With a return of comparative good health, "grandma" is again enabled to resume her duties as housekeeper, and is daily seen, with "grandpa," presiding at their family board. Our sisters and brothers, with two young men from "the store," (who, from motives of economy, board with us), and our little daughter, who sits to the left of her father, in her baby dining-chair, constitute the family. How cheerful the scene, after months of sickness and anxiety! "Grandpa," at least, is radiant with happiness and good-humor. No unpleasant word or look is seen or heard during our family repast. Perhaps an awkward boy upsets his cup of coffee, but the quaint remark, "accidents will happen in the best regulated families," spoken with a native courtesy, rarely seen, restores his equilibrium; and thus peacefully, (in the main), day after day passes along, although many little perplexities and cares arise, such as every family are subject to, especially where there are sons just entering the dangerous and tempting paths of youth.
In my particular duties and unavoidable anxieties I had a warm and sympathizing friend, and a good counsellor, in the person of my precious husband. But I felt that I needed more than this to sustain me in the cares, and trials, and sorrows of life. And, besides, I carried about with me a troubled conscience. For, at the commencement of my illness, in the fall of 1832, I was perfectly aware of the approach of danger, and, as I took a look from this world into Eternity, all was dark and void, and the thought of having to meet death thus alarmed me. While a raging fever was fast making me wild, I drew the sheet up over my face, and said, "Let me be quiet." All was stilled, no sound being heard, save an occasional whisper from some loved one, (who was too anxious to be mute), and my own quick breathing, while my heart was struggling for communion with God. Vague as were my ideas of that glorious Being, I prayed that He might spare my life, promising, most solemnly, that if He should do so, I would, upon my recovery, turn my attention to the consideration of Divine Truth; that I would search the Scriptures, to know what they taught, and, should I be assured that the Bible contained a revelation from Heaven, I would, in the future, govern my life by its precepts and doctrines.
Weak and sinful as this prayer was, I believe the God of pity heard and answered it; for, notwithstanding my disinclination to the fulfilment of this vow, made under circumstances so appalling, He bore with me, but never allowed me to forget it. Every appearance of evil —and especially the return of the cholera in our midst the next fall —seemed to me, "like the fingers upon the wall," ready to write my doom. I often tried to become interested in reading the Bible, but that sacred book possessed no charm to me. I found it a hard and unpleasant task to read it at all. At length I summoned up courage to communicate my difficulties and fears to my husband. Prompt in action, he immediately purchased for me "Scott's Commentary," which, he said, would aid me in understanding the Bible; the want of which, he thought, was the reason I could feel no interest in it. He was right; for, before I had finished the book of Matthew, with the systematic and attentive reading of "the notes" and "practical observations," I was convinced that this was none other than the word of that great Being who had made and preserved me all the days of my life. This blessed book—which, hitherto, had been a sealed book to me—now seemed to glow with real life, and unwonted beauty! It was no difficult task for me then, hour after hour, to pore over its sacred pages.
Your grandfather, at this time, was only a nominal believer. He had not earnestly examined this all-important matter, and made it a personal one. Engrossed in business, young and healthy, he no doubt felt, like thousands of others, that there was time enough for him to attend to the interests of his soul, (which, to the natural heart, is insipid, if not distasteful); but, when he saw his wife so deeply interested, he did all he could to encourage her. He knelt with her at the bedside in secret prayer, conversed with her on the subject, went with her to church, and sympathized with her; until, as a reward, I truly believe, for all his kindness to me, at a time when I was ashamed of myself—ashamed to let anyone know (even him) that I felt the weight of unpardoned sin-God touched his heart as with a live coal from off His altar." So, hand and heart, we went together. Sweet is the memory of the ever-to-be-remembered day, when, "in the presence of men and of angels, we avouched the Lord JEHOVAH to be our God, the object of our supreme love and delight; the Lord Jesus Christ to be our Saviour from sin and death, our Prophet, Priest, and King; and the Holy Ghost, our Illuminator, Sanctifier, Comforter, and Guide;" when we gave ourselves away in "a covenant, never to be revoked, to be his willing servants forever, humbly believing that we had been redeemed, not with corruptible things, as silver and gold, but with the precious blood of the Son of God."
How different is the scene now presented at that fireside, where no God had heretofore been acknowledged! For, morning and evening, we surround the Throne of Grace; the Bible is read, a hymn sung, and that sweet voice, which we shall hear no more on earth, with a full confession of sin and unworthiness, humbly pleads with Him "in whom we live, and move, and have our being." A blessing is asked at our meals; preparations are made on Saturday for the holy Sabbath, that no unnecessary work may be done on that day, and servants are exhorted to improve its sacred hours.
After having dedicated ourselves to the service of the living God, we took our little Lizzie—the dearest, richest treasure of our heart and life—and presented her, in the solemn ordinance of baptism, to that Saviour who, when all earth, "took little children in his arms and blessed them," and there promised to pray with, and for her; to impart to her the knowledge of God's holy word, and to bring her up, not for this vain and perishing world, but for Heaven.
Now, my dear children, that I have given you a peep into the home and household of your grandparents, when your mamma was a little babe—before and after they became members of the Church—I will proceed, by telling you that, during that summer, (in July, 1834), your beloved grandfather met with another heavy bereavement, in the death of his father. None were then left of all that united and happy family circle, which caused the homestead to ring with mirth when "grandma," as a bride, first became a member of it, excepting his mother, his brother Edward, and himself. Deep sorrow pervaded our souls, most of all because, before this sad event, we had learned to feel, most keenly, the importance of a careful preparation for "the great change," which we do not know that his father ever made. But, (as I once heard a minister say at a funeral), "we will leave him where he left himself, in secret with his God," with the hope that he was enabled, by that grace which is rich in Christ Jesus, to "make his calling and election sure."
Life is made up of lights and shadows, and, before closing this letter, I will give you an account of a delightful little journey which we made early in September of that year.
Your mamma, who was then just twenty-two months old, was quite delicate, and we thought a little trip into the country would be of service to her; and her papa, having some business in Illinois that would cause an absence of ten or twelve days, concluded to hitch up our little barouche and take us with him. So we started, in fine style, on a beautiful morning—"grandpa," and "grandma," our little Lizzie; and her nurse—which, with a small trunk, a carpet-bag, and a little basket, containing some crackers, etc., for the baby, quite filled the carriage.
Ill tell you there is no such traveling these days of railroads and steam boats! Every body is in too great a hurry to stop and go slowly, as we did in our little barouche, trotting gently along across the prairies of Illinois. How balmy and bracing the air; how quiet the scene; how beautiful the prairies! Some four, some ten, some twenty miles in width—all covered with tall grasses and a profusion of large autumn flowers that waved in graceful undulations before the sweeping breeze. An apt representation of a gently swelling sea, upon whose dark green waves, nature had emptied her lap of richly varied blossoms. We traveled from twenty-five to thirty miles per day; starting early in the morning—while yet the dew glittered before the rising sun. We always took care to learn from our host, the distance and situation of the next good stopping place, where we might dine, and rest a few hours in the heat of the day, after which we would again "hitch up" and start refreshed and strengthened for our evening ride. What magnificent sunsets! How picturesque the woodland bordering of these beautiful prairies, with here and there an humble residence, and a cultivated field. We could not but lift our hearts in adoration and praise.