 shall get not conjectures, doubts, theories, 
 ingenious and brilliant speculations but 
 verities truth. Then we shall know how 
 much or how little absolute truth there is in 
 the perplexing theories our scientific men 
 are broaching now. Oh, I long to know the 
 truth about geology, and astronomy, and a 
 thousand other things !" 
 
 " You don't expect to study such things 
 there !" I said. 
 
 " To be sure I do ; why not ?" 
 
 " When you get there, perhaps you won't 
 care to know about anything but God and 
 spiritual truths." 
 
 "How can we thoroughly understand 
 God while ignorant of His works and the 
 laws by which He made and governs them? 
 I can't but think that one object He had in
 
 I04 OUR TWO LIVES 
 
 creating such myriads of wonderful worlds 
 was, that His creatures, through them, 
 might learn to understand Him ; and I think 
 He would hardly have given us capacities 
 for such investigations to nip them just in 
 the bud, and when we are stepping out of 
 this world into one still more wonderful. 
 Truth is the food of the soul, and knowledge 
 lies at the basis of all truth." 
 
 " But He reveals himself so much more 
 fully in our own souls," I said. 
 
 " True, but the two do not conflict. God 
 can't teach one thing in the soul, and a con- 
 tradictory one in the stars and rocks." 
 
 " But knowledge of spiritual truths must 
 surely be the highest kind of knowledge," I 
 said. 
 
 "Certainly, and the best kind; but all 
 knowledge is good ; and the material and 
 the spiritual so run into and influence each 
 other, that it is hard to separate them in this 
 life perhaps in any life. This world alone, 
 viewed by the light of truth, would furnish 
 material for study for an indefinite period;
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. IO 5 
 
 and then think of a whoVe universe of worlds, 
 all filled with manifestations of the power, 
 wisdom, and love of the same Creator and 
 Father, waiting to be understood ! Surely 
 eternity will be none too long to learn all 
 there is to know, even of the works of 
 this great Creator their Father and our 
 Father !" 
 
 " Do you suppose knowledge will come to 
 us, there, without any effort of ours? or shall 
 we have to work for it, as we do here ?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Oh work for it, I hope !" he said ; " study 
 is too pure and intense a pleasure to be 
 given up. Besides, it is not God's way to 
 pour out his treasures into merely passive 
 recipients." 
 
 " Hard study isn't such intense delight to 
 everybody," I said ; " it tires some people 
 dreadfully your poor wife, for one. 1 
 should much prefer to have things come 
 to me." 
 
 " I doubt it ; your mind enjoys stud}', 
 only your body gets tired ; and there, active
 
 1O 6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 minds won't be pent up in poor, weak bod- 
 ies there won't be any getting tired there." 
 
 "Oh, how nice that will be 1 " I said; 
 " think of poor Mary Beebe, who has never 
 been anything but tired all her life. Won't 
 rest be the thing she will enjoy most ?" 
 
 " The thing she will have, then, probably. 
 I have no idea we shall all be doing precisely 
 the same thing ; variety, infinite variety, is 
 the law of the universe, so far as we know, 
 and there is no reason to suppose we shall 
 all be exactly the same in heaven any more 
 than here." 
 
 " Only we shall all be loving children," I 
 said. 
 
 " Yes ; all dutiful, loyal subjects all obe- 
 dient, loving children," he replied. 
 
 " And that is a vast deal to have in com- 
 mon." 
 
 " Yes, indeed it is ; the difference of differ- 
 ences must always be between those who 
 obey and serve, and those who rebel and 
 do not serve the loyal and the disloyal. 
 And while I rejoice to think all our intel-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 107 
 
 lectual capacities will be expanded into glo- 
 rious breadth and strength, it is far more 
 satisfactory to know we shall be like Christ 
 in our spiritual natures, be in full sym- 
 pathy with Him in His love and purity 
 and holiness. Yes, wife, those words, like 
 Him, are a vast revelation of what our 
 friends in heaven are doing, and of what we 
 shall do if we ever join them ! Think how 
 pure and holy Jesus was ; how tenderly He 
 loved every human being"; how deep an in- 
 terest He took in every little incident that 
 concerned them so minute an interest, that 
 He said, ' Even the very hairs of your head 
 are all numbered,' and how He was con- 
 stantly doing something for the poor, the 
 sick, the lonely, and the sorrowful, and we 
 get a great insight into what we shall do in 
 heaven. 
 
 " You are right, Annie," he said, after a 
 pause, " to be like Christ in His love is far 
 more than to be like Him in His knowledge, 
 if we were forced to choose between them ; 
 they harmonize and strengthen each other ;
 
 108 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 more knowledge will help us to love more ; 
 and more love help us to know more. Oh, 
 Annie, to think of loving like Christ as well 
 as with Him ! isn't it enough to make one 
 long to soar away to that better life at 
 once ! But, then, we can bring heaven to 
 earth by becoming more and more like 
 Christ every day we live that, after all, is 
 the true glory of heaven !" 
 
 I sometimes think Graham is too much 
 given to speculations, and to " mapping out 
 the inconceivable glory" himself; but he 
 says he means to go only so far as the Bible 
 sanctions him in doing. He lives far nearer 
 to God and heaven than most do ; perhaps 
 such get a clearer insight into truth ; I am 
 sure they do. For myself, I can only in 
 meekness and lowliness try to do the Mas- 
 ter's will in my own poor, every-day way ; 
 and then, perhaps, I too shall one day know 
 what heaven is like and what it is to be like 
 Christ Ineffably good and glorious I see 
 and feel that. 
 
 But I enjoy living in this world just as it
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. XQQ 
 
 is, even after my great sorrow, which I never 
 forget. This has been a pleasant winter, in 
 spite of its heart-aches, very pleasant, but in 
 an entirely different way from all other win- 
 ters not gaiety, not joy, but resignation 
 has marked it. 
 
 Had anybody told me a year ago that 
 Bessie would die in November, and that I 
 should have a pleasant winter, how mon- 
 strous I should have thought it ! I cannot 
 understand it now cannot help wondering 
 that I have not suffered more. There have 
 been keen agonies, sore heart-aches, but they 
 have been short, and a sweet peace abides. 
 Can it be His peace ? Is it possible that to 
 such a weak, sinful creature as I, the Com- 
 forter has indeed come ; I must believe this, 
 and that it is His presence that cheers me. 
 To His disciples, He said, " We will come 
 unto Him and make our abode with Him." 
 What thrilling words and what a stupen- 
 dous truth ! I believe it ; believe that into 
 the weakest, saddest heart that opens to re- 
 ceive this divine Guest the Father and the 
 10
 
 TWO LIVES. 
 
 Son will come and abide ; and the exalted 
 joy that abiding brings, what words can 
 express? The divine dwelling in the hu- 
 man, the Infinite in the finite ; how marvel- 
 lous ! how glorious ! This must be the real 
 foretaste of heavenly joy the truest heaven 
 we can know on earth ! I can rejoice that 
 Bessie is happier than she could have been 
 here. I did want her ; I do want her now 
 more than words can tell ; but, when I think 
 of all the sweetness and purity of heaven, I 
 seem to hear her ask, " Would you keep me 
 back from all this, mother?" 
 
 No ! I will not mourn that my baby is an 
 angel. I will bear my loneliness and heart- 
 aches patiently, remembering that I am the 
 mother of a child clothed in all the grace, 
 the beauty, the holiness of heaven. I hoped 
 a great deal for my darling, but never any- 
 thing so glorious as this ! And she will not 
 forget me ; she will be watching and waiting 
 for me. How careful must I be to keep my 
 soul free from stain for her dear sake ! To 
 see her mother's soul foul with sin, might
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. Iu 
 
 dim her bright eyes, even in heaven. Oh, 
 help me, Lord, to live worthy of the child 
 Thou hast given to me, and as the mother 
 of a spirit in glory should !
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 SPRING has come again ; the air is 
 full of tender thrills, the buds are 
 everywhere swelling and the flowers 
 springing. I dreaded the spring, think- 
 ing it would be harder to have ray baby 
 dead when everything else was full of 
 life, but I do not find it so. I rejoice that 
 it is life and not death that pervades the 
 universe. 
 
 I strolled through a beautiful old wood 
 this morning, and the new life stirring there 
 gave me inexpressible delight ; as I leaned 
 against the trunk of an oak tree, I could al- 
 most feel the sap creeping up through each 
 vein and fibre, carrying a wealth of green- 
 ness and beauty to its outermost stem and 
 branch ; how i* would change that brown, 
 
 (na)
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. II3 
 
 leafless, unsightly tree into a mass of living 
 verdure and loveliness that would delight 
 the eye of every passer-by ! What a touch- 
 ing type of the human soul was that tree- 
 dark, cold, and barren till breathed upon by 
 the divine Spirit, kindling it into indescrib- 
 able beauty, grace and fruitfulness. How 
 one longs for this inward quickening, when 
 all nature is being thus revivified! Each 
 spring the world seems more enchantingly 
 beautiful, more full of love and light and 
 joy. Coleridge says : 
 
 " Ours is her wedding-garment; ours her shroud." 
 
 I am glad that to me it is the wedding-gar- 
 ment, not the shroud. 
 
 But there are sad hearts which this cheer- 
 ing spring warmth does not penetrate ; the 
 sick and suffering suffer still, though all the 
 air is filled with light and fragrance. Mary 
 Beebe, poor soul, is dying of consumption ; 
 her little Laura survived the scarlet-fever, 
 but she is blind, and probably will be all her 
 life in consequence. Soon after Bessie's 
 10*
 
 H4 OUR TWO LIVES - 
 
 death, the mother came to see me, and I 
 could well understand the tremor in her 
 voice when she said, 
 
 " There are troubles harder to bear than 
 yours, Mrs. Kingston." 
 
 Yes, indeed ; she, with that invalid child 
 and a miserably intemperate husband, had a 
 far heavier burden, I knew. I wanted to 
 comfort her ; I who had so much to rejoice 
 in my darling safe in heaven, pure and 
 Deautiful forever, and my dear, strong hus- 
 band left to me on Dearth. A few weeks 
 later her husband was taken sick, and after 
 a long, suffering illness died. I suppose that 
 must be a relief; but the poor woman was 
 so worn down by the care of him, that she 
 soon took to her bed and has never since 
 been able to leave it. I do not think she 
 can live long. It is distressing to see her ; 
 she lies gasping for breath, with three poor 
 children hanging round her, to be left with- 
 out parent, home or means ; and saddest of 
 all is poor Laura's patient, suffering face 
 from which the light has all gone out. What
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 115 
 
 must it be for that sick mother to lie there 
 all day and all night and think! 
 
 She was more comfortable to-day, breath- 
 ing easier and sitting up in bed propped by 
 pillows, and was inclined to talk more than 
 usual. 
 
 " I do not fear death for myself," she said, 
 " but the children the children ; oh, how 
 can I leave the children !" 
 
 I -tried to say something comforting ; but 
 I was choking, and my heart, too, cried out, 
 ' How can she leave them ?" 
 
 " My oldest sister will take Hannah," she 
 went on to say ; " she's a strong, capable 
 child, and will make her way in the world ; 
 and Tom can go to my uncle's till a place is 
 found for him; but poor Laura who wiL 
 be good to her? If she could only die with 
 me and be laid in the same coffin, I could 
 lie down in the grave in peace." 
 
 What could I say ? The poor thing had 
 crept close to me and stood with her sight- 
 less eyes at my knee stroking my silk dress 
 with her little hand. I lifted her to my lap,
 
 11(5 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 but not caressingly, for she is not an inter- 
 esting child, but a sickly, puny thing that 
 only excites one's pity ; and her voice is 
 a sad, little wail. If God would take her 
 to himself, how much better it would be ! 
 But God does not take puny, motherless 
 children to himself; He leaves them to the 
 compassion of human hearts. 
 
 " You have always been my best friend," 
 said the suffering woman, " and I want .you 
 should advise me now. I can't die till I 
 know what will become of Laura. Oh don't 
 let her go to the poor-house ; they wouldn't 
 be good to her there !" she cried, in a voice 
 shrill with pain. 
 
 " No, she shall not go there," I said, but 
 without any clear idea how I could pre- 
 vent it." 
 
 " She isn't hard to take care of; she only 
 needs watching ; but she is a shy, timid little 
 thing. You are the only person she goes 
 to; if any other neighbor comes in, she 
 runs and hides; she likes your voice, I sup- 
 pose."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. \\j 
 
 I looked down at the child ; she laid her 
 thin, little hand on my cheek, and in her 
 sad, quavering tone said, 
 
 " Yes, I likes it." 
 
 My tears dropped thick on the wan, up- 
 turned face. 
 
 " Don't ky, pretty lady, don't ky I won't 
 be naughty," she whispered. 
 
 "Just Bessie's age just Bessie's age!" 
 This kept repeating itself in my ears ; yet I 
 fairly started when Mrs. Beebe, fastening 
 her eager, famishing eyes on me, said, 
 
 " She was born the same day your little 
 Bessie was the thirteenth of October." 
 
 Yes, and what if Bessie were being left in 
 the world blind, motherless, poor, with no 
 heart to love and cherish her? 
 
 " I promise you, Mrs. Beebe, she shall 
 never want for care," I said. " I don't know 
 what can be done, but I will see she does 
 not suffer." 
 
 " God bless you," cried the dying woman, 
 " He will bless you,' and a peaceful smile 
 rested on her face.
 
 Ug OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 Many thoughts crowded on my brain as I 
 walked home. I felt half guilty for having 
 made the promise, but how could I have 
 done otherwise? I hope I may find some 
 kind-hearted woman who for love or money 
 will take the child and be good to her ; but 
 I will certainly keep my word to that poor 
 dying creature, and see that she is not neg- 
 lected or abused. 
 
 After reaching home I could see nothing 
 but poor Mary Beebe's dying eyes ; and 
 "just as old as Bessie" kept ringing in my 
 ears. I told Graham about it when he 
 came, keeping back nothing but a possibility 
 that would thrust i*self into my thoughts, 
 but which I resolutely put down and meant 
 to keep down. If she were a pleasing, at- 
 tractive child, it would be so different, but 
 my whole heart rose up against the thought 
 of taking her into my own home ; and yet 
 the idea would recur again and again, and 
 a soft voice kept pleading for her in my 
 heart ; but I was determined not to heed it ; 
 and 1 felt half angry when Graham, who
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ng 
 
 had been sitting silent for some time with 
 his hand over his eyes, said, 
 
 " Annie, has it ever occurred to you that 
 we might take Laura Beebe 1" 
 
 " How in what way ?" I asked, unamiably. 
 
 " I hardly know ; perhaps it isn't practi- 
 cable ; but it seems hard to have the poor 
 child thrown on indiscriminate chanty, and 
 our house is so empty ! She is just Bessie's 
 age, you know." 
 
 "Yes, and if she were blind and you were 
 dying, wouldn't you want somebody to take 
 her and be kind to her?" whispered the 
 pleading voice. 
 
 " I couldn't have anybody taking Bessie's 
 place," I said aloud ; "it isn't to be thought 
 of for a moment, Graham ; no, I never 
 could !" I burst into sobs, and no more was 
 said about it. 
 
 Still, the inward voice was not silenced. 
 It is strange how things will come to us. 
 Years before I had heard a celebrated 
 preacher who, in speaking of our duties tc 
 the poor, after vividly depicting the miser-
 
 120 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 able condition of a filthy, degraded outcast, 
 had said, " You pass that poor creature by 
 with scorn and loathing ; but Gabriel, if he 
 were permitted to, would joyfully fly from 
 his bright seat in heaven to minister to her; 
 but it is not Gabriel's work, it is yours, and 
 you neglect it ; you, forsooth, are too dainty 
 to soil your fingers by touching work like 
 that." I had not thought of these words 
 for years ; but now they sprang up in my 
 mind as fresh and vivid as if just spoken, 
 and to me. Yes, here was work. I wanted, 
 or professed to want to work for my Master ; 
 here was an opportunity to do something 
 for Him brought to my very door. " Inas- 
 much as ye have done it unto one of the least 
 of these ye have done it unto me" Again and 
 again during the following week, I heard 
 that still, small voice, and again and again 1 
 hushed it. 
 
 "It would be preposterous, absurd," I said 
 to myself, "nobody else would ever think 
 of doing it, and why should I ? If she came 
 into the b juse, the care of her must come
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. I2 i 
 
 on me ; a three-year-old child, and blind be- 
 sides, could not be left to servants ; and what 
 an undertaking it would be to bring up such 
 a child as that ! No, I never could do h, 
 never!" 
 
 " Somebody must do it, or the child be 
 left to suffer," said the pleading voice. " If 
 Christ were on earth, He certainly would 
 do something for her ; He would pity her, 
 speak gently to her, and give her sight. 
 You can't do that, but you can be kind and 
 tender to her." 
 
 Yes, I could. I went out that very after- 
 noon to see several persons who I thought 
 might be persuaded to take her by being 
 paid, but without success ; and it was with 
 a heavy heart I turned down the little lane 
 in which the Beebe's lived. The nurse told 
 me Mrs. Beebe was sinking fast, and could 
 not possibly survive the night. I stepped 
 into the room for a moment, but, as she lay 
 apparently unconscious, was about to come 
 away, when she opened her eyes and fixed 
 them on r- v . ; f.ij.j, sLruj^ling 1 t j speak. I
 
 22 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 bent over her, but could only catch an mar- 
 ticulate murmur. I gave her a little wine, 
 and after swallowing it with difficulty, she 
 revived a little and murmured, 
 
 " Lau ra you will " 
 
 " Take her? Yes, I will," I said, moved by 
 I know not what sudden, irresistible impulse. 
 
 The brightness and joy that came over 
 that dying face, I shall never forget; new 
 life seemed to pervade her whole frame ; she 
 almost lifted herself up, and in quite a dis- 
 tinct voice said, 
 
 " Oh ! God will bless you for it ! bless 
 you !" 
 
 She fell back, her eyes still fixed on my 
 face, while her own beamed with joy ; but 
 the breathing grew very short and faint, 
 and in a few minutes all was over. I softly 
 closed her eyelids, praying from my inmost 
 soul that God would enable me to faithfully 
 keep the pledge I had made to that depart- 
 ing spirit, now gone to be with Him in Para- 
 dise. By His grace he/ping me, I could do 
 it, and I would.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 123 
 
 Strange as it seems, from that moment my 
 aversion to taking Laura went out of my 
 heart. I felt, instead, glad that I had been 
 permitted to cheer that poor woman's de- 
 parting spirit; and if my pledge involved 
 hardships and self-denial, as it certainly did, 
 it would be done for " the least of these my 
 brethren," and, therefore, for Christ himself. 
 It seemed almost too wonderful, too glori- 
 ous to be true, that I could do this for Him, 
 and in this humble way become a co-worker 
 with Him. 
 
 A warm glow was in my heart as I step- 
 ped lightly homeward over the frozen 
 ground, meeting my husband just as he was 
 coming in at the gate for his tea. When I 
 told him what I had done, his face grew 
 fairly radiant, and he folded me to his heart, 
 saying 
 
 "You dear, blessed little wife, it is just 
 what I expected of you !" and I believe we 
 both cried but not for sorrow. 
 
 Soon after tea Laura was brought in ; the 
 poor little, half-frozen thing was sadly fright-
 
 !24 OUX TWO LIVES. 
 
 ened and began to cry ; but I took her in 
 my arms and spoke soothingly to her, and 
 the moment she heard my voice she put her 
 hand up to my cheek with a soft, caressing 
 touch, that went to my heart ; and, cuddling 
 down with a look of perfect contentment on 
 her poor little wan face, was soon fast asleep. 
 I clasped her to my heart, another God- 
 given child to be loved and cherished. I 
 made up the little crib which had never 
 been taken from its place in the corner since 
 Bessie left it ; not with an aching heart, not 
 grudgingly, but with an indescribable sense 
 of peace and satisfaction. 
 
 As I looked at her thin, pinched face lying 
 in soft slumber on the pillow where Bessie's 
 used to lie> I seemed to see her mother's 
 spirit bending over us both, in love and 
 blessing; to see, too, my own sweet dar- 
 ling's face gazing at me with beaming eyes, 
 and hear her whisper, " I am so glad so 
 glad, mamma !" 
 
 Yes, perhaps my angelic child did rejoice 
 that I had taken that poor, forsaken waif
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 125 
 
 into my bosom and into her little crib who 
 can say ? I know the thought lay soft and 
 warm at my heart that night, and for many 
 a day and night, and I do not think it harmed 
 me. More touching still was the thought that 
 the Father of the fatherless was surely there, 
 shedding on us both His paternal benediction. 
 
 " God has given us another child to care 
 for now," I said to Graham, with tearful eyes. 
 
 " Yes, one He has himself sent." 
 
 " I hope so," I said, " and I don't believe 
 we shall ever be sorry !" 
 
 " I am sure we never shall, my precious 
 little wife." 
 
 And we talked of the peculiar trials her 
 blindness would cause us, and of how differ- 
 ent it would be from having our own Bessie 
 to train. I did not shrink in dismay from 
 these trials, for I was well and strong, and 
 needed more to do than just to take care of 
 my husband ; and I felt that if wisdom and 
 patience were only given to me to train her 
 rightly, I would rejoice in the work, not 
 murmur at it.
 
 126 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " I shall have to be a great deal more care- 
 ful, to be forbearing and patient with her, 
 for not having any mother-love in my heart," 
 I said. 
 
 " I think Christ-love will be just as effect- 
 ual," he said, smiling. 
 
 Graham's prayer that night was one 1 
 shall never forget ; it was such an uplifting, 
 holy one; so full of exultant joy and faith 
 that it seemed as if the very air thrilled with 
 the glory of the divine presence, and that 
 we must put off our shoes, because the place 
 where we stood was holy ground. Do an- 
 gels, do redeemed spirits, indeed, come and 
 bless us with the touch of unseen fingers? 
 That dead mother and Bessie seemed so 
 near to me that night, their faces beaming 
 with such radiant smiles, that I can almost 
 think they do. Graham says he is sure this 
 poor little child will be a new link to bind 
 us closer to Christ ; that love to one of His 
 creatures brings us into communion with 
 all loving spirits, and most of all with Him 
 wlose name is Love. Yes, I trust He ap-
 
 OUR TWC LIVES. 
 
 127 
 
 proves what we have done; and we will 
 try to so train the child that one day we may 
 bring her rejoicingly home another glad 
 spirit around His throne in heaven. 
 
 It thrilled me with tender, not painful 
 emotion to hear again the soft breathing of 
 a cnild by my side that night. Bessie needs 
 my care and watching no longer, but little 
 Laura does, and she shall have the tenderest 
 cherishing I can give her. 
 
 She slept all night, waking about daylight 
 with a pitiful little wail, instead of the joyful 
 outcry of my own baby ; but there was a 
 tender appeal to my sympathy in the wail, 
 and still more in the confiding touch of her 
 soft little hand. Poor thing! the daylight 
 and the darkness were all alike to her, but I 
 soothed her to sleep, and we had finished 
 breakfast before she again woke. 
 
 I tenderly washed and dressed her in 
 Bessie's own little garments, for I had no 
 other ready there was a sharp pain in my 
 heart as I once more tied the little strings 
 and buttoned the buttons, but the joy over-
 
 128 OUR TWO 
 
 laid the pain, and when she was dressed she 
 looked so sweet and clean, and had such a 
 peaceful smile on her thin face, I wondered 
 I had ever thought her plain. There is 
 nothing in the look of her eyes to show their 
 blindness, only a careful observer would no- 
 tice a little droop of the eyelid, and that 
 something, perhaps, was wanting in expres- 
 sion ; but the general impression one gets 
 is only of very soft, dark blue eyes. She is 
 a very clinging child ; and over and over, 
 when I was dressing her, she said, 
 " I loves you I loves you, I do !" 
 "And I love you, my dear," I said; and 
 was glad I could say it truthfully. 
 
 Such a lovely expression lighted up her 
 face when I said this, kissing her for the 
 first time, that my whole heart went out to 
 her. She was, indeed, with this sensitive 
 nature, the last child to be thrown on the 
 charity of strangers or taken to the poor- 
 house. No wonder her poor mother could 
 not die in peace till she was sure some one 
 would be " kind to Laura."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. i 2 g 
 
 When I put her down, she ran across the 
 room, and feeling all about the bed care- 
 fully, said, " Where am I ? and where's my 
 mamma? 
 
 I took her again in my arms, and folding 
 her to my bosom, I said, gently, 
 
 "Your mamma has gone away to live 
 with the beautiful angels in heaven." 
 
 She turned her sightless eyes imploringly 
 to my face, " Won't she come back again 
 I want my mamma," she said, with a pierc- 
 ing cry. 
 
 " You will some day go and live with her 
 among the beautiful angels," I said. 
 
 " I want my mamma I want her now /" 
 
 And she sobbed till her whole frame 
 shook, not noisily as most children do, but 
 with suppressed low sobs, twice as hard to 
 bear. I let her grief have vent, thinking it 
 was best so ; she evidently comprehended 
 the true state of things, far more clearly 
 than most children of her age would, and I 
 did not choose to deceive her. 
 
 When she became a little quiet, I set her
 
 130 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 down and, opening my piano, played a low, 
 sweet strain; she listened, as if entranced, 
 while a soft light stole over her face. I was 
 rejoiced to see that she had the passion for 
 music so often given to the blind, apparently 
 as a compensation for their loss of sight. 
 She came to the piano and, passing her hand 
 softly over the keys, said, " pretty pretty !" 
 I gave her some toys Bessie's toys feel- 
 ing that they were hallowed, not desecrated, 
 by such a use, and she amused herself with 
 them for hours, never speaking a word. If 
 I saw another childish figure there, another 
 dimpled hand, it did not pain me ; if my 
 own darling were near and she had never 
 seemed so near since she went away I 
 knew the angel spirit would rejoice to see 
 how happy the earth-child was made. 
 
 Laura has now been with us over two 
 months, and is a perfect picture of quiet 
 happiness, gliding noiselessly about the
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 131 
 
 house, never making a mis-step or losing 
 her way ; besides being clothed and fed, she 
 needs very little care, and it is perfectly as- 
 tonishing how little trouble she makes me. 
 Her mother spoke truly when she said she 
 would not be a troublesome child. I sup- 
 pose she was thrown so entirely on herself 
 during her mother's'illness that she learned 
 to amuse herself; and, instead of being un- 
 happy, she seems a .wonderfully happy 
 child ; only not in a noisy, boisterous way, 
 for she seldom makes a sound, tier great- 
 est treat is music from the piano ; and the 
 greatest punishment I can inflict, if she has 
 been naughty, is not to play a few tunes for 
 her before she goes to bed, as I am in the 
 habit of doing ; but she seldom is naughty, 
 not half so often as Bessie was, partly be- 
 cause she has less animal spirits ; but she has 
 also a much better disposition, is more affec- 
 tionate and anxious to please us. Now that 
 she has suitable food and care, her face and 
 little body are getting really plump, and I 
 think she would be called a nice-looking
 
 132 
 
 OUR TWC LIVES. 
 
 child by any one. But she is painfully shy 
 of strangers, and can rarely be persuaded to 
 speak to any one out of the family. 
 
 Miss Patty Train made me a call yester- 
 day, stopping on her way to the prayer- 
 meeting. 
 
 "Well, it doos beat all," she said, "your 
 takin' that are blind gal of Beeby's to bring 
 up. I don't say 'tain't all right, but it's cu- 
 ris how you ever come to think o' such a 
 thing. I told Miss Stone, says I, I guess 
 'twas cause she's just the same age as Betsy. 
 ' I think 'twas foolish if she was,' says she. 
 ' If I'd bin goin' to take a child at all, I'd 
 took one that was come of decent folks,' 
 says she." 
 
 We had thought of that matter of ances- 
 try before ; it had troubled me, I own, but 
 Graham settled it by saying, 
 
 " She's the child of a saint in glory, and 
 that is a good family enough for me." 
 
 So it should be for me, then, who had no 
 Kingston blood in my veins. I was tempted 
 to tell Miss Patty that, but I said, instead,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 13$ 
 
 " I hope she will grow up a good and use- 
 ful woman." 
 
 " I guess she will, Miss Kingston ; she 
 hain't got a mite of Beeby in her; she's 
 Temple all over. Miss Beeby was a 
 Temple, and as good a woman as ever 
 lived." 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " she is one of those who 
 'will wear the white robes, having come 
 out of much tribulation.' " 
 
 " It's curis now what a difference there 
 is in folks," said Miss Patty, "some folks 
 wouldn't touch such a child more'n they 
 would a toad, but I don't believe 'twill sile 
 your fingers any ; and doin' good to some- 
 body kind o' takes the soreness out o' a 
 Dody's heart when the Lord has bruised it." 
 
 Miss Patty is right ; it does take the sore- 
 ness out. Miss Patty is getting to be quite 
 cheerful, too ; she did not croak once while 
 she was here, nor utter one dismal proph- 
 ecy ; to be sure, she advised me to take " a 
 little seeny and rhubub to keep off the jan- 
 ders now warm weather is comin' on," but 
 12
 
 i34 OUR 
 
 fortunately, I am not obliged to follow her 
 prescription. 
 
 Aunt Katharine is greatly rejoiced that 
 we have taken Laura ; she, too, thinks it is 
 the best thing for a stricken heart to be 
 helping others. She advises our taking her 
 to the city to be examined by some experi- 
 enced oculist, that we may be sure with re- 
 gard to her eyes ; we had intended to do so, 
 and shall go as soon as Graham can find 
 leisure. He is very fond of Laura and in- 
 expressibly tender to her ; they never romp 
 together after the old fashion, but she 
 watches quite as eagerly for his home-com- 
 ing ; her quick ear detects his approach far 
 sooner than my eyes, and she trips down 
 the steps like a little fairy, to be brought 
 back triumphantly in his arms, her face all 
 in a glow of ecstacy. I never saw a child's 
 face express so much as hers ; the eyes do 
 not change, but every feature fairly gleams 
 when she is pleased, and to see her when I 
 am playing on the piano is a study for an 
 artist; she stands with her head bent a little
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 135 
 
 forward, eagerly drinking in every sound, 
 oer face changing with every changing 
 Strain. No one could live with her and not 
 become attached to her ; her very infirmity 
 interests you, and is an added claim on your 
 love and kindness ; but I fear she is of too 
 sensitive a temperament to get on well in 
 our rough world, and we must try to edu- 
 cate her wisely in this respect. 
 
 We have taken Laura to Dr. W , he 
 
 says the optic nerve is paralyzed, and there 
 is no possible cure for that. No, the poor 
 child can never see. I have shed a great 
 many tears over it ; I did not know till he 
 gave us his decision how much I had hoped 
 for a different one. But perhaps the dear 
 child may be as happy as other children, 
 though in a very different way ; one thing I 
 am sure of, while either Graham or I live, 
 she will have the tenderest love and cher- 
 ishing. I can so well understand now how
 
 136 O UK TWO LIVES. 
 
 her poor mother could not die in peace till 
 she knew some one would be kind to her 
 poor helpless orphan. The dear child will 
 see in heaven ; it is a comfort to know 
 that! 
 
 We stopped to see Aunt Katharine on 
 our way home, who was just as good and 
 lovely as ever. She opened her great heart 
 to take in our little waif at once, and said 
 she almost envied me the training of such a 
 child, and that if she were a little younger 
 she would try to find some poor stray to 
 adopt herself. She had the training of two 
 orphan nieces, who now are the brightness 
 and charm of her life, she says. I urged 
 her coming home with us, but she seemed 
 to prefer her own home during the hot 
 weather. 
 
 My little blind child is dearer than ever, 
 now I know she is doomed to perpetual 
 darkness ; we must try to let all the sunlight 
 possible into her soul, that within there may 
 be light in spite of the surrounding dark- 
 ness. They tell me the blind are usually
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 137 
 
 cheerful, and so far Laura certainly has 
 been ; but oh ! it is a sad thing to be in such 
 i fair, bright world as this and see nothing 
 of its beauty !
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A WHOLE year has passed since I 
 have written here, and the Spring 
 loveliness is again brightening on the 
 earth. The year brought few outward 
 changes, but we have had enough to 
 occupy our thoughts; Laura has thriven 
 beyond all expectation, and is now a plump 
 and perfectly healthy child, happy as a bird, 
 singing about the house from morning till 
 night : Graham's name for her is " Singing 
 Birdie," and she deserves it, having a mar- 
 vellously sweet voice for a child so young. 
 
 It is curious to watch the development 
 of her faculties, so different, in many re- 
 spects, from that of other children. She 
 passes her hand carefully over every new 
 object, and, by some mysterious instinct, 
 seems in that way to get an accurate idea
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. i^g 
 
 of it. She calls this seeing. Her likes and 
 dislikes are very strong, particularly for 
 persons, whom she judges of by their 
 voices. She is delighted by some and re- 
 pelled by others. When the tones are true 
 and kind, she calls it pretty ; or if harsh, or 
 in any way disagreeable, she shrugs her 
 shoulders and says, " Ugly ugly." 
 
 The other day a little girl of her own 
 age came with her mother to spend the 
 day She felt carefully of her face, her 
 hands, her dress, even to the ends of her 
 /ittle shoes, and then came running to me 
 ' Pretty girl pretty girl, Auntie, I see her 
 all ;" and at once established an intimacy 
 with her. If the investigation had not been 
 satisfactory, nothing would have induced 
 her to go near her again. 
 
 Her fondness for flowers, and delight in 
 them, is extraordinary. Without seeing 
 one of their beautiful tints, she gets rare 
 enjoyment from them from their fragrance, 
 I suppose though I sometimes think she 
 hears their gentle swaying in the breeze.
 
 140 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " She sings she sings," she will sometimes 
 say of a lily or a rose, and her quick ear 
 catches every out-of-door sound. The 
 murmur of insects, the twitter of birds, the 
 rustle of leaves, the sighing of the wind, 
 the tinkle of rain-drops, all fill her with de- 
 light. 
 
 It really does seem to us that she is hap- 
 pier than ordinary children, so good is 
 God to those we are apt to think hardly 
 dealt with. She has had but one illness ; 
 but that being a severe one, I was a good 
 deal alarmed for a few days. It showed 
 us how dear she had become to us ; for it 
 would, indeed, have been hard to give her 
 up. She lavishes so much affection on us, 
 that we cannot help repaying her in her 
 own coin. Yes, she has a large place in our 
 hearts not Bessie's place, but her own 
 and a very tender one it is. She always 
 calls Graham Papa and me Auntie, having 
 taken both up of herself. We do not inter- 
 fere with the fancy, as it will correct itself 
 when she grows older.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 141 
 
 What a mistake we should have made if 
 we had not taken this warm-hearted, sensi- 
 tive little child to our bosoms ! How little 
 I knew what a treasure the Lord was offer- 
 ing me when I wanted to thrust her away ! 
 What if I had ? What if she had gone to the 
 poor-house, the dear, shrinking, tender- 
 hearted little thing ? It makes me shudder 
 to think of it ? If I have done something 
 for her, she has done much more for me ; 
 wakening a new fountain of tenderness in 
 my heart not the same I felt for my own 
 darling child, but a very sweet and precious 
 one ; and my heart would be sadly vacant 
 without her now; and Graham is even 
 fonder of her than I. 
 
 Graham is gone a great deal, and, I fear, 
 is overworking himself, for he has had sev- 
 eral ill turns a new thing for him ; but he 
 makes very light of it. 
 
 A new sorrow has come with these lovely 
 Spring days ; Aunt Katharine has gone
 
 I 4 2 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 w home." She died very suddenly of heart 
 disease, and we have just come from the 
 funeral. She looked most beautiful in her 
 coffin, with her clear-cut, classic features 
 lying in that soft repose, and a sweet smile 
 resting on them. Dear Aunt Katharine ! 
 I loved her very tenderly, and looked to 
 her for advice and counsel ; but it would be 
 selfish to weep, because she has gone to 
 that home she so loved and yearned for. 
 
 I never knew any one take such cheerful 
 views of death as Graham. 
 
 " There can be no death," he says, " to a 
 Christian. It is only intenser, more glori- 
 ous life a life where our capacity for every- 
 thing great and noble will continually en- 
 large and be filled ; where everything that 
 is best in us will be expanded beyond and 
 above all we have ever dreamed of. Aunt 
 Katharine is not dead ! I cannot conceive 
 of such a noble spirit as her's going out. 
 Dead? She is just beginning to live in 
 the best sense ; and is that a thing to mourn 
 over, Annie ?"
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. i^ 
 
 " No," I said ; " but there is another side 
 to be looked at. If it is life and glory to 
 those who go, it is loneliness and desolation 
 to those who stay behind." 
 
 I thought, what if Graham and I should 
 ever be separated ! Perhaps he thought of 
 it, too ; for he said, very tenderly : 
 
 " So it is, darling, so it is, unless Christ 
 comes in and fills the vacancy. But don't 
 you suppose He will, or would, if we would 
 let Him ? ' I will come unto you,' He said 
 to the Twelve, when they were going to lose 
 a friend ; as if that was enough. Yes, Annie, 
 I really believe if, instead of shutting our- 
 selves into our sorrows and keeping all the 
 light of heaven out of our souls, we opened 
 them to receive Him, Christ would so come 
 to us that the season of our deepest grief 
 and anguish would become one of the rich- 
 est and most precious of our whole lives 
 I believe it is literally true, ' that earth hath 
 no sorrow which heaven cannot heal.' " 
 
 " But, oh, Graham !" I cried, " how can 
 vve help mourning ? It may be selfish ; but
 
 144 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 if a piece of our very hearts is torn away, 
 it must bleed, and we must feel the agony. 
 Say what you will, we must feel it ; and I 
 believe it was meant we should. Christ 
 Himself wept when Lazarus died ; and I'm 
 sure he didn't blame Martha and Mary for 
 grieving bitterly. He sympathized in their 
 grief, and went to the grave with them." 
 
 " Yes, He sympathized most tenderly, 
 and went to the grave ; but it was to bring 
 their brother to life. And is not that just 
 what He will do now ? He will go to the 
 grave with us as tenderly as He went with 
 them, and will raise our dead for us, saying, 
 1 Whosoever believeth on me shall never 
 die.' I think, too, He turns and asks us the 
 same question He asked Martha ' Be- 
 lievest thou this ?' Do we believe it, or do 
 we still cling to our friends as dead ? If we 
 believe it, surely it will do much to turn our 
 grief into joy." 
 
 " But we want the bodily presence of our 
 friends," I said. " We want to see them, 
 to hear and touch them. Believing in their
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 145 
 
 spiritual existence does not satisfy us. While 
 we are in the body, we crave more, and 
 can't help doing it." 
 
 " Yes, we do crave the visible presence, 
 and can't help grieving for its loss. I don't 
 mean to say there is no sorrow when a 
 friend goes out from our sight there is, 
 and must be ; but I think genuine faith lifts 
 us above the bitterness of grief; and that a 
 sense of Christ's living presence takes away 
 all unbearable loneliness, even when we are 
 most alone. In our darkest hours, to know 
 that our lost friend is still living, still loving 
 us, still ours, in the highest and best sense, 
 must be unspeakably consoling, When 
 Christ was to be no more visible with His 
 disciples, He said to them : ' If I go not 
 away, the Comforter will not come ; but if 
 I depart, I will send Him unto you ;' as if 
 the removal of the bodily presence was ne- 
 cessary to their receiving the higher revela- 
 tion of the spiritual one. May not this be 
 true of our friends may there not be a 
 closer nearness after death, a communion 
 13
 
 146 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 of spirit with spirit more precious and in- 
 spiring than even the old bodily one ?" 
 
 " That is what the spiritualists claim," 1 
 said. 
 
 " No ; they claim much more. They 
 claim that the spirits of the departed take 
 material shape and appear to the senses. My 
 idea is that they may touch our souls silently, 
 even as the Holy Spirit of God does, not 
 by any outward sign .or sound, but by an 
 inspiring, strengthening, quickening influ- 
 ence, of which we cannot tell whence it 
 cometh or whither it goeth an unseen, 
 noiseless message sent by God to cheer and 
 comfort us. That is very different from 
 one that is rapped up by a medium. I have 
 often felt, or thought I felt, my mother's 
 presence in this way ; and the touch of her 
 spirit on my spirit has thrilled me as no 
 earthly touch could; and perhaps this in- 
 visible presence has done as much for me as 
 her bodily one could it may be even more." 
 
 " I know what you mean," I said, softly. 
 " I don't remember my mother, but I idol-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ^7 
 
 ized my father, who lived till I was almost 
 twenty, and he often seems very near. I 
 felt this particularly the day we were mar- 
 ried. I felt almost sure he was close by me 
 then, sympathizing and approving. And, 
 oh ! it was such a comfort to believe this ; 
 and I don't think it did me any harm, even 
 it was only a fancy. It was a tender, hal- 
 lowed delight I felt, for which I could 
 heartily thank God. Dear little Bessie, too, 
 often seems very near, the darling ! I won- 
 der if they are here I never quite dare 
 believe they are. I think the Bible would 
 have told us, if it were so." 
 
 " There is nothing in the Bible to contra- 
 dict it, so far as I know," said Graham. 
 " It certainly shows us that the angels are 
 deeply interested in our affairs, and very 
 ready to come and help us whenever they 
 are needed ; and we can hardly believe the 
 spirits, who once shared all our earthly ex- 
 periences, can be less interested in us than 
 they are, or less willing to aid us. 'Are 
 they not all ministering spirits sent forth
 
 148 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 to minister for them who shall be heirs of 
 salvation ?' It does not strike me as at all 
 at variance with the Scriptural representa- 
 tions, to suppose that our friends, after they 
 have gone from our sight, may be sent 
 back unseen messengers to minister to our 
 spiritual progress." 
 
 " I am sure they must want to come and 
 help us," I said. 
 
 " Yes, they must. If you were to go first, 
 Annie, you would be glad to come back and 
 minister to me, I know." 
 
 " Certainly I should, if I might ; and so 
 would you." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; and I see no reason why it 
 may not be permitted; but we know too 
 little of that life to feel quite certain about it. 
 It is a thing to be felt rather than reasoned 
 about. Still, if this consciousness of their 
 nearness is felt in our most hallowed mo- 
 ments if it deepens our holiest convictions 
 and draws us closer to God and heaven I 
 don't knoiv why we need fear to accept it 
 as a truth. *
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. I^Q 
 
 " It would certainly make our life a far 
 richer one," I said. 
 
 " Yes ; and this communion may be a dim 
 foreshadowing of that fuller communion 
 of spirits to which we look forward in 
 heaven." 
 
 " But isn't there danger of its lower- 
 ing our conception of heaven ?" I asked. 
 " Should we not think of that as the place 
 for entire and perfect communion with God 
 Himself rather than for the enjoyment of 
 earthly friendships ?" 
 
 " It is a false idea that the two conflict. 
 I believe a pure earthly friendship leads us 
 to God, not away from Him ; and that lov- 
 ing and ministering to friends in heaven 
 would not lessen, but intensify, the fulness 
 of our communion with Him. We have no 
 right to think of God as an isolated being, 
 wrapt up in the contemplation of His own 
 perfections, withdrawn from His children 
 for perpetual worship ; for such is not the 
 Bible representation of Him. ' Christ,' as 
 one finely says, ' is the mind of God expressing 
 13*
 
 150 OUR TWO LIVES 
 
 itself ? and who was ever so considerate of 
 others as Christ, so entirely devoted to serv- 
 ing them ? Doubtless the spirits in heaven 
 that are fullest of adoration are fullest o* 
 activity also, and are going somewhere on 
 errands of love and mercy. Why not 
 sometimes to those they love best here ?" 
 
 " You have no doubt they do still love 
 us ?" I asked. 
 
 " ' With Christ, and like Christ, and not 
 .ove our friends ! ' as Aunt Katharine 
 would say. Impossible ! when He loves 
 them so tenderly. No, Annie ; going into 
 the fuller presence of Him whose very 
 name is ' Love,' can never make our hearts 
 less loving. Never fear that ; you might 
 as well expect to get chilled by going into 
 the sunshine." 
 
 " Of course we shall be more loving 
 there," I said ; " I do not doubt that ; but 
 perhaps we may find new objects to love, 
 something better than the old earthly scenes 
 and friends." 
 
 " Very likely," said Graham ; " but I don't
 
 OUR TWO LIVES i$i 
 
 imagine the new love will cast out the old. 
 If God and Christ showed no interest in 
 us, we might think our friends would lose 
 theirs ; but I can't believe those who once 
 loved us here are the only beings in heaven 
 who are now indifferent to us. Or, if our 
 love belonged only to our bodies, we might 
 expect it to die with the body; but it is a 
 part of our very souls, and must live while 
 they live. Why, Annie, next to my love 
 for Christ, my love for you is the most 
 vital part of my being. Do you suppose 
 God gave it to me to last only for a few 
 short years, and then die out ? My soul, 
 without that, wouldn't be my soul, but a 
 very different one. If you take out all the 
 affections and memory, the soul would be 
 entirely changed ; and everywhere the Bible, 
 directly or by implication, teaches that we 
 are to carry our individual characters with 
 us, and makes that a reason for our perfect- 
 ing- them here. The same traits must exist ; 
 only the* good in us will be constantly 
 strengthening and expanding. There may
 
 l$2 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 be a love, or what is falsely called such, that 
 will die with the body ; but not true, gen- 
 uine love like ours, dearest." 
 
 We sat silent for a little while, thinking. 
 Graham was the first to break the silence. 
 
 " If I were to leave you for a little while, 
 Annie, you wouldn't doubt I was loving 
 you still?" 
 
 " No, I think I shouldn't ; but" 1 could 
 
 not go on. " If he ever should leave me !" 
 
 " Our love is so much a part of our very 
 life," he said, " and all true life must be so 
 much more intense there, that I feel sure all 
 that is best in it will last and strengthen, 
 and that I shall love you then infinitely 
 more, with a pure and more exalted affec- 
 tion, to be sure, but one to which any 
 earthly love is poor indeed. Why, to ask 
 if our love shall be as great there as here is 
 like asking if the ocean holds as much water 
 as a baby tea-cup ! One of the most pre- 
 cious things to me about our ^marriage, 
 Annie, was that God had given us to one 
 another forever, and bound us by a tie that
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 153 
 
 nothing could sever ; a tie, not to end at the 
 grave, but which, purified and hallowed, 
 should endure throughout our whole exist- 
 ence." 
 
 " But Christ said, " In the resurrection 
 they neither marry nor are given in marri- 
 age," I said. 
 
 " Yes ; but he was speaking to. those who 
 took the low, Eastern view of marriage, 
 regarding it as a mere bodily union ; and he 
 told them that no such marriage should be 
 in the resurrection all that belongs to the 
 senses shall be done away, but all the pure, 
 spiritual, sacred part shall exist all that 
 union of mind and soul which make two 
 one in every true marriage. This seems to 
 me the natural rendering of this passage; 
 as if Christ said, ' No such marriage as you 
 who have asked me this question are think- 
 ing of marriage, in the low, sensual use of 
 the word will exist in the resurrection, but 
 you shall be spiritualized beings there, like 
 the angels of God !' It seems to me that 
 the Bible makes marriage a much more
 
 IJ4 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 sacred thing than we are inclined to. It 
 compares the union of husband and wife 
 to that between Christ and His Church 
 one of the closest and most sacred of 
 all unions and speaks cf them as what 
 God hath joined together ; and, to my mind, 
 it would sadly degrade marriage to limit it 
 to this short life. In the larger range and 
 more loving atmosphere of heaven, it must 
 become something unspeakably tender and 
 true ! Even here, hearts grow into a mar- 
 vellous oneness in the course of a life-time. 
 Why, Annie, if we live to our golden wed- 
 ding, we shall have so grown together, a 
 separation would be well nigh impossible !" 
 Our golden wedding ! There is some- 
 thing very tender and sweet in the thought ; 
 sweeter yet is the thought of the eternal 
 union. We certainly have become more and 
 more one every year since our marriage. 
 At first, we puzzled and worried each other, 
 as, I suppose, all young couples do, more 
 or less ; but now we fully understand each 
 other. A great sorrow, too, brings hearts
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. jjjjj 
 
 very near together. Yes, if we were to 
 live on together forty years longer we 
 should become very much one in spirit, as 
 Graham says. 
 
 But whenever one is taken, I trust the 
 other will not be long left behind. I told 
 Graham so, and he said, with his sweet 
 smile, " That must be as God pleases, dar- 
 ling." 
 
 His faith is so much stronger than mine, 
 that he seems never to fear anything ; and 
 when I told him how the dread that I might 
 be left sometimes haunted me, he soothed 
 me by many sweet words of love and faith, 
 telling me if I ever were left desolate, the 
 Comforter would surely come ; and remind- 
 ing me how, when Bessie was taken, just 
 the strength I needed was given me. 
 
 Yes, I must trust. I would not direct 
 when or how either of us should be taken. 
 It would be a sore, sore thing to be left be- 
 hind ; but I do not feel like saying. " I could 
 not have it so I could not bear it," as I did 
 about Bessie. I never can doubt Christ
 
 I 5 6 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 again ; He was so merciful to me when 
 Bessie died. And perhaps heaven may not 
 be so far away as we fancy ; and that, if our 
 eyes were not holden, we should see angels 
 ascending and descending, and blessed 
 spirits thronging all about us. 
 
 What a thing it would make of life to be- 
 lieve this ; to be always walking amidst a 
 cloud of unseen witnesses ! How softly we 
 should step ! But we know the Great Spirit 
 is always near ; and shall we not walk still 
 more softly before Him ? 
 
 Yes, we are on hallowed ground wherever 
 we tread, and what manner of persons, 
 therefore, ought we to be ! 
 
 Dear Aunt Katharine's kindness has out- 
 lived her earthly presence, and she has left 
 to me only think of it, to me all she had ; 
 not a large fortune, but a large addition to 
 our former means. We had all that was 
 really necessary before, but certain enjoy. 
 
 \
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ^7 
 
 ments, perhaps I should call them luxuries, 
 are now at our command ; for example, 
 traveling a little. We have never felt able 
 to take a journey ; and, of course, our souls 
 have longed for the White Mountains and 
 Niagara ; and this year, Graham thinks we 
 can go to both, leaving little Laura at her 
 Aunt's, who will board her. Hard as a 
 separation of a few weeks from her will be 
 she will be kindly cared for there, and no 
 real harm can come to her. 
 
 Long, long will October, 18 , be remem- 
 bered by us ; for never before, I verily be- 
 lieve, did two mortal beings crowd so much 
 intense enjoyment into three short weeks as 
 we have three weeks being the longest 
 time Graham could be away from his busi- 
 ness. 
 
 Those " everlasting hills !" How our 
 souls seemed to expand, and go outward 
 and upward, as we gazed on their grand 
 14
 
 158 OUR TWO LIVE*. 
 
 outlines ; with what awe and reverence we 
 stood beneath their mysterious shadows, 
 gazing at them, 
 
 " Till the dilating s<J il, enwrapt, transfused, 
 Into the mighty vision passing there 
 As in her natural form swelled vast to heaven." 
 
 I think I never worshipped as I worship- 
 ped there, with such lowly prostration of 
 spirit, such an uplifting and ennobling sense 
 of God's majesty, power and glory. And 
 to think that this God, so glorious in 
 strength, so wonderful in working is our 
 God! 
 
 I could have stayed among those grand 
 old mountains forever, 
 
 "And sat, and sung myself away 
 To everlasting bliss." 
 
 But we had to leave them in ten days; 
 though, in a sense, I brought them away 
 with me; aid they are, and always must be, 
 a part of my very being ; a possession
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. !5 9 
 
 which no sorrow, or suffering, or change in 
 the future can ever take away from me. 
 
 I told Graham I could better understand 
 now why he thought a knowledge of God's 
 works would form a part of the joy of 
 heaven, so directly do such grand scenes 
 lead us up to God in purer adoration 
 that is, when the soul is attuned to such 
 surroundings. We saw gay, chattering, in- 
 different people, who evidently were think- 
 ing more of themselves than the scenery ; 
 and what a profanation it seemed in such a 
 place, and how I pitied them ! Not to 
 think high thoughts in such high places 
 argues poverty of soul indeed. 
 
 Niagara, too, was wonderful and magni- 
 ficent, but had not for me the same enchant- 
 ment as the mountains. Besides these grand 
 points, how many lovely meadows, spark- 
 ling streams, blooming villages, and pictur- 
 esque hill-sides, glowing with the autumnal 
 radiance, have we beheld ! And now that 
 we are at home once more, that, too, looks 
 most beautiful and charming. Little Laura
 
 !6o OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 is well, and so overjoyed to have us back 
 again, that she cannot sing enough, or, in 
 any way, sufficiently manifest her ecstacy. 
 Oh ! how full of beauty and joy the whole 
 world is ! 
 
 So many different kinds of enjoyment, 
 too. I do not know as anything in my 
 whole journey gave me a more exquisite 
 thrill of delight than our meeting with 
 Laura, and her raptures over us on our 
 return. 
 
 The other night, we were trying to sum 
 up all we had enjoyed. 
 
 "And only to think, Graham, " I said, 
 that money can bring all this that a few 
 dollars and cents has given us all this wealth 
 of vision and these glorious memories !" 
 
 " Money didn't give it," he said. " That 
 girl, who sat adjusting the feather in her hat 
 in the most splendid spot for a view in all 
 the mountains, didn't get it. She saw 
 exactly what she would at home, herself 
 and her clothes, and she paid just as much 
 money as we did."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 161 
 
 " The investment brought better returns 
 in our case than her's, I admit," I said 
 laughing. " But then we couldn't have had 
 the mountains without the money. 
 
 "No, we couldn't. Money is good as a 
 means ; but alone, it doesn't amount to 
 much. But I see the little wife is getting 
 quite set up by her new wealth ; I fear it's 
 going to turn her head entirely. See how 
 she gives herself airs, and plans for flower- 
 gardens and conservatories, and I don't 
 know what other extravagances !" 
 
 " Yes," I said ; " she can hardly sleep for 
 planning. She's ambitious to go to Europe, 
 now ; and was just thinking, if a few hun- 
 dred dollars would buy Mount Blanc, what 
 a capital bargain it would be !" 
 
 Holding up his hands, in pretended hor- 
 ror, he exclaimed, " Well ! after Europe, 
 what ?" 
 
 "A little trip to Palestine, if you please ; 
 and then " 
 
 What then, I don't know, for a poor 
 widow woman, with fhe small children
 
 1 62 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 came in and set me to thinking how little 
 some people have to enjoy in this world, 
 while others have so much ! 
 
 We have many serious talks about the best 
 investment for our little fortune. It shall 
 not all go to increase our pleasures, that we 
 are determined on. We shall not revel in 
 ease and luxury without considering those 
 who have scarcely bread to eat, and who 
 are our own brothers and sisters children 
 of the same great Father. 
 
 Sometimes I feel that pretty much all 
 ought to go to them ; it certainly is a trust- 
 fund ; both Graham and I so regard it. 
 
 It touched my heart inexpressibly that 
 Aunt Katharine should have shown such 
 trust in me ; and I do not want the gift 
 should " bring a snare" or burden my heart ; 
 I want it should make me grateful, loving, 
 and compassionate toward every suffering 
 human being within my reach. I desire to 
 spend every cent of it as I think Christ 
 would wish me to. Some enjoyments, like 
 our journey, I believe it is right to have ;
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 163 
 
 and it is pleasant to feel able to give Laura 
 a thorough musical education, and to know 
 she will be provided for, if she outlives us; 
 but we will not forget the poor we want 
 our heaven to be beginning on earth ; to be 
 even here, " with Christ and like Christ," in 
 lowly ministries of love to all whom we 
 have power to bless.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 NEARLY ten years have passed since 
 I wrote here last ; years of change, 
 of bitter agony and pain, of unutterable 
 peace and joy. That I should live to 
 write myself a widow and speak of peace 
 and joy in the same breath ! Yes, alone 
 in the world, with all I loved best gone 
 from my sight, I am truly peaceful, yea 
 more, I am truly happy. Yet with what 
 a different happiness from that I once 
 enjoyed ! 
 
 I cannot dwell 9n these years cannot 
 voluntarily summon back the pain. My hus- 
 band, my pride and strength, on whose 
 manly breast I leaned without a fear, who 
 was all a husband possibly could be brave, 
 pure, large-hearted, conscientious, consider- 
 (164)
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ^5 
 
 ate and tender, whom I passionately loved, 
 if not idolized, was taken from me, not sud- 
 denly, but by a slow, lingering illness which 
 mercifully prepared us for the separation. 
 The terrible alternations of hope and de- 
 spair, of rebellious struggling against what 
 I saw God was going to do, and of submis- 
 sion to His will all these my dear husband 
 helped me to pass through, bearing me up 
 on the wings of his own strong faith, till I, 
 too, could look on death as a more glorious 
 life, and something to be desired rather than 
 dreaded. When I could not only believe 
 but feel this, I saw how utterly selfish it was 
 to wish to keep him here, and I prayed 
 day and night that I might love him better 
 than myself. 
 
 When I found, too, that if prolonged, his 
 life must be one of physical suffering, I 
 could not desire that for my sake he should 
 endure it , no, I loved him too truly for that. 
 
 The first weeks after I knew that his dis- 
 ease was incurable, were weeks of the sorest 
 agony ; to know he could be happy away
 
 1 66 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 from me, even in heaven, was itself bitter- 
 ness that a time would come when I should 
 be powerless to soothe or aid him, or even 
 to know where he was or what he was do- 
 ing the very thought of it was unendur- 
 able anguish ; but it was a selfish anguish, 
 and in time God lifted me above it. At 
 first, any allusion to our separation com- 
 pletely overpowered me ; but when I saw 
 how this pained him, and how he wished to 
 talk as frankly on this as we had on all other 
 subjects, I made a great effort to overcome 
 all agitation, and succeeded so well, that we 
 at length talked of his dying as calmly as if 
 he were going away on any other journey. 
 It has since been an unspeakable satisfaction 
 to me that we could ; that I could go hand- 
 in-hand with him to the very brink of the 
 river, sharing every thought and feeling. 
 
 He had peaceful intervals, when, for days, 
 or even weeks, he was almost well in ap- 
 pearance, entirely his own self so far as 
 clearness and activity of mind were con- 
 cerned, though he was not strong enough
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ify 
 
 for professional work, and so we had leisure 
 for long talks on all that was dearest to our 
 hearts, and those blessed communings were 
 by far the most precious of our whole life; 
 for he was always cheerful, looking forward 
 to the future with a faith undimmed by a 
 single doubt or fear. These intervals would 
 be succeeded by paroxysms of intense suffer- 
 ing yielding to remedies but, as we both 
 knew, sure to come back again, and finally 
 to end the precious life so dear to me. 
 
 I often wondered that he had no doubts 
 about his future ; indeed I was sometimes 
 half troubled by it. I told him so, for we 
 kept back nothing from each other and 
 that was such a blessed thing he lay and 
 thought awhile before replying. 
 
 " It would be presumptuous," he said, " if 
 my hope rested on anything I had done, 
 but it rests wholly on Christ's promises it 
 can't be wrong to believe what He has said. 
 He has promised to save all who come to 
 Him all who believe on Him. The pas- 
 sages are almost numberless in which He
 
 1 68 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 promises this. I know I can only reach 
 heaven as a pardoned sinner; but, Annie, 
 Christ came to save sinners that is His 
 great work, the thing He lived and died and 
 ascended to heaven for, and it can't honor 
 Him to doubt whether or not He will ac- 
 complish it ! ' He that cometh to me shall 
 be saved.' ' He that hath me hath eternal 
 life.' Why should I have a doubt, dear?" 
 
 " Can we be positively certain our faith is 
 of the right kind," I asked, " that we really 
 have come to Him aright?" 
 
 " I must use my reason and common sense 
 in this, Annie, as in other matters. Faith 
 is made the condition of salvation, for faith 
 unites us to Christ and makes Him real and 
 personal to us. So far as I can judge, I 
 have thus believed in Him, sincerely conse- 
 crating myself to His service and desiring 
 to be His obedient child. 
 
 " And," he added, " He has revealed him- 
 self so clearly to me, in the very depths of 
 my being, as my helper, my guide, my re- 
 deemer; so perfectly does ray experience
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. x6g 
 
 confirm the written word, that I can no more 
 doubt it than I can doubt my own existence." 
 
 At another time he said, 
 
 " When I look only at myself my impu- 
 rity, my selfishness, my want of conformity 
 to God's perfect law of love ; at all my sins 
 of deed, word and thought, I am over- 
 whelmed, I cry ' unclean unclean.' I can- 
 not endure it but shall I therefore despair ? 
 'This is a faithful saying and worthy of 
 all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into 
 the world to save sinners: of whom I am 
 chief.' This is my hope and comfort ; if I 
 were to live fifty years longer, I have no 
 idea I should be any more fitted to enter 
 Leaven ; it must always be that 1 shall be 
 carried in by the Good Shepherd a poor, 
 torn, defiled wanderer, whom He has res- 
 cued by His mighty power I want to let 
 Him carry me in I want to lie close to His 
 breast without one fear." 
 
 I felt that he was right ; that but for the 
 imperfection of my faith, my vision would 
 be equally clear and elevating.
 
 170 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " Darling," he added he almost always 
 called me darling in those days " when I 
 am gone, you musn't let any shadow of un- 
 belief keep you from entering fully into the 
 joy God offers his children ; you must open 
 your heart and let the King of Glory in; 
 you will, I know ; you will be comforted by 
 the great Comforter ; He will teach you all 
 things ; and oh ! what blessed things He can 
 teach ! I can't bear to think of you as liv- 
 ing a sorrowful life here, while I am re- 
 joicing; I think it will sadden me if you do, 
 darling sadden me, even in heaven." 
 
 " If we could only go together," I mur- 
 mured. 
 
 " It would be delightful ; but if God has 
 something more for you to do here, and will 
 strengthen you to do it, you will not be un- 
 willing to stay, Annie? It will only be a 
 little while at the longest, only a little while, 
 and then eternity together !" 
 
 Often, very often, I craved assurances that 
 he would still love me ; and often, very often, 
 he gave them.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES.. iji 
 
 "It cannot be," he wou.d say, "that I 
 shall be changed into somebody else, then, 
 or lose all that constitutes the me ; I must 
 be Graham Kingston still, in all but the out- 
 side garment, which will be laid aside, be- 
 cause no longer needed ; my love for you is 
 a part of my very being, and it must last 
 while my being lasts, only purified from 
 whatever has been low or earthly. In all 
 these years, next to my love to God, it has 
 been the purest affection of my soul, and if 
 anything survives death, that must." 
 
 " And if you can come and help me, you 
 will," I said. 
 
 "Surely, I will; you cannot doubt it, 
 dear." 
 
 "But you will have progressed so far be- 
 yond me," I said," " will be so much purer 
 and holier than I, that that alone will sepa- 
 rate us. You will be sinless, and I shall al 
 ways be doing wrong." 
 
 " I think that is a wrong conception of 
 holiness," he said, "the holier one is the 
 moie forbearing and loving he is; the more
 
 J72 OUR TWO LIVES, 
 
 tender and patient and anxious to help oth- 
 ers in every way. Think how forbearing 
 and loving Christ is when we do wrong ; 
 and there, we are to be like Him, you 
 know." 
 
 At one time and another we spoke of al- 
 most everything in connection with my 
 future, as well as his, for he seemed to long 
 to shield me as far as possible from all care 
 and suffering. Of course, I should always 
 keep Laura with me, and we both felt that 
 she would prove a dear little companion 
 and comforter. My surest safeguard against 
 grief, we both knew, would be in active oc~ 
 cupation, and in going out of myself for 
 others, in some form ; and we planned ways 
 for my doing this ; but much had to be left 
 for circumstances to decide. It was settled 
 that I should ask Mary Sterling to come 
 and live with me ; she had no home ; we 
 both loved her like a sister, and her affection 
 for Graham was so great it would be a 
 bond of union, all the stronger after he was 
 gone.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 173 
 
 "Yes, activity, occupation, is the great 
 secret of worthy and contented living," he 
 said, one day, " and I can't imagine who 
 first conceived the idea of heaven as a place 
 for standing still in ; some poor, tired soul, 
 probably, to whom mere rest was the high- 
 est ideal of bliss ; but the glowing descrip- 
 tions of the Bible never convey any such 
 idea there, every word seems to quiver 
 with an intensity of life and glory. When I 
 heard Handel's " Messiah," I got a new con- 
 ception of what music and worship might 
 be in the next world ; as that great volume 
 of harmony rolled out in grander and 
 grander surges, my spirit, rapt and trem- 
 bling, seemed to float upward in an ecstasy 
 of love and praise and worship. All the 
 littleness of self was lost ; my whole being 
 seemed kindled, melted, fused into the infi- 
 nite upborne to the very throne of God, 
 and yet cast down in the depth of self- 
 abasement and humility. Oh ! it was rap- 
 ture, ecstasy, unutterable, indescribable ! 
 I have always hoped you and I, darling.
 
 !74 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 might hear it together some day; but we 
 shall near it more gloriously rendered in 
 heaven. Whatever the art of a Handel or 
 Mozart, an Angelo or a Raphael may have 
 accomplished on earth, must be but the 
 mere germ of what will be developed there ; 
 for God created the mind of a Handel and 
 a Raphael, and has Himself all the resources 
 from which art, purified and developed, 
 shall draw throughout all eternity Himself 
 being the great inspiration and rewarder !" 
 He lay silent a moment, and said, 
 " Don't be troubled, dear, that I wander 
 off into these speculations ; I never forget 
 that Christ is the centre and source, the life 
 and glory of all ; and that to be without one 
 spot or stain of sin, to be pure as He is 
 pure, holy as He is holy, is the crowning 
 joy and glory of heaven. I long for intel- 
 lectual expansion but still more do I yearn 
 for the spiritual unfolding into Christ's own 
 image of infinite love and purity, which I 
 hope for there. As you say, our spiritual 
 nature is our highest, and its perfection far
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ^5 
 
 more to be coveted than that of the merely 
 intellectual ; but I believe it is the union 
 and harmony of the two which constitutes 
 the fullest perfection in that higher life. We 
 are made both rational and spiritual beings, 
 with capacities for indefinite expansion in 
 both lives in all lives. 
 
 " Whatever pursuit or taste is elevating 
 and pure, a blessing to ourselves and others, 
 we cannot doubt will be enlarged and per- 
 fected there ; and oh, to what wonderful, 
 glorious heights a whole eternity will bring 
 us ! If the attainments of some even here 
 seem marvellous, what shall we behold 
 there ! It is this wonderful capacity for de- 
 velopment which makes a human soul worth 
 so much. When a man with all these glo- 
 rious possibilities before him persists in 
 yielding to his lower propensities, and de- 
 grading himself by self-indulgence and sin, 
 he ruins not only what he is, but what he 
 might be endless ages hence. His soul 
 clogged, imbruted, narrowed down to low 
 aims, cannot rise to a glorious immortality
 
 176 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 he has kept himself away from it. If there 
 were no revelation of future evil to such a 
 soul, we should see how inevitable its ruin 
 was." 
 
 In those days we felt greatly distressed 
 for a young man who, by nature bright and 
 promising, had become profligate, and so 
 vilely intemperate as to be really imbruted 
 in both body and soul. Graham had labor- 
 ed with him incessantly, taking him into his 
 own office at one time, in the hope of rescu- 
 ing him, and by love and patient watching 
 had borne with him month after month, till 
 finally, just as Graham was lying on the 
 border-land, peacefully waiting for his sum- 
 mons, he was killed in a drunken brawl. It 
 was very painful very hard to bear. To 
 think of what he might have been, and of 
 what he was ! 
 
 " We dare not follow him into the future,' 
 said Graham, " his spirit has gone to God 
 who gave it, and there we must leave him." 
 
 Yes, there we must leave him ; but one 
 text kept ringing in my e ar " he hath gone
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ijj 
 
 to his own place ;" and I dared not ask my- 
 self, " was that among the pure and holy 
 ones ?" 
 
 It is so comforting to know that an infi- 
 nitely wise and holy and loving God is to 
 judge us He who knows all our tempta- 
 tions, all our surroundings, all the inmost 
 secrets of our lives, and can do nothing 
 wrong ! Yes, we must leave the poor, mis- 
 guided, sinning ones in His hands ; we 
 could not wish to leave them anywhere else, 
 nor to take upon ourselves the prerogative 
 of judging them. 
 
 But my beloved one was not a wreck ; he 
 had not turned away from the call to be 
 Christ's disciple but, yielding to the Holy 
 Spirit's influence, he had been led, step by 
 step, till here he now lay, waiting for the 
 voice that should say, " Come up higher." 
 Before him opened out indescribable, incon- 
 ceivable light and progress ; ineffable joy 
 and glory ! There were moments when, 
 lifted out of self, I could heartily give God 
 thanks for this, not repining that I was to
 
 178 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 11 a little longer wait" to be disciplined and 
 chastened and made meet for the Master's 
 coming. But alas! there were other mo- 
 ments when my faith was weak and my 
 poor heart sorely oppressed by his suffer- 
 ings. Why was it necessary he should en- 
 dure so much physical pain ? it surely was 
 not needed to prepare him for heaven ; an^ 
 those racking tortures were not preparing 
 him, so far as I could see ; the whole subject 
 of physical pain was a mystery to me ; was 
 it a direct infliction from God, or caused by 
 the neglect or violation of some physical 
 law ? It greatly distressed me ; but Graham 
 was never disturbed by it for a moment. 
 
 " ' The cup which my Father hath given 
 me, shall I not drink it ?' " he asked, with a 
 smile illuminating his whole face; "what- 
 ever the cause is, some good is to be the re- 
 sult. I never doubt that for an instant ; we 
 do not see what it is, but haven't we faith 
 enough in our dear Lord to trust Him with- 
 out seeing? I think He likes that kind of 
 trust. Annie."
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 179 
 
 At another time he said, after a spasm of 
 pain, 
 
 " He helps me bear it I feel Him so near 
 at such times, it is worth suffering for ; it is 
 not so hard to bear ; not so fearful as you 
 think, with Him near ; nothing is hard 
 then." 
 
 He liked me to read hymns to him 
 in those days especially one of Miss 
 Warmg's he wanted me to repeat over and 
 over; "it always rests me," he would 
 say. 
 
 " Go not far from me, O my Strength, 
 
 The light of all my day ; 
 Take from me anything Thou wilt, 
 
 But go not Thou away 
 Then let the storm that does Thy work, 
 
 Deal with me as it may. 
 t 
 
 " On Thy compassion I repose, 
 
 In weakness and distress, 
 I will not ask for greater ease, 
 
 Lest I should love Thee less ; 
 Oh, 'tis a blessed thing for me 
 To need Thy tenderness.
 
 ISO OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " When I am feeble as a child, 
 And flesh and heart give way,' 
 
 Then on Thy everlasting strength 
 With clinging trust I stay ; 
 
 And the rough wind becomes a song. 
 The darkness shines like day. 
 
 " There is no death for me to fear, 
 For Christ, my Lord, hath died ; 
 
 There is no curse in this my pain, 
 For He was crucified ; 
 
 And it is fellowship with Him 
 That keeps me near His side. 
 
 " Safe in Thy sanctifying grace, 
 
 Almighty to restore ; 
 Borne onward sin and death behind, 
 
 And love and light before; 
 Oh let my soul abound in hope, 
 
 And praise Thee more and more !" 
 
 There was another little piece he liked me 
 often to sing, partly because the tune was 
 one we both enjoyed ; little Laura's child- 
 voice would join in it, and it was very 
 touching to hear its soft, sweet notes, 
 singing,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. jgl 
 
 ' They are gathering homeward from every land. 
 
 One by one, 
 As their weary feet touch the shining strand, 
 
 One by one, 
 
 Their brows are wreathed with a fadeless crown, 
 Their travel-stained garments are all laid down, 
 And clothed in white raiment they rest on the 
 
 mead, 
 Where the Lamb loveth His chosen to feed, 
 
 One by one. 
 
 " Before they rest, they pass through the strife, 
 
 One by one ; 
 Through the waters of death they enter life, 
 
 One by one ; 
 
 To some, the floods of the river are still 
 As they ford on their way to the heavenly 
 
 hill, 
 
 To others, the waves run fierce and wild, 
 Yet all reach the home of the undefiled, 
 
 One by one. 
 
 " We, too, shall come to the river-side, 
 
 One by one ; 
 We are nearer its waters each eventide, 
 
 One by one ; 
 
 We can hear the noise and dash of the stream 
 As we bend to listen 'mid life's deep dream ; 
 16
 
 182 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 Sometimes, the floods all the bank o'erflow, 
 Sometimes, in ripples the small waves go, 
 One by one." 
 
 But the one he was sure to ask for before 
 I was through, was, " Just as I am," espe- 
 cially was this verse perpetually on his lips : 
 
 " Just as I am Thou wilt receive, 
 Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve, 
 Because Thy promise I believe, 
 O Lamb of God, I come." 
 
 And when he was tired even of hymns, 
 some passage of the Bible would bring the 
 light into his eyes. One day near the last, 
 he said 
 
 " I want only the pure word now, An- 
 nie." 
 
 If ever there was a little angel of mercy 
 in a sick-room, Laura was one ; only six 
 years old, one would not suppose she could 
 have done much, but her delicate ear was 
 the first to detect every wish, and her noise- 
 less little feet the quickest to supply it. 
 And she was so happy always; to sit on
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ^3 
 
 the bed, if Graham was lying there, to pass 
 her little soft hands over his forehead, to 
 twine his curls round her fingers, to repeat 
 little snatches of songs and hymns, of which 
 she had a marvellous store, was a never- 
 failing delight to her, and always soothing 
 to the invalid ; she seemed to have a sixth 
 sense, by which she divined exactly what 
 woulcl please him ; and while he slept she 
 would keep watch, perched on the counter- 
 pane, with her finger lifted to her lips if any 
 one entered, a perfect little image of devo- 
 tion, so silent, so alert, so ready to spring at 
 any signal. And when my heart was aching 
 sorest, to press her to my bosom, to feel her 
 arms round my neck and hear her soft, lov- 
 ing voice, was more comforting than I can 
 tell. It is so sweet to be loved by a child 
 when your heart is breaking ! 
 
 Mary Sterling came to me, too, with her 
 large, noble heart, and her wisdom and 
 courage, and was an inestimable blessing to 
 us both. I turned to and rested on her as a 
 dear" sister, and I know she was glad to
 
 1 84 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 come ; so it was all heart-service in the sick- 
 room ; even his physician was a personal 
 friend, glad to come at all hours and minis- 
 ter to him in any and every way. 
 
 " Yes, those fifteen months were full of 
 blessings, and as the chiefest one we felt 
 that Christ himself became more and more 
 a living Presence, actual and dear. More 
 and more heartily could I pray, " my 
 Father, if this cup may not pass away from 
 me except I drink it, Thy will be done." He 
 alone knew how bitter it was, how I had 
 shrunk back from tasting it, and He alone 
 could enable me to drink it. 
 
 As I have said, those last communings 
 with my beloved one were the most pre- 
 cious that had gone before, and I have no 
 fear that those to come will not be still more 
 rich and satisfactory ; for I believe the office 
 of all pure, God-given love is not merely to 
 bind human souls together in a bliss r ul 
 union, but to draw both upward to the eter- 
 nal, all-satisfying Love. Almost one of the 
 last of Graham's utterances was, " Thank
 
 OL T K TWO LIVES. [85 
 
 God, our love goes on forever;" the very 
 last, " Not death, but life LIFE." 
 
 I wonder what these eight years in heaven 
 have brought him ; I wonder if he does not] 
 sometimes long to tell me but I can wait; 
 I know that all is right often he seems very 
 near to me ; almost always I turn to him as 
 if he were understanding my thought and 
 sympathizing with it ; but I dare not dwell 
 too much on this. I 'like best to dwell on 
 what I know that he is with Christ and 
 like Christ, being expanded and developed 
 in God's own way the best way ; and that 
 Christ is with me, helping my infirmities, 
 and striving to bring out more and more of 
 His glorious image in my heart. He wants 
 me and Graham wants me to become holier, 
 to be raised more and more out of my sel- 
 fishness, to be more and more filled with 
 love to God and love to all my fellow- 
 beings, even the lowest and the vilest, and 
 to be more and more willing to serve them, 
 as I have opportunity ; and shall I repine, 
 1 who have been watched over and guarded 
 1 6*
 
 1 86 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 every step of the way, because all my fool- 
 ish heart has craved is not given to it? 
 No ; it is love which withholds as well as 
 gives, and I can bless God to-day for the 
 sorrows, the sufferings, and the separations 
 of life, as well as for its unions, its joys and 
 friendships, dear and unspeakably precious 
 to my soul as these have been. I believe 
 all the love and friendship is still in exist- 
 ence, still guarding and blessing me, though 
 in what precise way I cannot tell ; nor do I 
 care to ; it is in the best way, and that is 
 enough for me to know. 
 
 In all these years I have never felt alone ; 
 Christ has been faithful to His promise and 
 has sent the Comforter ; 1 know Christ loves 
 me, that Graham loves me, that all that the 
 tenderest love can do to bless me in the 
 highest sense of blessedness is being done 
 and that contents me; yea more, fills my 
 heart with gratitude to overflowing. 
 
 Not long before Graham left me, I came 
 across a few lines in a newspaper, homely 
 ones enough, but the sentiment pleased him,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. i%j 
 
 and when I said, " That is what you would 
 like me to do," he smiled and said, " Yes, 
 dear." They have been often in my heart 
 since, and I think have really helped me. 
 
 " Bury thy sorrow, the world hath its share, 
 Bury it deeply, hide it with care. 
 
 " Think of it calmly when curtained by night, 
 Tell it to Jesus, and all will be right. 
 
 " Gather the sunlight aglow on thy way, 
 Gather the moonbeams, each soft, silvery ray. 
 
 " Hearts grown aweary with heavier woe 
 Droop into sadness go, comfort them, go ! 
 
 "Bury thy sorrows, let others be blest, 
 Give them the sunshine tell Jesus the rest. r
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THAT first year was almost a blank; 
 I was physically exhausted and 
 could only endure. I do not think I 
 could have borne that year without Mary 
 Sterling's inspiring presence and dear little 
 Laura's caressing love. Oh what a blessing 
 came under our roof with that poor, blind 
 child ! Her ijnstincts were so true she never 
 sang too loud or in any way jarred on my 
 too sensitive nerves ; yet she was like a sun- 
 beam in the house, gliding about like a ray 
 of light, or a breath of perfume, scattering 
 joy and sweetness. Her natural organiza- 
 tion is peculiar, and in that hour of sorrow 
 she did for me what few children could ; and 
 it was no exaggeration to call her, as of 
 
 old, "my singing birdie," " my little violet.' 
 (188)
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. jgg 
 
 "my heart's delight," for everything- that 
 was sweet and comforting she was to me 
 that year the year I so needed to be com- 
 forted ; if I had ever done anything for her, 
 she repaid it then a hundred-fold, and she 
 has been a blessing ever since in a thousand 
 ways. I often wonder if her mother knows 
 into what a sweet flower she is unfolding. 
 Graham once told me he believed that what- 
 ever could give our friends pleasure to know 
 there, they certainly would know ; I like to 
 think it is so, and that his spirit rejoices in 
 her sweetness and goodness, as he surely 
 would have done had he lived to see it. 
 
 At the close of that year I rallied ; both 
 body and mind regained their old condition, 
 and then before me rose the question, 
 " What am I to do with my life in all these 
 years that probably lie between me and the 
 end?" 
 
 Something better, it seemed to me, as I 
 revolved it, might be made of it than to 
 merely live on in luxurious ease in my large 
 house, with Mary Sterling and little Laura
 
 I 9 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 to minister to me ; but .what should it be ? 
 I well knew it was not in me to do any 
 great thing to go into hospitals, or on a 
 mission, or anything else in the heroic line ; 
 Mary Sterling was far better adapted to 
 such efforts but I had good health, I was 
 in the prime of life, and had means beyond 
 what I cared to spend upon myself; surely 
 I might do some little good to somebody ! 
 
 But I said to myself, " I will not be in 
 haste, I will wait and see if any work comes 
 to me, keeping both eyes and heart watchful 
 to sieze on any opportunity." In the mean- 
 time there were a few poor in our little vil- 
 lage to be relieved, and almost always some 
 sick person I could watch with, or at least 
 could carry broths and jellies to ; and there 
 were the benevolent enterprises carrying on 
 by great hearts in the outside world, to 
 which I could contribute. 
 
 But I craved something more personal ; 
 something to more fully occupy my empty 
 hands; something even involv'ng much la- 
 bor and self-denial I felt I could accept,
 
 OUR TM'O LIVES. I91 
 
 nay, welcome gladly, if it was work for the 
 Master and might be done meekly for His 
 sake. 
 
 The first work that came to me was Miss 
 Patty Train. Poor soul, she had never had 
 much of a home, and had lost that little ; she 
 had supported herself by sewing, but work 
 failed ; her eyes had grown dim ; her limbs 
 rheumaticky, and her voice sounded more 
 than ever like a tomb-stone. What could 
 be done for Miss Patty ? Get her a little 
 place and see she was comfortably estab- 
 lished in it? Yes, but she needed more; 
 she needed in her fading-out, crippled old 
 age, care and love ; a heart to lean on and 
 care for her. 
 
 Now, Miss Patty was not agreeable to 
 me; she never had been, and now less than 
 ever, for the joints of her mind had got 
 knotty and twisted as well as those of her 
 body, and was not likely to be a lovely, but 
 a soured, complaining, disagreeable old age ; 
 yet somehow my heart warmed to her; she 
 certainly was one of God's children, to be
 
 I Cj2 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 looked after by somebody. I had a bright, 
 sunny room up-stairs, over the sitting-room ; 
 cosev and comfortable Miss Patty might be 
 made there ! I was almost afraid to suggest 
 it to Mary, fearing she would ridicule the 
 idea I rather thought it was ridiculous my- 
 self, but I wanted to do it, if it was. 
 
 Mary at first debated the subject a little, 
 and I compromised by deciding to ask Miss 
 Patty to make me a little visit. So I put on 
 my bonnet and went over that very after* 
 noon. I found her in her worst mood, and 
 there was no use in trying to make anything 
 right ; everybody had abused her, even the 
 Almighty himself had dealt hardly by her. 
 
 " It's easy enough," she said, " for folks 
 like you, who've never had any trouble, to 
 talk about God's bein' good ; I s'pose if I 
 lived in a big house and had everything I 
 wanted, I should think he was marciful too ; 
 but when a body 's been tormented all her 
 life, and hain't got no home, nor friends, nor 
 health, nor money, and don't know where 
 she's to put down the sole of her foot next,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 193 
 
 it ain't so easy to talk about his goodness, 
 1 tell 'em ; and I guess you d find 'twan't, if 
 you was in my shoes." 
 
 " I want you should come over and stay 
 awhile with me, Miss Patty," I said, " I have 
 got a warm room, and think I can make you 
 very comfortable." 
 
 She turned on me as if I had proposed 
 robbing her. 
 
 " How am I to git away, I should like to 
 know, and leave all my things for anybody 
 to destroy or carry off who wanted to ? 
 That's just as much as some folks know." 
 
 Her things were but a miserable collec- 
 tion of old duds, but dear and precious to 
 her for all that. I can't say I wanted them, 
 but I made another effort. 
 
 " I've got a good attic," I said, " where 
 they can be put away nicely, and as you 
 say you have got to leave here, that may 
 be as good a place as any for storing 
 them." 
 
 " Who's goin' to see to movin' on 'em, I 
 should like to know, and I a lyin* here ill 
 17
 
 194 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 cramped up with the rheumatiz?" she asked, 
 angrily. 
 
 I put on my blandest smile and answered, 
 
 " Wouldn't you dare to trust me to pack 
 them up, Miss Patty, and let Tcm come 
 over with his wagon and bring them ? I'll 
 see he does it carefully." 
 
 " I don't see what you want to come here 
 for, stirrin' up an old woman who's lyin' on 
 her dyin' bed why can't you let me be and 
 die in peace ?" 
 
 Now the fact was she was not likely to 
 die for several years, and she could not stay 
 there ; the roof leaked on her bed, the chim- 
 ney was tumbling down, and the cold win- 
 ter coming on, while the owner of the 
 wretched old tenement was determined to 
 get rid of her ; the choice was between the 
 poor-house and my offer. I finally set this 
 before her in a few plain, Saxon words ; and, 
 after deliberating a week or two, she conde- 
 scended to come to me as the least evil, 
 never concealing the fact that she consid- 
 ered it an evil. Poor soul! it was one to
 
 OUR TWO LIVES, Iy jj 
 
 ner ; change of any kind is hard in old age, 
 and with every nerve in her quivering with 
 pain, how could she help feeling distressed 
 at being " turned out of house and home," 
 as she termed it? 
 
 I tried to make the change as easy for her 
 as possible ; at first I had the room arranged 
 as tastefully as I could, making up the bed 
 with one of my nicest Marseilles counter 
 panes ; but on second thought I had it taken 
 off and her own sheets and patch-work quilt 
 put on instead, and her old bureau with the 
 clock standing on it, her chest of drawers 
 and two old-fashioned rocking-chairs, which 
 Tom had brought over, set up to make the 
 room look as much as possible like the old 
 one ; for I knew these familiar objects would 
 be much pleasanter to her eye than any 
 strange furniture, however handsome ; but 
 I left the reclining-chair in one corner, think- 
 ing she might find in time how much more 
 restful it would be to her aching bones. 
 
 " Why, Auntie," said Laura, when she had 
 seen all the arrangements that is, felt of
 
 I9 6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 them getting as correct an idea, appar- 
 ently, as I had of their exact appearance, 
 " how could you do so?" 
 
 I tried to explain my reasons, but I saw 
 she was only half convinced, and still a little 
 troubled, so, by way of comforting her, I 
 allowed her to bring in Chirp, her pet ca- 
 nary, and her most precious possession, to 
 hang in the bay window. I considered this 
 a doubtful experiment, but she was very 
 anxious to do something for poor Miss 
 Patty. 
 
 " And Chirp will sing so, it will make her 
 glad," she said. 
 
 One warm sunny October day Miss Pat- 
 ty, well wrapt up in comfortables, was 
 brought over and carried to the nicely- 
 warmed sunshiny -room; her possessions, 
 even to each old broom and pan and skillet, 
 having been removed before. If I had ex- 
 pected which I did not that Miss Patty 
 would show any pleasure in her new sur- 
 roundings, I should have been screly disap- 
 pointed, for nothing about them was right,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 197 
 
 and in less than fifteen minutes after her ar- 
 rival, as Chirp, inspired by all that was go- 
 ing on, poured forth his most exuberant 
 song, she cried out, 
 
 " Who did put that squallin' critter here 
 do carry him off, or he'll drive me ravin' 
 crazy !" 
 
 Laura's face, as Chirp was taken down 
 and ignominiously carried back to his old 
 perch, was pitiful to see ; great tears rolled 
 down her cheeks, and for almost the first 
 time in her life she was really angry. 
 
 " She don't like Chirp she won't hear 
 Chirpie sing," she cried, as if it were beyond 
 belief, " she's a naughty, bad, ugly, old " 
 
 I placed my hand on her mouth. 
 
 " She is a poor, sick old woman, full of 
 trouble and pain," I said, " one of God's 
 children, whom He has sent here for us to 
 see if we can't make her a little happier." 
 
 " Did He send her?" she asked, her voice 
 full of awe. 
 
 " I think so," I answered, " the poor, the 
 sick and the suffering are all His children ; 
 17*
 
 igS OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 and He permits us to minister to them, and 
 says that what we do for them is done for 
 Him." 
 
 " Is it ?" she said, still in the same awed 
 tone, " can we can I do anything for Him f 
 
 " Yes," I said, and as soon as I had leisure 
 I opened her Gospels, which she has in 
 raised letters, and placed her hand on a 
 verse. She traced her fingers over them 
 carefully, slowly repeating, 
 
 " Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as ye 
 have done it unto one of the least of these 
 my brethren, ye have done it unto me." 
 
 I then placed her finger on anothei 
 passage. 
 
 " And whosoever shall give to drink unto 
 one of these little ones a cup of cold water 
 in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto 
 you he shall in no wise lose his reward." 
 
 " Did Jesus Christ say these lines ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes, with His own blessed voice." 
 
 She said no more, but I knew the truth 
 contained in these words had found a lodg-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. igg 
 
 nicnt in her busy brain. She was then eight 
 years old, and very thoughtful for her age, 
 seeing more things without eyes, I often 
 thought, than most children with. 
 
 The next morning she said, 
 
 " Auntie, I want to carry up Miss Patty's 
 coffee ; may I ? I won't spill." 
 
 So I gave her a little waiter with the cof- 
 fee cup, sugar and cream on it, while I car- 
 ried the large one with the rest of the 
 breakfast. 
 
 It was always pretty to see Laura's deft- 
 handed little ways, and the first pleased 
 word Miss Patty uttered was, 
 
 " I declare, if 'tain't a sight to behold that 
 Beeby gal carryin' things round so ! I never 
 did see the beat on't." 
 
 Laura's face shone with delight, and, after 
 I had heard Miss Patty's long string of com- 
 plaints, and by much effort got her into 
 some new, warm flannels, and made her 
 generally as comfortable as 1 could, she and 
 I went down stairs together, and putting 
 her hand in mine, she whispered softly,
 
 200 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 " Wasn't it the same as giving a cup of 
 cold water, Auntie ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," I said, and kissed the eager, 
 up-turned face. 
 
 It was good for Laura to trot up stairs 
 and down, waiting on Miss Patty, even to 
 bear with her peevishness, though she was 
 less fretful toward her and more willing she 
 should do for her than any one else. 
 
 But it was still better for me. Miss Patty 
 was trying, very trying, at times ; but while 
 listening to her complainings, or bathing 
 her swollen limbs, or trying to tempt her 
 appetite by cooking up some little dainty, 
 the pain seemed to go out of my heart, at 
 the tips of my fingers, as it were ; it was 
 good for me to have her on my mind by 
 day and to steal many times into her room 
 each night, to see she was not exposed to 
 cold, and bathe the limbs so full of pain ; 
 and if she showed no special gratitude, I 
 knew the poor old soul was really more 
 comfortable than she would have been any- 
 where else.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES 2 Ql 
 
 Afer a few weeks the swelling of the joints 
 lessened, she could sleep at night, could sit 
 up and even walk a few steps, leaning on 
 my arm, and her nervous system was get- 
 ting more composed. One day she even let 
 me put on a new cap and flannel wrapper, 
 and looked, as Laura said, after passing her 
 fingers softly over them, " so nice !" 
 
 She did look nice, and when I sat down 
 and read a little while to her, as I did every 
 day, she burst out into a kind of sob. 
 
 "What a good-for-nothin', fault -findin', 
 ungrateful old crittur I am !" she said, " and 
 how good you be to me, Miss Kingston !" 
 
 But in the same breath she added, 
 
 " Laury, do turn up these cuffs ; they're a 
 sight too long ; it's strange folks never can 
 get anything right." 
 
 Had my object been recognition and grat- 
 itude, I should have been sorely disappoint- 
 ed ; but I worked from another motive and 
 had my reward had it in seeing the peace- 
 fulness that gradually stole over her weary 
 face, in the lessening of her pain, in the new
 
 2O2 OUR TWO LI FES. 
 
 self-control and patience that gradually 
 sprang up within her, and in knowing I had 
 done something to make one sad, lonely, 
 desolate heart a little less sad and lonely 
 Often while ministering to her I seemed to 
 feel Graham's presence all about me ; I 
 knew that if indeed he had any cognizance 
 of me and my surroundings, he would be 
 glad to see Miss Patty there ; and sweeter 
 and dearer than all, close at my heart, lay 
 the inspiring words, "Inasmuch as ye have 
 done it unto one of the least of these my 
 brethren, ye have done it unto me" Perhaps 
 I did a foolish thing in taking her, I could 
 not tell; I knew other people thought so; 
 but I know it brought a blessing to my 
 heart, stilling many a weary longing there. 
 
 I never forgot in those days, when it was 
 most necessary to remember it, Graham's 
 desire that I should not go mourning and 
 melancholy through life. " I think it will 
 sadden me even in heaven, if you do," he 
 had said. And I found so much that was 
 good still left in the world, so much to be
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 203 
 
 enjoyed, why should I go tearful and sad all 
 my days? 
 
 There were the beautiful seasons coming 
 and going, each with its own peculiar charm 
 and glory; there were the starry heavens 
 above and the lovely earth beneath 5 and if 
 those I loved best were absent from my 
 sight, there were some warmly-beating hu- 
 man hearts still round me that I could reach 
 and comfort. 
 
 I enjoyed my flowers, my rambles into 
 the fragrant woods, the visits of friends, the 
 reading of new books, and still more of the 
 old ones, embalmed by many precious mem- 
 ories. I enjoyed our church, our prayer- 
 meetings, our social reunions, the bright 
 groups of youthful faces that gathered round 
 me, pouring out their little histories of joy 
 and sorrow into my ear everything that 
 was beautiful and good in God's fair world 
 was still mine to enjoy more fully even than 
 before, though so very, very differently. 1 
 could not shroud myself in crape, nor look 
 at the world through the dense blackness of
 
 204 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 a widow s veil. I wanted to gather in the 
 sunlight, to be permeated by its warmth and 
 light, that so, if possible, I might reflect 
 its rays on others, instead of chilling 
 them. 
 
 I heard that Mrs. Stone, who at first often 
 came to condole with me, expressed great 
 astonishment that a woman who had lost 
 such a husband should feel it so little. But 
 I had not lost him ; he was still living, still 
 mine. I had not laid my best beloved in 
 the dark grave, only the dust that had 
 shrouded him very dear and precious dust 
 it was ; and most tenderly did I nurture the 
 fair white lilies that I had planted on his 
 grave his favorite flower ; but he was not 
 there oh no, no, no ! 
 
 And had I felt it little ? God only knew 
 perhaps in the sense she meant, I had. I 
 had not cherished grief, nor thought it dis- 
 nonor to his memory to be as happy and 
 cheerful as I could, How little one person 
 knows how the heart-strings of another vi- 
 brate and how very careful, therefore, we
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 205 
 
 should be in forming estimates of their hid- 
 den life ! 
 
 With Miss Patty, Mary Sterling and little 
 Laura in my house and heart, there yet was 
 room ; and how should it be filled ? Either 
 with old women or little children, I used to 
 tell Mary Sterling, because all my capaci- 
 ties lay in these two lines ; and I thought, 
 perhaps, one or the other would come to 
 me, if I kept watch a little longer. 
 
 In the third year of my loneliness I took 
 a journey. Miss Patty, who had been with 
 me almost a year, was a great deal better, 
 really suffering but little, and able to walk 
 about in the garden on sunny days. I had 
 an excellent girl in the kitchen ; Mary Ster- 
 ling was there to keep everything straight ; 
 so I accepted an invitation from a dear 
 friend I had not seen for years to visit her 
 in New York. Laura would go with me, 
 partly because I never could bear to have 
 her long away, and partly that I wished to 
 18
 
 206 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 take her to the Institution for the Blind, ir 
 order to gain information about the best 
 way of educating her. 
 
 The country was glowing with June love- 
 liness ; and I enjoyed every moment of my 
 journey, and also enjoyed the visit to Mrs. 
 James, herself a widow. Having been left 
 with a large fortune, she had identified her- 
 self with several of the charitable movements 
 of the city, and the three weeks I spent with 
 her opened a new world to me a world 01 
 which I had never dreamed a world filled 
 with crime and poverty, and the fearful suf- 
 fering growing out of them. I often went 
 with her on her visits to some of the vilest 
 portions of the city, and one day we came 
 on a family that specially interested me. I 
 cannot describe the filth and degradation 
 that surrounded them, of which the bare 
 sight sickened me. They were an English 
 family ; the father had died on the voyage 
 over ; and the mother, still looking like a 
 young woman, lay dying on a heap of filthy 
 rags. So far as we could judge, from the
 
 OTA' 7T.-O Lfl'E.l. 2 O? 
 
 stories we heard, she had been intemperate, 
 and perhaps a bad woman in other ways ; 
 but, good or bad, she was going out of the 
 world to leave four little children orphans 
 and shelterless. Two of them were twin 
 girls, about three years old, the eldest, a 
 boy of five or six, and a baby a few months 
 old, also a boy. The twins were uncom- 
 monly nice-looking children, or would be 
 when their faces were washed and heads 
 combed, but the boy had a bold, bad face. 
 As we went home, Mrs. James was planning 
 how to get these children, or at least some 
 of them, into asylums provided for such 
 outcasts. 
 
 "The trouble is," she said, "they are all 
 overrun with applications; and even those 
 who get in have really no home-life; they 
 can't have in such large establishments.' 
 
 " But it is vastly better than leaving them 
 where they are," I said, " no child could 
 live there long." 
 
 " So you would think, but they do ; hun- 
 dreds grow up in just such places, nobody
 
 208 U R TWO LIVES. 
 
 knows how ; sleeping in cellars or crawling 
 for shelter under door-steps or into empty 
 hogsheads, anywhere for a slight shelter 
 Who can wonder they soon spend every 
 penny that is given them at a gin-shop, and 
 that long before they are grown up they are 
 thieves and drunkards, or something worse ? 
 Yes, they are better off in an asylum, of 
 course ; but, Annie, you don't know how 
 disheartening it is to try to stem the tide of 
 vice and misery that flows over such a city 
 as this ! The little that is done only shows 
 how much is left undone how much lies 
 beyond the reach of any human help. What 
 are the few drops of relief in this great 
 ocean of sin and suffering ? And the suffer- 
 ing all comes from sin ; if men and women 
 were only industrious and temperate, there 
 would be no such horrors as we have seen 
 to-day." 
 
 " But a great deal is being done," I said, 
 " and each one who does all he can stands 
 clear in the sight of God." 
 
 "Yes. but who does all he can who
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 Og 
 
 Knows hov; much he ought to do? Often, 
 when I come home from such vile places, I 
 look round on my luxurious rooms, or what 
 seem such by comparison, with utter dis- 
 gust ; my curtains and carpets, my silks and 
 embroideries, all seem abominable extrava- 
 gances." 
 
 " Yet you live and dress quite simply for 
 the city," I said. 
 
 " I know I do ; but sometimes I feel that I 
 ought to wear nothing but sackcloth, and 
 turn into a Sister of Charity and live among 
 the poor. Oh, it is so hard to know how 
 much one ought to do !" 
 
 It was hard ; of course I repeated the 
 usual platitudes in relation to one's having 
 a right to gratify his tastes, and that expen- 
 ditures gave employment to the poor, which 
 was better than charity, and so on ; truths, 
 perhaps only there are sharp moments in 
 our life when some things stare us in the 
 face and shake us out of our old, ordinary 
 notions, or at least into wondering whether 
 they are true or false ones ; moments when 
 1 8*
 
 210 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 certain words of Christ's crowd on our 
 memory, burdened with a. meaning beyond 
 what the church or the world has yet dis- 
 covered. I suppose we all have such mo- 
 ments ; and then we sink back into the old 
 routine of making ourselves perfectly com- 
 fortable, and giving what little beyond that 
 we can spare for the poor ; and oh ! it takes 
 so much to make ourselves thoroughly 
 comfortable, that too often there is a small 
 enough moiety left ! 
 
 After I went to my room that night, I 
 lifted my curtain and stood long at my win- 
 dow, gazing out over the masses of chimney- 
 tops and roofs of that great city ; where 
 thousands on thousands of human beings 
 were congregated, some lying on beds of 
 luxury, some sunk in poverty, and O God ! 
 so many, many steeped in crime yet all 
 God's children, all watched over by His all- 
 seeing eye ! I could not take it in ; the 
 burden was greater than I could bear. I 
 wept I stretched out my arms as if I would 
 fain embrace them all in a grasp of love
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 211 
 
 but I was powerless. I could only leave 
 them in the arms of everlasting Love. Ob, 
 what a comfort it was that night to know 
 that He was Love ! 
 
 I could not sleep, thoughts so crowded on 
 my brain. I was but an infinitesimal por- 
 tion of this great family, but I was a part ; 
 I had my place in it and my work. I was 
 to do all I could to help the others, no mat- 
 ter ho\v infinitely small that all might be 
 and outside of these festering alleys, where 
 never a breath of pure air could come, there 
 ^ay a great world of air and sunlight, of 
 green trees and flowers. If I could take out 
 from those alleys, from all the vileness of 
 its surroundings, one human being created 
 in God's image and give it His pure air and 
 sunshine give it wholesome food, clean 
 clothing, and the sweet genial atmosphere 
 of a Christian home, it surely would be do- 
 ing something; it might be rescuing one 
 soul from sin to a whole eternity of purity 
 and blessedness. Why should I not do it 
 I whose arms God had made so empty, and
 
 212 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 whose heart He had filled with such strong 
 yearnings for work and usefulness? Whj 
 should I not do more why should I not 
 take all those four English orphans out of 
 the slime and filth, and give them food and 
 clothing, shelter and education? I, who 
 had a great house and no chick nor child, 
 nor blood relation, so far as I knew, who 
 needed help, what was to hinder me from 
 filling it with these forsaken outcasts ? My 
 eyes filled with tears of gladness at the 
 thought, and as I earnestly prayed to be 
 guided to a right course in relation to them, 
 there came to me a sweet consciousness 
 of Graham's presence warm, bright, joy- 
 giving, soul-inspiring what, I wondered, 
 would he advise me to do? His wishes 
 and Christ's would now be in perfect uni- 
 son ; whatever one thought of it, the other 
 thought, and my soul thrilled with a joyful 
 sense that both were near me. 
 
 But was it not a romantic project which 
 a little day-light, practical common-sense 
 would shiver into atoms? I did not want
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 21$ 
 
 to act impulsively or foolishly I would re- 
 flect and take advice. 
 
 When the daylight came, two opposite 
 sides of the question presented themselves 
 to my mind forcibly ; two voices spoke 
 loudly and earnestly. 
 
 First voice " Taking four children is very 
 well to dream of; it would sound well in a 
 story-book, but real life is not a dream or 
 romance, and to take four children into your 
 family would bring more labor, care and 
 vexation of spirit than you have the slightest 
 idea of more than you could bear or ought 
 to bear." 
 
 Second voice " But many a woman has 
 trained eight or ten children and has not 
 broken down, but lived to a good old age." 
 
 First voice " They were her own chil- 
 dren the children God gave her ; and with 
 them, coming one by one, He gave strength 
 to bear the burden. No one has a call to 
 take other people's children ; they have not 
 in that case parental love, nor the strength 
 parental love gives; it is a different thing
 
 214 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 entirely. You could not train them prop 
 erly ; you are a lone and not over wise 
 woman, and boys need a man's oversight; 
 you would probably ruin them if you un- 
 dertook." 
 
 Second voice "You might train them 
 poorly enough, it is true, but who will do 
 any better by them ? If there was a proba- 
 bility of their having a decent home any- 
 where else, it would be different, but you 
 could surely give them a better education 
 than they will get in that wretched New 
 York alley. Anything in the country is 
 better; and God gives strength to those 
 who need it." 
 
 First voice "He gives strength to such 
 as are in the way o f their duty, but not to 
 those who impulsively rush out of theii 
 place and assume responsibilities they are 
 not called to. And what will people say ? 
 How absurd it will look for you to come 
 home with your dirty children all Ash- 
 wood will think you are either crazy or a 
 fool !"
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 l$ 
 
 Second voice" Ash wood people may say 
 what they please ; you serve a different 
 Master ; if He approves, let the whole world 
 consider you foolish ; what is that to you ?" 
 
 But I did care. I did not like to do what 
 seemed ridiculous, especially now I had no 
 husband to shield me ; though I resolved I 
 would not let that prevent me from doing 
 what I knew to be right. If they had all 
 been girls it would have been much easier 
 to decide, but I stood in mortal fear of boys, 
 never having been thrown much with them, 
 and having nothing in my own experience 
 to help me understand a boy's nature ; very 
 likely I should ruin one by improper indul- 
 gence, or improper restraint, or both ; and 
 these boys would inherit evil traits, no 
 doubt, and be particularly hard to manage. 
 I was sorely puzzled. But they would have 
 air and sunlight, and green grass and home- 
 influences, and these would alone be worth 
 something. 
 
 I consulted Mary Sterling, for I did not 
 wish to make her home uncomfortable, and
 
 2i6 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 I relied very much on her judgment, for if 
 I had a foolish, romantic streak in me, she 
 was practical common-sense itself; and, in 
 the meantime, I advised with Mrs. James, 
 who was a sensible woman. She thought I 
 might safely take the children and keep 
 them for the present ; and when the boys 
 got beyond my control, if they ever did, 
 find them a good place in the country under 
 some man I knew. Their chances for grow- 
 ing up decent men and women must, she 
 said, be vastly greater than if left in a city, 
 and she was sure God would strengthen me 
 for the work. I had no idea of adopting 
 them Laura I should always consider mine 
 but my idea was to so educate them as to 
 fit them to support themselves when grown, 
 giving them to understand that from the 
 first. 
 
 Mary Sterling's answer was a great relief; 
 she believed I was doing both a wise and 
 kind thing to take them ; and that my life 
 would be greatly enriched by these new in- 
 terests ; and that, so far as she was concerned,
 
 OUR TWO LIVES 
 
 217 
 
 she should be truly glad to help me in any 
 way she could ; she, too, wanted work, and 
 did not shrink, or believe I need to, from 
 the care and labor involved. 
 
 She closed her letter by saying : 
 " I must tell you that Miss Patty is greatly 
 shocked at the idea of having your house 
 made into what she calls 'a foundin' hospi- 
 tal,' and even goes so far as to threaten to 
 leave it if they come ! I tried to mollify her 
 by representing what an opening it would 
 make for her services as a seamstress she 
 had just been complaining that she wanted 
 work and could not get any but she turned 
 up her nose indignantly at the idea of ' sew- 
 in' for them brats.' " 
 
 I had considered Miss Patty before, know- 
 ing pretty well how it would strike her, 
 but I hoped to make such arrangements 
 when I got home that she should still prefer 
 my home to the poor-house. But I own to 
 great sinking of spirits as I looked forward 
 to the life of petty annoyances and wearing 
 nares I was taking up. But had I not longed 
 19
 
 2ig OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 for something beside ease, and should 1 
 complain that I was not going to have an 
 easy life? 
 
 No ; having convinced myself I was doing 
 good work, I would go forward bravely 
 and cheerily, placing myself and the chil- 
 dren trustfully in God's hands and relying 
 on His strength. 
 
 I had bought some ready-made garments 
 "or the children ; and, arrayed in them, they 
 were brought over to Mrs. James's the night 
 before I left the city. The mother had died 
 before this, and we had seen her decently 
 buried, and had collected what scanty in, 
 formation we could about the former life of 
 the parents, for the children's sake, though 
 we learned little I should ever wish to tell 
 them.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 YES, the four children all came after 
 this wise. Mark Barry, the eldest, 
 had bold, black eyes ; a thick mass of 
 black hair, given to standing up all over 
 his head ; a very dark, sallow complexion, 
 large mouth, large ears, large hands, 
 and large body every way, with a defiant, 
 let-me-alone kind of air; he said he was 
 seven the May before, and looked older than 
 that. The twins were two blue-eyed, light- 
 haired, fair-complexioned children, three 
 years old, but small for that age, and look- 
 ing so exactly alike I could only tell them 
 apart by Fanny's darker hair ; Lucy was a 
 trifle shorter, too; but both had plump, 
 
 round, regular English faces, while Mark 
 
 (219)
 
 220 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 '.ooked as if he might be the child of a Span- 
 sh pirate. 
 
 The baby, whom I had scarcely noticed 
 oefore, was a beautiful child, apparently 
 about six months old, with soft, dark eyes 
 and the loveliest expression, who, as soon as 
 I took him, stretched out his little hands to 
 me and began to talk baby-talk and crow in 
 the most cunning and winning way. Laura 
 was enchanted by the baby, whom she at 
 once busied herself about, but she kept very 
 shy of the others, while her blindness seem- 
 ed to frighten them, especially the twins. 
 
 I had engaged an English Protestant wo- 
 man as nursery-girl and chamber-maid ; my 
 enlarged family requiring additional service, 
 and she came with the children to go on 
 with us. So I started off in the clear bright- 
 ness of a June morning with my retinue of 
 five. Surely I should not soon have to com- 
 plain again of empty hands ! 
 
 That was five years ago, and to-day my 
 family stands as follows: myself, a woman 
 forty-one years of age, with here and there
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. ?u 
 
 a gray hair showing itself, but healthy and 
 vigorous, and too full of care to have many 
 sad or lonely hours, often anxious, some- 
 times gravely troubled, but generally calm 
 and peaceful, trusting that I am doing the 
 work my Master would have me do doing 
 it imperfectly and with many, many errors 
 and mistakes, as I only too well know but 
 still, with an underlying purpose to do it in 
 the fear and love of God, and with the 
 cheering hope that His smile and blessing 
 are resting upon me, day by day, as I 
 travel on. 
 
 Miss Patty, who on the whole concluded 
 to remain, is sitting in her pleasant room 
 where the morning sun is shining on her 
 and where, one by one, new and nicer arti- 
 cles of furniture have replaced the old and 
 worn-out ones. She is still a little inclined 
 to fret and think her lot in life is hard ; but 
 in reality she is now quite free from pain,- 
 and able to do a good deal with the needle, 
 especially in the way of mending; by her 
 side stands a heaped-up basket of little 
 19*
 
 222 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 stockings, in which the eight busy, restless, 
 kicking, climbing, dancing feet have made 
 sad holes, but into which, with patient fin- 
 gers, she will set stitch after stitch till they 
 are whole again, relieving her mind by oc- 
 casionally asserting, 
 
 "There never was such a tearin' set o' 
 children as I've got on my hands in my old 
 age! When I was young, bare feet was 
 good enough for anybody, but now beggar's 
 children must go shod. I don't know what 
 Miss Kingston is thinking on for my part 
 'twill take a sight o' money to bring up 
 these children the way she's goin' on, I can 
 tell her ; white petticoats and pantalettes, a 
 snarl of 'em in the wash every week mabbe 
 they do wear and wash better than colored 
 ones, but there's a heap o' work in it, I know 
 that ; and all to be mended and made ! I 
 guess old Patty Train won't rust out yet 
 awhile !" 
 
 " And she doesn't want to," I say, laying 
 a hand gently on her arm ; " she's glad to be 
 a help t > me and to be useful in the world. "
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 2$ 
 
 " Wall, if I be, I don't know as you need 
 to be a twittin' on me about it," she says, 
 but says it with a smile about her lips and 
 chin; and when Laura, our dear, sweet, 
 lovely Laura comes gliding in and says, 
 
 " You must come down, Miss Patty, and 
 help us tie the wreaths for the birthday 
 party," she suffers herself to be carried away 
 captive ; indeed, Laura can always do what 
 she pleases with Miss Patty, leading her by 
 the silken cord of love ; for her old heart 
 opened years ago to take the little blind girl 
 in, and it has been the gentler and the 
 varmer for it ever since. 
 
 Laura is the next figure in our family 
 group ; Mary Sterling would have been, but 
 three years ago she was spirited off West by 
 a grave sensible man, several years her se- 
 nior, to be mother-in-law to two small chil- 
 dren. It was an irreparable loss to me, but 
 she seems very happy, having one little boy 
 of her own, whom she has named Graham 
 Kingston. She sent me his photograph the 
 othei day, and says, " If he should ever in
 
 224 OUR TWO LIVES - 
 
 the least resemble him whose name he bears, 
 my fondest hope will be realized." 
 
 Laura is now fourteen years old ; small of 
 her age, and, with an exceeding grace of 
 form and movement, she is, if not beautiful; 
 a wonderfully lovely and attractive girl; 
 still, as when she first came to us, our singing 
 birdie, our sweet violet, our hearts' delight. 
 She was just the child to pet, and seemed 
 not to spoil by petting ; still I have no doubt 
 it was good for her to live with other chil- 
 dren and not to be the sole object of care 
 and thought. She was passionately fond of 
 Baby Walter so we named the nameless 
 child that came to us and lavished on him 
 all the wealth of her loving nature, and his 
 death was a bitter grief to her ; for in spite 
 of all the love and tending we could give 
 the little stranger certainly the loveliest 
 baby I ever saw he drooped and pined 
 away, closing his eyes and going to sleep in 
 my arms just three months after I brought 
 him home. We laid him to rest beside our 
 darling Bessie ; a sweet spot, to which the
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 2$ 
 
 children love to go, always carrying flow- 
 ers to scatter over the two little graves. 
 Strangely did my heart cling to that little 
 nursling, and when he left me I shed many 
 tears. But it was pleasant to think of him 
 as being welcomed in heaven by my dear 
 husband and child, who I was sure would 
 love him for my sake. 
 
 " As a twig trembles which a bird 
 Lights on to sing, its leaves unbent, 
 So was my memory thrilled and stirred 
 I only know he came and went." 
 
 The going out of a baby-life is a small 
 thing outside of its home, but it was deeply 
 felt by every member of our little house- 
 hold, and left softening memories in all our 
 hearts. 
 
 Laura is, of course, more dependent in 
 certain ways than other children, but I 
 hardly know how a child could have been 
 a sweeter companion or comforter than she 
 has been from the moment she first nestled 
 herself to sleep on my bosom ; and hundreds
 
 226 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 and hundreds of times have I thanked God 
 for putting it into my heart to bring her 
 into my home. I hope to keep her always 
 with me, if her life is spared ; she will be 
 less likely to marry than if she had sight, 
 and I do not think she will be miserable 
 with me, her heart is so good and loving. 
 She is having every advantage in the way 
 of a musical education I can give her, foi 
 her exquisite ear and voice seemed to de- 
 mand it, and her proficiency delights all hei 
 masters. It will enable her to support her- 
 self by teaching music, should it ever be- 
 come necessary, which I trust it never will. 
 But I should not feel that I had done my 
 whole duty if any one of the children was 
 left unprepared to gain his or her own live- 
 lihood, if it ever should be desirable to, in 
 the changes that may come. 
 
 Mark Barry, twelve years old last month, 
 is to-day as curious a compound of good, 
 bad, and extraordinary traits, oddly jumbled 
 together, as can well be imagined. Capa- 
 ble, restless, quick-tempered, impatient of
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 2 2? 
 
 control, yet warm-hearted and anxious to 
 please ; caring little for study, yet making 
 rapid progress whenever a sudden fit of ap- 
 plication takes him ; doing something he 
 ought not to every hour of his life, yet re- 
 penting violently ; he has caused me more 
 anxiety than all the other children put to- 
 gether yes, ten times over. Yet wilful, 
 wayward, perplexing, wearing as he is, I 
 have never regretted taking him ; if ever a 
 boy needed the restraining, softening influ- 
 ences of a home, he did, and I have as yet a, 
 strong hold on him through his affections 
 If I find he is outgrowing me, Mr. Dean, 
 Mary Sterling's husband, has promised to 
 take him out West with him and give him 
 a good business education, and no better 
 guardian or home could have been found. 
 It would be a sore wrench to part with him ; 
 for the generous, impulsive, reckless boy is 
 very dear to me, and I have great confi- 
 dence that the good in him will eventually 
 get the upper hand, and he make an ener- 
 getic, useful man; if he can only acquire
 
 228 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 self-control, he would be sure to; but he 
 sadly lacks that now ; perhaps I expect too 
 much of him, and make less allowance than 
 a man would for the impetuosity of a boy's 
 nature. 
 
 Lucy and Fanny, now eight years old, 
 are two as rosy, stout, healthy-looking chil- 
 dren as one often sees, neither of them at all 
 pretty, but quiet, nice-looking girls ; neither 
 of them are remarkable in any way, but 
 both of them are very dear to me ; and to 
 watch their unfolding in these five years, 
 has been a constant source of interest and 
 pleasure. I shall never let them go from 
 me unless to homes of their own, for they 
 have grown into my heart almost as if they 
 were my own children. 
 
 To-day is their birthday, at least the day 
 we observe as such ; for, no one knowing 
 the precise day of their birth, we have fixed 
 on the one they first came to me as the 
 most appropriate, and I call them my June 
 children. Laura's comes in October, on 
 the same day as my darling Bessie's.
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 229 
 
 They are having a .grand frolic down- 
 stairs with a dozen or so of their play-mates ; 
 each of their two fair, young heads being 
 crowned with a wreath of roses, and each 
 wearing a white muslin dress, as Bessie 
 wore so long ago. I like to think that her 
 spirit may be hovering near, rejoicing in all 
 the joy that comes to me. As usual, Fanny 
 is the merriest, Mark the noisiest, and Lucy 
 the quietest of the party. I am to go down 
 and cut the pretty birthday cake for them ; 
 and am glad to feel that Auntie, as they all 
 call me, does not cast a shadow on their 
 gayest mood, and that the day would not 
 for them be quite complete without her 
 presence and sympathy for a little while. 
 
 Yes, they are all dear children, and often 
 when I look on their healthy faces and stur- 
 dy figures, I think how different it might 
 have been had they stayed in the alley 
 where I found them. Whatever mistakes 
 I may have made in their training, they 
 certainly are better off with me than they 
 would have been there, 
 30
 
 230 
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 I have been down and joined the little 
 folks at the refreshment table ; it was a 
 pretty gathering, lively and merry without 
 being rude ; my only fear was that some of 
 them would kill themselves by over-eating ; 
 but my experience with children is accus- 
 toming me to marvellous performances in 
 that line ; so I hope none of them will suf- 
 fer. It was pleasant to watch their bright 
 faces and their enjoyment of the meal ; and 
 when, after a great deal of winking and 
 nodding, and looking wise, and going out 
 and coming in, Mark appeared, attired as 
 an Apollo, I believe, certainly as somebody, 
 with a vast amount of green wreaths hang- 
 ing round him, and a great deal of silver 
 tissue paper, in the form of stars and suns, 
 glittering on his breast, who, mounted on a 
 rostrum, alias a shawl-covered box, recited 
 five stanzas of original poetry, composed for 
 the occasion, in a sonorous voice, with many 
 striking and remarkable gesticulations, the 
 joy and glory of the day was at its height ; 
 the acclamations and applause unbounded
 
 OUR TU'O LIVES. 231 
 
 I well knew who was our poet laureate ; no 
 one but Laura was equal to such a feat as 
 that. It was very prettily done, and the 
 lines very good for a child ; if they had 
 some halting measures and overstrained ex- 
 pressions, there was genuine feeling in them, 
 and I was especially touched by an allusion 
 to her mother and to Graham, as, 
 
 "Guardian angels fondly watching o'er us." 
 
 And I pressed the blushing girl to my heart, 
 Feeling really grateful for her little effort, 
 at the same time warmly congratulating the 
 orator of the day on his eminent success. 
 Nothing could exceed Miss Patty's wonder 
 and delight, and her repeated exclamations 
 of, " I never did see the beat o' that," added 
 to the universal joy. 
 
 The day, however, did not wind up with- 
 out an accident- -it would have been a mar- 
 vel if it had for Mark, having conceived 
 the grand project of letting off a few fire- 
 works, of course achieved an exp osion, and 
 half frightened me out of my senses by
 
 232 OUR TWO LIVES. 
 
 rushing in with half his hair singed off, and 
 his hands and face blackened, and some- 
 what scorched. Binding up his face in 
 cream, and getting him to bed, has been lor 
 me the closing performance of the day. But 
 the poor boy was very patient and cares- 
 sing, and as he really meant no harm, I 
 could not blame him ; I was only too thank- 
 ful no more serious harm was done. But a 
 boy is an anxiety ! 
 
 It is all still in the house now; I have 
 gone my nightly round, looking into every 
 room, beginning with Miss Patty and end- 
 ing with the twins. All are buried in quiet 
 slumber, and I, too, am peaceful ; a little 
 weary, but very grateful for all the good- 
 ness which surrounds me. 
 
 The children have had a happy day, and 
 so have I ; and if there have been mingling 
 in our joy companions they could not see 
 invisible spirits hovering over us in love 
 and blessing- -they have only added to, not 
 lessened, my delight. 
 
 How rich I am to-night in my heart treas-
 
 OUR TWO LIVES. 233 
 
 ures, those below and those above ! How 
 full is life of healthful interests and occupa- 
 tion, and how rarely do I ever feel lonely 
 now ! Why should I, when all around are 
 those I love ; while above bend the bright 
 heavens filled, too, with friendly faces, and 
 nearer than all, more loving than all, is He 
 to whom I owe every joy and hope, the 
 source of all blessedness in earth and in 
 heaven Jesus the Christ, the Alpha and 
 Omega, the beginning and the end ? 
 
 And why should I be disheartened when, 
 amid all life's cares and labors, anxieties and 
 sorrows, I hear a voice evermore saying, 
 " Beloved, now are we the sons of God ; and it 
 doth not yet appear what we shall be, but we 
 know that when He shall appear, we shall bt 
 like Him, for we shall see Him as He is" ? 
 
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