And it was a still greater satisfaction when, after his death in September of the following year, I received a visit from Mr. Cooper’s nephew, with a note from the great novelist, one of the last things written by his prolific pen, and a message from him on his death-bed, substantially as follows: “Tell the Fox family I bless them. I have been made happy through them. They have prepared me for this hour.”
[8] This is a mistake or misrepresentation frequent with those who regard dogmatic “orthodoxy” (according to the title it claims) as the true and the only “Christian Religion.” All Spirits indeed reject the dogmas of the eternal hell-fire, of total depravity, of vicarious atonement, of anything but One Supreme Spirit or God, and of the literal plenary inspiration of the Bible; but a vast body of the most enlightened Spiritualists (I believe the bulk of them) devoutly cherish the Christianity taught, lived, and died for by Christ himself; and a pamphlet by a well-known and popular Spiritualist is rightly entitled “Christ the Corner-Stone of Spiritualism.”—Ed.
CHAPTER XI.
RETURN TO ROCHESTER.
Letters and Newspaper Articles Respecting our New York Campaign—Letter from Amy Post—Letters from John E. Robinson—Article from a Sunday Newspaper—From the New York Day-Book—Letter from Dr. C. D. Griswold—Letter from Jacob C. Cuyler—Article by Horace Greeley—Poem from the Sunday Dispatch.
Such was our first campaign in New York, through all the hot months of that summer of 1850. Toward the close of September our friends, as well as ourselves, recognized the necessity for us of some rest and recuperation, and we decided to return to Rochester. But before being allowed to do so, our kind and devoted friends, Mr. and Mrs. Greeley, insisted on our spending a fortnight with them at their home in Nineteenth Street. We also spent a week with other friends at Greenpoint. But this did not afford much relief to our overwrought brains and bodies, because Mr. Greeley’s hospitable house was a centre of visiting to the literary circles of New York, and Spiritualism and its manifestations, for the satisfaction of their visitors, were almost as much the order of our days as had been the case at Barnum’s Hotel, among countless more. Bayard Taylor was at that period very earnest in his investigations, and was a daily frequenter of the house. At last we were suffered to tear ourselves away from New York; and ah, what sighs of relief we breathed when we got back to our dearly beloved Rochester, where we resumed our former happy domestic life, in which we all divided our days, going at pleasure to and fro, between my house on Troup Street and the farm, the homestead and father’s house, now a sort of adjunct to the latter; every one of which dwellings was always an open house to any one of the family.
This affords a convenient point at which to introduce a few out of the many letters from valued friends referring to our time and experiences in New York. I give the first place to one from that best, sweetest, and noblest of women, Amy, wife of Isaac Post, friends in the double sense of intimacy, and the denominational one, for both she and her husband, who were all but second parents to me, were, as they still are, perfect specimens of the ideal Quakerism.
“Rochester, N. Y., May 30, 1850.
“Dear Leah: I have very often thought of you since you left our goodly city, and have as often desired to communicate with you, but I hardly know where to direct a letter to find you; though I might have known that your movements would be slow, for strange, indeed, it would be if you did not find people enough, in every place you visited, interested in the remarkable phenomena that attend you, to keep you a long time. It is almost useless to say that we always rejoice whenever we hear of your prosperity, either temporally or spiritually; and while we do exceedingly miss you and feel your loss, we are thankful that you are affording others the privilege of witnessing what we have so often enjoyed. When will you find a stopping place? Sometimes I think not this side of Europe, but perhaps my ideas are too boundless. You, and the good angels that are with you, can better tell; but wherever you may go, my heart and good wishes go with you. John E. Robinson kindly read to me some parts of thy letter. I was very grateful for thy kind remembrance of us, and much pleased to hear, from thy own pen, of your comfortable situation, company, etc.