But while Mrs. Carr thus lived in partial seclusion, sewing and teaching music lessons, her thoughts reached far beyond the straitened opportunities of the colonies. Five years from the native land had resulted so far as visible results went, in the establishment of two churches, one in Melbourne, one in Hobart Town. Such accomplishments were well worth the sacrifices they had demanded, but they were achievements aside from those definite ideals which she had formed at the beginning of her school life. Her boarding school in Melbourne had done much good, but it was not a permanent institution; with her departure, it passed away; and she was resolved that out of her life should come a monumental school, which, though she departed, should remain. Her plans conflicted with her husband's intense zeal for souls, hence she quietly worked away at sailors' caps, and agreed, if he thought best, to go next to New Zealand for the Cause. But at last, when it became manifest that his health demanded a rest from work too great for even a strong man, and a decided change of climate, she declared for a return to America. To go back meant not only the probable regaining of his health, but the carrying out of her educational ambitions; and in order the better to perfect herself in her chosen work, and to secure the needed rest for both, she resolved that they should spend the next year in travel, studying the countries of the Orient, and dwelling among the hills round about Jerusalem.
Mr. Carr to Mrs. Carr, from Hobart Town, January 17, 1873: "Last night we had our Tea Meeting and oh! such a Tea it was! Everybody seemed pleased with everything but one abominably long address. The speech of the evening had much about you; 'a lady of such rare abilities,' 'your condescension in coming amongst them,' 'they would never find your equal,' etc. The good you have done, your kindness to all, your talents, were dwelt upon by nearly every speaker. Poor Brother Jones could hardly restrain his feelings. He said he had never seen your like. The singing was splendid. The room was most tastefully decorated. 'Farewell to Brother and Sister Carr for a season,' and 'Welcome to Brother G. B. Moysey,' were the letters hanging about." (Mr. Carr's successor at Hobart Town was that Moysey who had sold his calf for learning.) "After Brother Moysey's first sermon on Lord's day, there was one confession. It was a grand sermon,—he is just the man for the place and I am sure will do a splendid work here. Everybody sends love to you. I am so excited, I'm ill. I do hate to go from here. I never knew before how much I thought of this people. I have spent three days taking Brother Moysey around to see the people in their homes. I am so sorry to hear of your illness. Take good care of your health. Love to Brothers Gore, Santo, and everybody—dear me! I can write no more."
CHAPTER XIII.
TRAVELS IN THE ORIENT.
An account of one's travels in lands far from the scene of one's life-work, has no proper place in biography, unless such travels reveal or develop characteristics of the traveler. No matter how wide-spread may be the interest in the countries traversed, the biographer has no right to convey his reader from land to land, simply because the feet of his subject have gone on before. We would, therefore, pass over the oriental experiences of Mr. and Mrs. Carr with but a word, if we did not have before us extensive notes on the journey, in Mrs. Carr's own hand.
The fact that she wrote of her experiences, makes them at once of biographical value, for we are enabled to observe the reaction of peoples and countries upon her own mind. While it is true that these notes were made that she might tell others what she had seen, it must be remembered that they were not intended for publication.
"On a beautiful May morning, the pet steamer of the Peninsular and Oriental Line, with all canvas spread, was skimming the smooth waters of the Indian Ocean. No albatross of ill-omen hovered round our ship. The passengers, light-hearted and joyous, were chatting under the awning,—when the man at the wheel shouted, 'Fire! fire!'
"At that awful word, every man of the crew was at his post, while pale passengers stared at each other, fainting women fell into trembling arms, and the children caught the contagion of fear. Suddenly our Captain turned his wide-mouthed trumpet upon us and shouted: