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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
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 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
LOST VISION 
 
 BY 
 
 MISS ALICE A. HOLMES 
 
 AUTHOR OF ''POEMS," 
 "ARCADIAN LEAVES," AND "STRAY LEAVES" 
 
 JUN 2! 
 
 
 NEW-YORK 
 
 THE DE VINNE PRESS 
 
 1888 
 

 Copyright, 1888, 
 
 BY 
 
 Miss Alice A. Holmes. 
 
©e&tcatiott. 
 
 THESE PAGES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY VERY HIGHLY 
 
 ESTEEMED FRIEND, 
 
 B. A. WATSON, A. M., M. D. 
 
 AS A TOKEN OF GRATITUDE FOR HIS MANY 
 
 KIND PROFESSIONAL SERVICES 
 
 IN MY BEHALF. 
 
INVOCATION. 
 
 Oh come, my kind and gentle muse, 
 
 Inspire my theme, my heart and brain; 
 And bear me on thy glowing wings 
 
 Through varied scenes of life again. 
 E'en back to childhood's rosy hours, 
 
 When joyous sunbeams cheered my way, 
 And I was wo?it, with merry glee, 
 
 To play at will the livelong day ; 
 
 Or first ins/ruction's dawning beam 
 
 Its mystic rays around me shed ; 
 Or fairy tales of fancy bright 
 
 Their magic scenes before me spread. 
 How fast they fled, those golden years 
 
 Of cloudless sunshine, mirth and bloom ; 
 Ere pain and care their shadows cast 
 
 To shroud my heart in grief and gloom. 
 
 Ah ! well aday, on pensive wing 
 
 Came sorrow's dark and dreary night ; 
 And deep affliction's ruthless hand 
 
 Bereft mine eyes of vision bright. 
 Oh, total loss, so grave, so sad j 
 
 Deprived of sight ! Oh, who can bear 
 A life barred out from gleam of light, 
 
 Entombed with grief and blank despair f 
 
Nor budding spring, nor summer's bloom 
 
 Nor lovely autumn's varied sheen, 
 Nor winter robed in fleecy white 
 
 Adorned with waving evergreen, 
 Nor sun, nor moon, nor loving smile 
 
 One single ray or beam bestows, 
 Nor prisoner bound in dungeon deep 
 
 Such black, unbroken darkness knows. 
 
 But why lament? It imist be so; 
 
 May heavenly grace and light divine, 
 My troubled spirit soothe and calm, 
 
 My heart invest, my soul enshrine ; 
 And warmest love with gentle hand 
 
 My footsteps guide, my path attend ; 
 And friendship sweet with cheering smile 
 
 Her kindest sympathy extend. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 Reminiscence, in Six Chapters n 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 i. To My Classmate, Miss Frances J. Crosby. ... 65 
 
 2. Fond Recollections. To My Brother, David 
 
 Holmes 67 
 
 3. Miss Mary Evans 68 
 
 4. Home, Sweet Home 68 
 
 5. My Pupil, Master Harry Hintemann 70 
 
 6. A Wreath for an Album 7 1 
 
 7. Parting with My Brother, William J. Holmes. . 72 
 
 8. Inscribed to Mrs. Jean Bruce Washburn. ... 73 
 
 9. Christmas 74 
 
 10. A Valentine 7 6 
 
 11. Twilight 7 6 
 
 12. Mrs. N. C. Hills. "Thy Father." 77 
 
 13. To My Niece, Mrs. James C. Hueston 78 
 
 14. Light of Other Days 7 8 
 
 15. Greeting to My Aunt, Mrs. Charles Musk. ... 80 
 
 16. Erin. Dedicated to Charles Taggart, M. D. . .80 
 
 17. Miss Sadie Constance Traphagen 81 
 
 18. To Miss Annie Connars 82 
 
 19. Number Three 82 
 
 20. To the Memory of Miss Ella L. Thomas. ... 83 
 
 21. My Young Friend, Luella Stackus 84 
 
 22. To Miss Ella Holmes, On Her Bridal Day. ... 85 
 
 23. The Gray Mule 86 
 
 24. To the Rich 87 
 
 25. To My Friend, Mrs. Bessie Shaffer 88 
 
 26. To My Friend, Peter Kelly 89 
 
 27. The Past 9 1 
 
 28. Vision 9 1 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE appearance of this little volume before the 
 public is in some measure due to the express 
 desire of many warm and sincere friends of the writer, 
 who will gladly favor its circulation by their liberal 
 patronage ; first, for her personal benefit, and secondly 
 to obtain a slight souvenir of one who truly merits 
 their highest esteem, whose life, though shrouded in 
 darkness, has been by no means a blank, either to 
 herself or friends, for she has most patiently and 
 perseveringly improved every available opportunity 
 of adopting such employment as would render her self- 
 sustaining. Writing poetry and teaching music have 
 been her chief delights. She has also surpassed many 
 with sight in various kinds of handiwork, especially in 
 fancy knitting and crocheting, so that her busy brain 
 and skillful fingers have seldom been unoccupied; 
 but, as she herself states, through much sickness and 
 adversities has reached her sixty-seventh year empty- 
 handed, yet earnestly hopes to realize a small income 
 by the sale of these pages, which she cheerfully sub- 
 mits to the good- will and kind patronage of a gener- 
 ous public. 
 
REMINISCENCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 OUR family record shows that my first appearance 
 in this beautiful world occurred on the 9th of 
 February, 182 1, in a very old village (said to have 
 been settled by the Romans), called Winfarthing, in 
 the county of Norfolk, England. I was the fourth 
 child of my parents, and the second daughter; the 
 first two, a boy and girl, having early passed from 
 earth to the bright world above, are safe in the arms 
 of Jesus. Hence, only one little brother remained to 
 welcome my arrival, which my mother said he did 
 with great delight, and, though quite a pet himself, was 
 not at all jealous of the attention paid me ; being a 
 girl, he seemed to think me a nice doll, with which he 
 could amuse himself, and would look curiously into my 
 eyes, as they opened and shut, and wanted to play 
 with my hands, and put his own chubby fingers into 
 my mouth, and, indeed, wanted to caress me generally, 
 in a manner more forcible than agreeable to my in- 
 fantile endurance; but, after a few kind reproofs, 
 became more gentle, and treated me very tenderly, but 
 would often look wonder-struck when I squirmed and 
 cried. He was quite satisfied to see me in my mother's 
 
12 LOST VISION. 
 
 arms, but stoutly rebelled against my being put in bed. 
 However, when a cradle for my daily repose was 
 brought into requisition, he was highly pleased, and 
 would at times, if allowed, rock it so energetically as 
 to endanger my safety; but, being strong and active, 
 seldom remained long at any one post. I was called 
 Alice, after my father's mother (who, by the way, was 
 no ordinary person), being the granddaughter of Lord 
 Lefevre; but her mother, by marrying out of her rank, 
 so grieved and offended his lordship, that she was in 
 consequence disinherited. I would here mention that 
 when I was about a year old, my parents removed to a 
 small adjoining village called Shelfanger, of which are 
 my earliest recollections. When I was two years and 
 two days of age, Tommie and I were presented with a 
 baby sister, named Elizabeth, for whom, at times, we 
 manifested a most ardent affection, and might have 
 killed her with kindness, but for our mother's watchful 
 care ; however, when interested in our toys, or neigh- 
 boring little visitors, the baby had but few charms for 
 us. We were occasionally permitted to play in the 
 garden, from which we sometimes stealthily escaped to 
 a little green near by, a favorite resort and playground 
 of the children in the village, by whom we were there 
 attracted ; now and then we returned of our own accord, 
 but more frequently passed under and scampered before 
 the rod, not spared to enforce our obedience. Thus, on 
 gilded wings, the sunny hours of childhood sped quickly 
 by. Now came my first trial. Tommie was five years 
 of age, and it was deemed best to send him to school, 
 which almost broke my heart. I was not to be trusted 
 alone in the garden, or elsewhere, therefore was closely 
 confined in the house ; and often, to keep me out 
 
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 13 
 
 of mischief, placed in my little chair and posted by 
 the cradle to rock my sister, an occupation which I 
 heartily detested, and would still, but thanks to the kind 
 inventor of nice, self-swinging cribs, which render such 
 monotonous employment unnecessary. Well do I re- 
 member how eagerly I watched at the window for my 
 brother's return, and when I caught but a glimpse of 
 his cap would make for the door, and hastily toddle 
 to meet him at the gate. He was fond of going to 
 school, and learned rapidly, and often amused himself 
 by assuming the dignity of master, when, by promise 
 of some great reward, he could induce me, with one 
 or two other children, to let him teach us our lessons. 
 In this way I soon learned the alphabet, and then 
 wanted a book; so my father bought me a primer, 
 and, with the aid of my mother and Tommie, I could 
 very soon spell words of one and two syllables. Now 
 followed in rapid succession four eventful years of my 
 child life. I had reached my fifth year, when mother 
 said I must go to school, to which I think I should 
 not have objected, could I have gone with Tommie ; 
 but he, alas! attended a master's school, where girls 
 were not received, and I must go to Miss Bessie Mar- 
 tin, of whom I had heard occasional hints that she 
 was a cross, disagreeable old maid. When the day for 
 my initiation arrived, I positively refused to move a 
 step, and cried frantically; but my mother was firm, and 
 actually took me in her arms and carried me to the 
 school-house, where, amid tears and sobs, I was very 
 kindly received by Miss Martin, in whom I was most 
 agreeably disappointed. Never shall I forget the 
 sweet, patient expression of her lovely face, her soft 
 blue eyes, smooth, glossy brown hair, and attractive 
 
14 LOST VISION. 
 
 manners by which she soon won my love and respect; 
 still, I did not like going to school, and would often 
 loiter by the way to gather wild flowers, pick berries, 
 or watch the tiny fishes at their play in the sunny brook, 
 and in consequence, like all wayward, willful chil- 
 dren, frequently found myself in a sad plight, with apron 
 soiled, hands stained, and feet quite wet, and in this con- 
 dition seldom reached school before ten o'clock, when 
 dear Miss Martin would, with gentle reproof, take off 
 my apron, wash my stained hands, and put my shoes 
 in the sun to dry; thus, by her continued kindness, 
 she corrected my naughty, wayward propensities. I 
 must ascertain if she is still living, and if so, present her 
 with a copy of this book as a token of my grateful 
 remembrance of her patient endurance of all my 
 childish faults. In general I made fair progress in 
 the primary studies, but was, indeed, exceedingly fond 
 of play, for which, however, my mother allowed me 
 but little time, being desirous to make me a useful, 
 industrious girl, and fully resolved that I should early 
 learn to sew and knit, take care of my own clothes, 
 and assist her in such domestic duties as I was able. 
 I was strong, healthy, and active, and being so much 
 of a companion to my brother, became very fond of 
 his amusements, and could play marbles and ball, 
 run, jump, slide, and skate, equal to any boy of my 
 age in the village; and, like Mary's little lamb, where- 
 ever Tommie went, I was sure to go. By the more 
 refined and gentle, I was often called a tomboy; 
 but that had little restraining influence upon my 
 actions. I cared not for dolls, and to play house or 
 nursery games with other little girls had no charm 
 for me. My chief delight was to be out-of-doors, and 
 
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. I 5 
 
 once, when a band of gypsies passed through our vil- 
 lage, I greatly admired and felt much inclined to follow 
 them. I often envied the poor children who worked 
 in the fields picking stones, dropping wheat, barley, 
 etc., and upon more than one occasion stole away 
 with them, instead of going to school, and spent the 
 day in meadows, hunting birds' nests, chasing butter- 
 flies, gathering flowers, and picking berries, coming 
 home looking like a forlorn little tramp or nobody's 
 child. For this I was justly reproved and punished; 
 but that in no degree lessened my inclination to repeat 
 the offense, but I was intimidated by fear of my father's 
 anger, who was a military man, hence a disciplinarian, 
 and enforced obedience. My love of Nature was 
 deep and strong, and when, through the windows of 
 my soul, I viewed her fair and charming face, my 
 young heart seemed to expand with joy and delight. 
 The sunshine, the moonlight, and star-gemmed sky 
 were to me marvelous objects of beauty and wonder. 
 I had few childish fears and fancies, and little or no 
 faith in ghosts or goblins, though I heard them much 
 talked of; for at that time, and in that secluded part of 
 the county, superstitious stories were often told and 
 firmly believed in by many. Strange to say, I cannot 
 remember that I was ever afraid in the night, however 
 dark and lonely. With all my fun and frolic, I was 
 very pious on Sundays, and really loved to go to 
 church and Sunday-school, and must here say the 
 religious instruction there received has been a light 
 to my feet and a lantern to my path through life's 
 dark and dreary journey. Just here, one word to the 
 memory of the dear old rector, whose name was 
 Morris, with his pleasant face and kindly manners, 
 
l6 LOST VISION. 
 
 winning the hearts of children who always gathered 
 around him whenever he appeared in our midst. 
 When arrayed in his sacerdotal robes, his appearance 
 well became his hallowed calling; but he has long- 
 since passed to his eternal reward beyond the beauti- 
 ful, shining river. As time passed on, by habit I 
 became more industrious, learned to do many useful 
 things, and was quite skillful with my needle, took a 
 deep interest in picture and story books, and com- 
 mitted my lessons with little effort, found special 
 delight in reading an illustrated copy of Bunyan's 
 " Pilgrim's Progress," being attracted by the curious 
 names of the characters therein represented, with 
 whom I made myself perfectly familiar; of course I did 
 not then understand the allegorical nature of the book, 
 and thought it a wonderful and true story. Learning 
 to write was a difficult task, and I often laugh as I 
 recall the fantastic and ridiculous appearance of my 
 first pot-hooks on the slate, compared to the example 
 I was supposed to copy; but through much tribula- 
 tion, vexation, perseverance, and not a few crying- 
 spells, I began to improve, and an occasional glance 
 into Tommie's neatly written copy-book inspired me 
 with new zeal; for whatever Tommie did, I wanted to 
 do also, and finally learned to write very fairly. I 
 was still playful and wayward and fell into many mis- 
 haps, and was in consequence more reproved than 
 praised. I will now rehearse two or three unfortunate 
 adventures of my childhood. 
 
 A babbling brook ran through the village, and 
 passed close by the cottage in which we lived, and at 
 a point where it was quite deep, on the side of the 
 bank near the water, grew some pretty blue flowers, 
 
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. I 7 
 
 which seemed to hold for me a strange fascination, 
 and three days in succession I fell into the brook, 
 while trying to reach the violets, and should have 
 drowned but for the prompt assistance of kind neigh- 
 bors. The third day I was rescued by a baker who 
 was just coming to wet his oven-mop, and saw me fall 
 in. I believe he thought me a terrible child, but 
 kindly fished me out and carried me home. My 
 mother was much distressed, but cured me of my 
 flower fever, by sending me at once to bed, and keep- 
 ing me there till late the next day. And here I can- 
 not refrain from saying that I always thought that 
 baker a very funny little man, for he had a wide 
 mouth, large teeth, small black eyes, hooked nose, 
 and rusty brown hair; he usually wore a low-crown 
 paper cap, short jacket, knee-breeches, gray stockings, 
 and a large white apron, was pleasant in manner and 
 generally good-natured, was by religious profession a 
 Baptist, and, at the time of his immersion, I was stand- 
 ing close by the baptistery and, after his being plunged, 
 saw him scrambling up the steps out of the water. The 
 scene appeared so comical to me that I shook with 
 laughter, and, in consequence, was sent home at once 
 in disgrace. My next misfortune occurred through 
 carelessness. It was near Whitsuntide, a time of feasts 
 and fairs in our village, and mother always treated us 
 to custard. I had been sent to a farm-house to pur- 
 chase eggs, and on my return, when within a stone's 
 throw of our home, a grand gentleman passed me, 
 on horseback. I believe he was a lord or nobleman 
 of some high degree; at all events, he was very hand- 
 some, and his horse the finest animal I had ever seen. 
 As I turned to look after him, my foot slipped, and down 
 
1 8 LOST VISION. 
 
 I fell with my burden. Every egg rolled out of the 
 basket and was broken. With dismay, I saw them 
 lying in the sand, and, of course, to gather them up 
 was out of the question. So, sadly regretting the acci- 
 dent, I took my basket and went crying home, told 
 my story, expecting a severe scolding and to be de- 
 prived of custard ; but my mother, ever kind and for- 
 bearing, being moved by my sorrowful tears, I was 
 readily pardoned, under fair promises to be more 
 careful in future; therefore, Tommie was sent for a 
 new supply of eggs, and we had plenty of custard 
 during the Whitsuntide festival. Upon another occa- 
 sion, when, for some misdemeanor, I was prohibited 
 from going to the green, I obtained permission to 
 invite some of my little neighbors to play with me in 
 my own yard, among whom was my special friend, 
 Sophie Brown. To her I was much attached. She 
 lived on the same side of the brook, and I saw her 
 daily. Her light curly hair, bright blue eyes, rosy 
 cheeks, and winning manners possessed for me a won- 
 derful charm, though when we fell out, as we some- 
 times did, I would vent my ill-humor by calling her 
 frizzle-top. We played under the window near where 
 my mother was seated with her sewing, and could hear 
 all that was going on. For a time all went smoothly; 
 then we began to disagree, and finally to quarrel. I be- 
 came very angry and said some dreadfully bad words, 
 upon which my mother came out and immediately 
 ordered me into the house, and shut me up in the 
 back room till my father should come home, where I 
 had plenty of time to reptnt of my sins, for he had 
 been detained and was quite late that evening; but 
 when at last I heard his footsteps, I began to shake 
 
EARLIEST RECOLLECTIONS. 1 9 
 
 and tremble, wondering what the nature of my pun- 
 ishment would be; but for some time I was kept in 
 suspense, as he talked awhile, ate his supper, and then, 
 I suppose, deliberated a little as to what course he 
 should pursue. However, at length the door opened, 
 and I was brought out, and, after a severe reprimand, 
 told to kneel down and ask God to forgive me, then 
 to beg my mother's pardon and faithfully promise 
 never again to say such wicked words, after which I 
 had my supper and gladly went to bed. Time would 
 fail to tell of all the varied scenes of my childhood, 
 many of which are bright and joyous, and still remain 
 fresh and green in my memory ; but to them I must 
 here say farewell, for a sad affliction and dark days 
 awaited me. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 IT was now the winter of 1830, and in February 
 occurred the ninth anniversary of my natal day, 
 and always on that occasion my grandma — after 
 whom I was named — presented me with some token 
 of love and remembrance. This time it proved to be 
 a book, bound in red and gilt, replete with handsome 
 pictures, pretty rhymes, and fairy tales, which I eagerly 
 read with much delight. But, alas ! reading was an 
 amusement of which I was soon to be deprived. About 
 this time, in our part of the country, there arose quite 
 an excitement in regard to families emigrating to 
 America. My father and two of his cousins at once 
 became interested and strongly thought of coming 
 first and providing homes for their families ; but, for 
 good reasons, my mother could not accede to that 
 proposition ; but early in April my father resolved to 
 sell out his business and bring us all to this country 
 at once, notwithstanding the serious opposition of 
 relatives and friends. One of his brothers, with whom 
 father had always been a great favorite, said to him, 
 half in sorrow, half in vexation, " Brother Will, you are 
 taking your children to a strange land to become beg- 
 gars and wanderers"; but, I am happy to say, this 
 prediction has never yet been fulfilled. Affairs were 
 speedily settled and preparations made for the journey. 
 
LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 21 
 
 Mr. Early Granger decided to bring his family and 
 come with us, and Mr. John Granger alone, who 
 afterward sent for his wife and family and settled on 
 Long Island, N. Y., where his children and grand- 
 children still reside. A large van was engaged to 
 convey us to London, for this was prior to the general 
 use of railroads and steam-cars. How fast the busy 
 days flew by. The 28th of April was set for our 
 departure, and a bright and lovely morning it proved. 
 It had been agreed that we should start from the 
 Fighting Cocks Inn, Winfarthing, where the van was 
 to meet us at ten o'clock a. m. sharp, and there an 
 early dinner was ordered for our party. And now 
 came the leave-taking. How bitterly my dear mother 
 wept in parting with her two brothers, her only living 
 relatives, who afterward, however, followed her to this 
 country, one of whom is still living, Mr. Samuel Hart 
 James, of 21 Park street, Jersey City Heights. In 
 saying good-bye to sweet Sophie Brown, I was heart- 
 broken ; how often have I thought of her since and 
 upbraided myself for ridiculing her really beautiful 
 hair and wished she could know that in spite of our 
 childish quarrels I loved her very dearly and still hold 
 her in fond remembrance. At high noon the baggage, 
 consisting of trunks, boxes, baskets, bundles, etc., 
 was closely and carefully packed in the van, and the 
 teamster loudly called out, " Now, then ; all aboard ! " 
 Mrs. Granger and seven children, my mother with five 
 of us were assisted into the huge vehicle and the sig- 
 nal for starting given. Then, amid cries of farewell, 
 good-bye, and God bless you, the great wheels of the 
 conveyance rolled smoothly along over the level road, 
 which, for some distance on either side, was bordered 
 
2 2 LOST VISION. 
 
 with green grass bright with daisies and buttercups, 
 and near the ditch which divided the road from the 
 hawthorn hedge bloomed the beautiful spring violets. 
 At the end of two miles and a half we passed through 
 the village of Shelfanger, which had been our happy 
 home for the last seven years ; and there, on the main 
 street, were gathered many friends and familiar faces 
 to wish us a long and last good-bye. The team- 
 ster would not stop, but in an instant Tommie and 
 I rushed to the platform of the van and, doubtless, 
 would have jumped off but for the interference of 
 a dark, grizzle-headed, gruff man, who sternly or- 
 dered us back at once. I think he was an assist- 
 ant to the driver; but Tommie and I were not 
 to be outdone, and a small penknife served to make 
 two holes in the canvas at the back of the van, 
 at which we each placed an eye and gained another 
 peep at the surroundings. The last familiar objects 
 of which we caught a parting glimpse were the 
 church, the school-house, and the lovely green, where, 
 with our youthful playmates, we had so often spent 
 many happy and frolicsome hours. On and on We 
 rode, till some time in the afternoon we reached the 
 large town of Diss, where we halted to water the 
 horses. Here my father, his cousins, and others of 
 our party took leave of relatives and friends, who thus 
 far had accompanied them on foot. Tommie and I 
 had now crouched down in a corner not far from the 
 holes in the canvas, at which I saw my father looking. 
 Then he sternly inquired how they came there. The 
 truth had to be told, and Tommie owned up that his 
 knife had made them ; but this being a time of sor- 
 row, he received but a slight reproof. The day was 
 
LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 23 
 
 long, for we traveled far into the twilight, and then put 
 up for the night at a place called Berry. On reaching 
 London, we went directly on board the ship named 
 the Brunswick, which usually ran to Quebec, but was 
 now bound for New-York. As much as I can recol- 
 lect, she looked stout and strong, though not very 
 handsome. The captain's name was Blake, who was 
 a fine, good-natured looking gentleman and proved to 
 be very fond of children. The vessel did not sail for 
 two or three days after we were on board, and, of 
 course, a gang-plank was laid for the convenience of 
 those who wished to go ashore, but forbidden to chil- 
 dren unaccompanied by their parents. However, hav- 
 ing seen Tommie and several others disobey the rule, 
 and being anxious to know what was going on in the 
 queer-looking places about the dock, I was tempted 
 myself to steal a march, and soon reached the wharf 
 in safety. After peeping and peering about some 
 time, I started up the pier toward the city, taking good 
 care, however, not to lose sight of our ship. I was 
 afraid to go far enough to see anything very inter- 
 esting. The busy street was crowded with trucks, 
 wagons, carts, and vehicles of every description, and, 
 beginning to fear my absence would be discovered, I 
 hastily retraced my steps and fearlessly ascended the 
 gang-plank; but just as I reached the top, saw a man 
 looking at me very earnestly, at which I was a little 
 frightened, but with some presence of mind stepped on 
 to the side of the ship and threw myself forward upon 
 the deck. The good captain happened to be stand- 
 ing near and kindly lifted me up and led me to our 
 quarters on the ship, where we met my father coming 
 out in search of me, for I had been missed and sought 
 
24 LOST VISION. 
 
 for among the children of passengers ; but it seems no 
 one had observed me go down the plank. My parents 
 were so overjoyed at my safe return that reproof was 
 omitted. The following day, father took Tommie and 
 me to see " Rag Fair," which was truly marvelous to 
 behold, and far beyond my power to describe; per- 
 chance Dickens or other authors may have done so in 
 some work with which I am not familiar. Many of 
 the varied scenes of that fair will never fade from my 
 memory. I was amazed at the multitude of men, 
 women, and children rushing hither and thither; the 
 grand display of goods in shop-windows, crowded 
 stands on the sidewalks groaning under the weight of 
 articles, definite and indefinite, and I think there is no 
 class of nouns " that can be known or mentioned " 
 which is not here represented; for I am sure I saw 
 common, proper, improper, collective, verbal, and 
 participial, with much more which I cannot now relate. 
 Right here is a " Punch and Judy " show with which 
 I was highly amused ; there a blind fiddler, playing 
 reels, jigs, etc., for the entertainment of the throng; 
 by his side stood a bright-looking boy, holding out 
 a dingy cap to collect the free-will recompense of the 
 listeners ; and now, a little farther on, appears a one- 
 armed man, looking as if he had just returned from the 
 wars, with a bundle of ballads, two for a ha'penny, and 
 occasionally roaring at the top of his voice snatches of 
 " Home, Sweet Home!" " Rule, Britannia," and " God 
 Save the King." In fact, my eyes, ears, heart, and brain 
 were completely dazed with the tumult and uproar, 
 I was much afraid of being lost, and clung closely to 
 my father's side; but Tommie walked along like a 
 sturdy little major, just in front of us. I was glad when 
 
LEAVING MY NATIVE LAND. 25 
 
 we turned into a more retired street and were wending 
 our way back to the ship. I had heard much of Lon- 
 don, and imagined it must be something like the 
 " Beautiful City " mentioned in the Bible, and, there- 
 fore, felt quite disappointed at the dark, smoky ap- 
 pearance of the streets through which we passed; 
 but of course I had not visited the parks, palaces, and 
 grander locations of the city, and as the ship was to 
 sail next day, there was no further opportunity for 
 sight-seeing. On arriving at the ship, we found on 
 board my grandma and other relatives and friends 
 who had come to take their last leave of us, and with 
 this sad scene ended my recollections of my own 
 dear native land. 
 
26 LOST VISION. 
 
 FAREWELL TO MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 Farewell to the cottage, the garden and flowers, 
 Where oft in my childhood passed frolicsome hours; 
 Farewell to the meadow, the brook and the trees, 
 Where the music of birds is borne on the breeze ; 
 Farewell to the lane, the green hill-side and glen, 
 Whose paths I have trodden again and again; 
 Farewell, dear companions, so joyous and gay, 
 For alas ! I must go away, far away. 
 Farewell to the school-house and the church with its 
 
 bell 
 That echoes so sweetly o'er vale, hill, and dell ; 
 Farewell hallowed ground where my loved kindred 
 
 sleep, 
 May angels the brightest a watch o'er thee keep. 
 Farewell, dearest friends, first-loved of my heart, 
 For the changing of time now bids us to part ; 
 E'en though we are severed, let this be our trust, 
 That again we shall meet in the realms of the just. 
 Farewell, merry England, dear land of my birth, 
 May sunshine and gladness e'er crown thee with mirth ; 
 Though again thy fair shores I never may see, 
 Yet long will I cherish fond mem'ries of thee. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOSS OF VISION. 
 
 THE next morning proved bright and fair, and 
 might have been ominous of a safe though not 
 very prosperous voyage. I suppose wind and tide 
 favored the departure of our outward bound vessel, 
 for though father, Tommie, and I were early on deck 
 she had already cleared from the wharf and was sail- 
 ing smoothly along, though I could scarcely be per- 
 suaded that she was moving at all, as it seemed to 
 me everything on land, and all the ships and other 
 craft in port were hastily running away from us ; and 
 when in due course of time everything but sky and 
 water had vanished, I was but the more confirmed in 
 my childish fancy. The captain was as fine a man as 
 ever took charge of a ship, and the sailors a noble 
 crew. The passengers in all numbered about two 
 hundred. During the first week all looked bright and 
 hopeful; but on the tenth day out, "there being no 
 paid physician on board " Dr. Stratford, a passenger, 
 was earnestly entreated to visit a sick child in the 
 steerage, which he did at once very cheerfully, and 
 sad to say, pronounced it a bad case of small-pox, 
 and the second day after the child died. The doctor 
 had no virus, and not more than one-half the pas- 
 sengers had been vaccinated, and but few, if any, who 
 had not availed themselves of this most important 
 
28 LOST VISION. 
 
 precaution escaped the terrible disease. Some had it 
 in its worst form, others very light; seven cases only 
 resulted in death. 
 
 Every possible care was taken to improve the sani- 
 tary condition of the ship, and the captain was exceed- 
 ingly kind to the sick, and daily sent them such 
 nourishment as his stores afforded. There were two 
 large coops of chickens on board which, one by one 
 and two by two, were sacrificed to make broth for the 
 invalids, and much to my after regret the last one was 
 killed and cooked before I was taken sick. We had 
 several severe storms, but I do not remember of being 
 at all afraid of the sea, and was never better pleased 
 than when Tommie and I were permitted to go on 
 deck even when it was quite rough, and the ship roll- 
 ing from side to side so that standing was difficult 
 and my downfalls frequent and forcible, from which, 
 however, I received no serious injury; and if, occa- 
 sionally, a little hurt, I would not cry, fearing I would 
 be sent below. This pleased the kind captain, who 
 often playfully patted me on the head and called me 
 a brave little sailor. In fair weather, when there was 
 just breeze enough to create light, fantastic waves, 
 and the golden sunbeams gayly danced on their foam- 
 ing crest, I spent many hours watching their sportive 
 play, which to me seemed like some enchanted game. 
 Never could I though obtain a glimpse of the mer- 
 maid, with comb and glass in her hand, of whom I 
 had often heard and read in story-books. On one 
 occasion I heard my father say to his cousin, Mr. 
 Granger, " There is every indication of a storm, the sea 
 is covered with porpoises," and added something about 
 the wind which I did not quite understand. However, 
 
LOSS OF VISION. 29 
 
 I lost no time in making my way on deck without 
 leave or license, and in high glee beheld the school of 
 porpoises which seemed to me to be turning somer- 
 saults as they madly plunged up and down. Suddenly 
 the wind rose and the waves began to run high, when 
 presently one dashed over the ship and gave all on 
 deck a free and unexpected bath. I was thrown down 
 and fell close by the bulwark, but unhurt, only blinded 
 by the salt water which filled my eyes as I went down 
 with them wide open. A kind sailor helped me up, 
 and a moment later I spied my father coming toward 
 me in the same plight, and, a forlorn-looking pair, we 
 hastened below. We had now been at sea about four 
 weeks, and unfortunately neither my brothers, sisters, 
 or I had been vaccinated; therefore, it was not un- 
 looked for when they all sickened with the fearful 
 malady which had so generally prevailed on board. 
 However, they had it in a mild form and were con- 
 valescent before I felt or showed any symptoms of 
 the same. But, alas ! I was not to escape its terrible 
 effects. About nine days before the welcome news of 
 land in view was announced ended all my fun and 
 frolic and stolen escapades on deck, for I was taken 
 very ill at once and soon thickly covered with unmis- 
 takable small-pox. My mother afterward told me 
 that I was a very trying patient, had much fever, and 
 was quite delirious, craved everything I could not 
 have, and above all raved for chicken broth, though I 
 well knew, as before stated, the last chicken had 
 been disposed of. Memory failed me in my sickness 
 till we arrived at Quarantine, June 19, 1830, and of 
 all the days in my sixty-six years this was the one to 
 be most fondly remembered and lovingly cherished, 
 2a 
 
30 LOST VISION. 
 
 for with it closed my last view of human face and 
 nature fair; but the lovely appearance of Stat en Island 
 that bright morning is still fresh and green in my 
 memory and can never be effaced. My father held 
 me in his arms while other passengers were being 
 lowered to the boats, and at last came our turn. I 
 cried bitterly when dear Captain Blake said " good- 
 bye, and God bless you, my brave little sailor." I am 
 glad he was never grieved by the knowledge of the 
 sad misfortune that awaited me. I faintly remember 
 that my father afterward told me Captain Blake never 
 again came to New-York. I beg leave' here to say 
 that my brother David, who was but two years of 
 age, was the first passenger set on shore by a friend 
 who had him in charge ; he (my brother) is now a 
 resident of Detroit, Michigan. On the way from the 
 landing up to the hospital we passed a beautiful or- 
 chard, and the large green apples gleaming in the 
 sunshine attracted my attention, and earnestly I en- 
 treated my father to pull one; but he sadly replied, 
 " No, my child, I cannot steal." There being so many 
 patients and but few nurses in the hospital, my mother 
 was admitted to take care of me and my brothers and 
 sisters who were not yet quite well. 
 
 I was still very sick, and the physicians gave little 
 or no hope of my recovery. A severe inflammation 
 settled in my eyes which resulted in the loss of sight, a 
 deprivation of which none, not even the most sympa- 
 thetic, can form the slightest conception. At first I 
 was dazed and bewildered; would not believe that 
 I was blind, and begged piteously to be taken out 
 of that dark room. Finally, to pacify me, I was pil- 
 lowed up in an invalid-chair and wheeled out on to the 
 
LOSS OF VISION. 31 
 
 balcony; but alas! even there all was dark! dark! 
 dark ! amid the blaze of noon all was irrecoverably 
 dark, total eclipse without hope of day. Still I was 
 unwilling to admit the sad truth, and often imagined I 
 clearly saw objects which had no existence save in my 
 fevered brain. My recovery was slow and tedious, 
 though the long, bright days on gilded wings sped by 
 apace. It was now past midsummer, and another 
 event for which there must be some preparation drew 
 near ; I was soon to have a new brother or sister. My 
 mother asked the physician, Dr. Hitchcock, how long 
 before I could be safely taken from the hospital ; to 
 which he kindly answered, " Not for some time ; but 
 if desirable, you and the children can remain here 
 with her until September, which will save you much 
 expense, and you shall be well cared for." My father 
 was consulted by letter and acceded to the kind propo- 
 sition. On the morning of July 28th, bright and early, 
 my first American-born sister made her appearance. 
 
 A birth in that hospital was a rare occurrence. The 
 baby, therefore, received a warm and hearty welcome ; 
 she was fair of face, form, and feature, and was named 
 Sarah, but generally called Sallie. Doctor Hitchcock 
 had taken a great fancy to Tommie, and gave him 
 a very desirable situation in his office, where he re- 
 mained several years. I fretted much for my father, 
 and by the middle of August began to count the days 
 when he would come and bring us to Jersey City, 
 where he had rented and furnished rooms ready for 
 our reception. At length the day for our departure 
 arrived, and amid tears for brother Tommie, fond fare- 
 wells to the kind doctor, and sweet memories of dear, 
 lovely Staten Island, my first, last, and only view of 
 
32 LOST VISION. 
 
 America's fair land, my father carried me on board the 
 steamboat Bolivar for New- York, where, among its 
 passengers, we met the late Mr. Henry Drayton and 
 family, who expressed much sympathy for my afflic- 
 tion, and afterward proved our kind first neighbors in 
 Jersey City. 
 
 SOLILOQUY. 
 
 My harp is on the willow hung, 
 
 To me the morning brings no light, 
 Nor ray of sun or moon, I see 
 
 But one unchanging night. 
 1 cannot view those gem-like stars, 
 
 That sparkle in the ethereal skies, 
 Nor trace the clouds with golden fringe, 
 
 That o'er the sunset rise. 
 Nor gaze upon the blooming flowers, 
 
 That make the face of nature gay, 
 Nor watch the ocean's crested waves, 
 
 Where dancing sunbeams play. 
 To me the variegated earth 
 
 Would seem a dark, unbroken plain, 
 Had mem'ry failed to store the scenes 
 
 That fancy brings again. 
 Though nine fair summers on me shone, 
 
 And scarce a cloud obscured my way, 
 And nature charmed me more and more 
 
 With each succeeding day. 
 Yet, ere a tenth has passed its bloom, 
 
 Affliction comes with sorrow's blight ; 
 My heart is crushed! my vision barred! 
 
 I'm banished from the lieht! 
 
LOSS OF vision. 33 
 
 And even hope's fair star grows dim 
 
 With clouds that o'er my spirit rise, 
 And hide the gleams of holy light 
 
 Imparted from the skies. 
 But, oh ! I will with patience bear 
 
 The trials none can feel or know, 
 But those on whom its gloom must fall, 
 
 By him who wills it so. 
 And faith, not sight, shall be my guide, 
 
 To Canaan's fair and verdant shore, 
 Where faith is lost in perfect sight, 
 
 And darkness is no more. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A TRIP TO AND FROM JEFFERSON COUNTY, NEW-YORK. 
 
 MANY months rolled away before I regained dis- 
 position or strength enough to busy myself with 
 amusements of any kind. The hope of recovering 
 sight was my whole theme. My parents took me to 
 the Eye Infirmary in New-York and were there told 
 that my case, at best, was very doubtful, and that 
 nothing could be done till my health was fully estab- 
 lished. From time to time the best skill was consulted, 
 but alas all proved unavailing, and darkness sealed 
 my doom ! The dreary, lonely days passed slowly on, 
 bringing little change or interest to me. I sadly 
 missed Tommie, but was occasionally taken on a visit 
 to cousin Early Granger, who had settled in Brooklyn ; 
 and this I greatly enjoyed, as his children had been 
 my playmates in merry England. I gradually gained 
 strength, and it soon became apparent that I still re- 
 tained much of my natural vivacity and jubilance of 
 spirits. I was now eleven years old, and eager to 
 resume my studies, but failed to obtain admission into 
 the school with my sisters, as I could not study my 
 lessons like other children ; but to my great joy, Miss 
 Jane Provost, who kept a select school for young 
 children, consented to receive me. Under her tuition 
 I acquired a very fair knowledge of the primary 
 branches. My schoolmates and neighboring children 
 
A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 35 
 
 were all exceedingly kind to me, and in their merry 
 circle I found much enjoyment. One and another 
 would lead me carefully along by the hand to their 
 favorite resorts of play ; now to the green surrounding 
 the liberty-pole; then to the thatched cottage garden, 
 and more frequently to the river shore, in the vicinity 
 of Edge's old wind-mill, where often shoes and stock- 
 ings were removed, and, seated on a log or side of a 
 boat, we hailed with great glee, the inflowing tide to 
 bathe our warm and tired feet, and, perchance, growing 
 impatient of its arrival, we gayly pranced barefoot over 
 the smooth sand to meet the murmuring waves. I 
 met many mishaps and vexations in consequence of 
 my affliction, still I fondly cherished, in my secret heart, 
 a lingering hope that my sight would yet be restored. 
 I remembered reading in the New Testament of 
 the Saviour opening the eyes of a blind man by 
 anointing them with clay made with spittle, and in my 
 childish, simple faith imagined that by using the same 
 means a like result would be vouchsafed to me ; but, 
 though I repeatedly applied the remedy, the orbs of 
 my imprisoned vision remained sealed. At times I 
 was very lonely and restless, and craved occupation; 
 frequently stole into the cellar to employ myself in 
 cutting up thin sticks of wood with a hand-saw, much 
 to the distress of my father, who feared I would soon be 
 minus a finger or two by continuing this practice; 
 but, to mother's reproof on the subject, I once said, 
 " Well, you won't let me work, and I must do some- 
 thing, even if it is mischief "; to which she sadly replied, 
 " Oh, my dear child, you can never do any work." I 
 had been early taught to knit and sew, and I now felt 
 sure that with a little assistance I could resume knitting, 
 
36 LOST VISION. 
 
 and by incessant importunity persuaded my mother to 
 set up a stocking and let me try, and, much to her 
 surprise, succeeded admirably, and soon became quite 
 proficient in the art. I also learned to cut and sew 
 carpet-rags, and make myself generally useful about 
 the house. Thus, between play and employment, my 
 time was pleasantly occupied, which rendered me far 
 more contented. I experienced great delight in at- 
 tending Sunday-school, to which I was kindly welcomed 
 by the lamented late Rev. Dr. Edmund Barry, first 
 rector of St. Matthew's Episcopal Church, in this city. 
 I there received much religious instruclion, being 
 taught to commit collects, hymns, verses of Scripture, 
 etc. Dr. Barry was very anxious that all the children 
 should be well instructed in the Church Catechism, and 
 to this end promised to reward with a Prayer-Book 
 each scholar who would commit and recite to him in 
 presence of the school. I, being familiar with the 
 Lord's Prayer, the Creed, and Ten Commandments, 
 with a little assistance eagerly and easily com- 
 mitted the other parts, and was the third in order 
 who won and received the prize. I became warmly 
 attached to the church, and by my own request was 
 baptized in that faith which I believed made me a 
 member of Christ, a child of God, and an inheritor 
 of the kingdom of Heaven, and subsequently was 
 confirmed by the late Bishop Doane, and became at 
 once a communicant, and still remain a member of the 
 Episcopal Church. Hitherto, my father was quite un- 
 decided in regard to making Jersey City our permanent 
 home, and, thinking he would much prefer living in 
 the country, was overpersuaded to join a friend near 
 Alexander Bay, in Jefferson County, N. Y. Thus, 
 
A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 37 
 
 closing his business here early in May, 1832, we set 
 out on our journey thither, which proved long, tedious, 
 and expensive, for traveling in those days was fraught 
 with many difficulties and frequent delays. However, 
 we finally reached our destination in safety, and were 
 warmly and heartily greeted by Mr. G. and his family. 
 My mother was sick and wearied with the journey, 
 and sad at heart grieving for dear Brother Tommie, 
 who was left behind as it was deemed best not to take 
 him from his situation till we should be settled in our 
 new home. My father was bitterly disappointed with 
 the appearance of things generally, and I think would 
 at once have returned to Jersey City; but mother's 
 health would not then admit of further fatigue. As 
 hiring a house or apartments there was out of the ques- 
 tion, we remained with Mr. G. while a log-house was 
 rudely constructed for our accommodation, of which 
 we took possession about the 1st of August. Mr. G. 
 and family were exceedingly kind to me, and the 
 children, one and all, vied with each other in their 
 eager attentions to gratify my desires, and were ever 
 ready to guide my feet over the rough and tangled paths, 
 brooks, bridges, rail-fences, etc., and when danger or 
 difficulty beset our escapades, one on either side would 
 take my hand and the others closely attend as a body- 
 guard; never once was I neglected, slighted, or left 
 behind in consequence of my deprivation. Day after 
 day we roamed at will in various pursuits, and often 
 when the midsummer sun proved too warm for com- 
 fort, we ventured into the edge of the woods, where the 
 leafy, drooping branches of tall trees met and inter- 
 twined with each other so closely that only here and 
 there stray gleams of mystic light pervaded the shady 
 
38 LOST VISION. 
 
 bowers beneath. Here we gathered wild flowers, 
 played house, party, and school, seldom thinking of 
 returning home, only when warned by appetite or 
 sound of the great horn blown at noontide and even- 
 ing to signify to the farm hands that meals were ready. 
 I must confess that my enjoyment of out-door sports 
 rather dampened my ardor for instructions and em- 
 ployments, nor was I anxious to overtax my brain 
 with study, though always pleased to hear fairy tales 
 and other pretty stories, and sometimes committed 
 recitations so as to sustain my part in our juvenile 
 entertainments. My health greatly improved and I 
 grew stout and strong, and frequently with one and 
 another went twice a day on errands to the store two 
 miles distant, at a place then called Flat Rock, which 
 I am informed has since changed its name to Plassa. 
 These bright and palmy scenes could not last; the 
 bloom and verdure of summer had passed away, and 
 the wild, stormy days of the autumnal equinox came 
 on hurried wings, and the " winter of our discontent " 
 was at hand. The wind and rain rendered our still 
 unfinished and scantily furnished log-house anything 
 but comfortable, especially for the reception of my 
 only American brother, William J., who rather suddenly 
 made his appearance on the 29th day of that Septem- 
 ber. He was a plump, chubby little fellow, with whom 
 we were all delighted, and made him fondly welcome 
 to our rural surroundings. When the merchants, with 
 their stores and supplies, returned from New-York, it 
 was ascertained they had unfortunately forgotten or 
 neglected to purchase window-glass; thus, oiled paper 
 or muslin was brought into requisition instead. My 
 father, when necessity required, was something of a 
 
A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 39 
 
 carpenter, though lack of tools proved a great dis- 
 advantage. He had, however, already made two bed- 
 steads, with round rails and split boards for slats; 
 also a table, several stools and benches, and now tried 
 his skill at making a cradle for our infant brother, 
 which, like the old woman's voice, proved " good and 
 strong," but on its badly rounded and clumsy rockers it 
 was difficult to " steer it right." Now came another trial 
 for me; vacation was over, and other children had to 
 resume school, which left me very lonely and much 
 confined to the house, with but little employment; 
 thus, I was assigned the monotonous task of rocking 
 or jolting that horrid cradle, when my mother and 
 sisters were busy. This generally aroused my ill- 
 temper, under which the movement of said cradle 
 rapidly increased in velocity, and, like a locomotive 
 with a reckless engineer, often jumped the track, and 
 in a few moments baby, cradle, and I appeared either 
 straight across or "slantingdicular" on the other side 
 of the apartment. These sudden transitions sometimes 
 disturbed baby's repose, and mother's attention was 
 required to soothe and quiet him. Then my sister Eliza- 
 beth, obedient, meek, and gentle, was appointed in my 
 stead custodian of the cradle, while I, in disgrace, 
 was reprimanded and doomed to two or three hours' 
 solitary confinement in the next room, but as neither 
 locks nor bars were deemed indispensably necessary 
 in our present abode, I was not often left long alone, 
 for the other children soon made their way in to me, 
 and I gladly entertained them, and sometimes induced 
 them to sue for my pardon and release, which was 
 generally granted. Now and then one of Mr. G's family 
 would come across lots and take me for a few days' 
 
40 LOST VISION. 
 
 visit at their house, where I was made much of, very- 
 kindly treated, and delighted myself in helping the 
 children to shell corn. Now came the sweet Christmas- 
 tide, which, there, was not observed with many festivi- 
 ties; no merry-making, no joyous greetings, no tur- 
 key, no mince-pie, no plum-pudding, and worst of all, 
 no Santa Claus with his gifts of books, toys, and candies 
 for children ; thus the beautiful holiday season passed 
 almost unnoticed. I now recall an incident which I 
 beg leave to mention. There had been an unusual 
 demand for fine sugar, and the merchants' supply was 
 exhausted, and none could be bought for'many miles ; 
 but some of the farmers had stored a fair quantity of 
 maple sugar, of which a kind neighbor had given my 
 mother a large lump to sweeten food for our hungry 
 baby brother, who was by no means satisfied with the 
 maternal nourishment, and morning, noon, and night 
 consumed a cupful of soaked bread or cracker. But, 
 sad to say, the last grain of sugar was disposed of, 
 and how or where to obtain more could not at once 
 be determined, and molasses was resorted to as a sub- 
 stitute, which, however, the little fellow did not at all 
 relish, and after the second or third taste refused to 
 swallow; consequently, all day long, was very fretful, 
 and at 10 o'clock, p. m., was screaming with hunger so 
 loudly as to attract the attention of a gentleman pass- 
 ing by, who must have had a very kind heart, for he 
 knocked at our door and inquired what was the 
 matter with baby ; and, being truly informed, expressed 
 much sympathy, and said as he departed, " You shall 
 hear from me again. Good-night"; and before noon 
 the next day the same gentleman returned, whose 
 knock at the door was readily answered. " Good- 
 
A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 41 
 
 morning ! " he cheerfully exclaimed. " I am glad baby 
 is not crying; here are two or three pounds of maple 
 sugar, which I trust will keep him sweetly quiet for a 
 while," and with a friendly "good-bye" took his leave. 
 We now and then received a cheerful letter from 
 Tommie, but still my mother fretted and grieved for 
 him deeply. From the general tenor of my father's 
 remarks, I well knew he was by no means delighted 
 with the country, and I sometimes caught words which 
 led me to think he would eventually return to Jersey 
 City. It was now near the middle of February, and 
 the weather very cold; much snow had fallen, and 
 sleighs of every description were flying hither and 
 thither. While my father was preparing to go out on 
 St. Valentine's Day, in conversation with mother I heard 
 him say : " I am fully determined to remain here no 
 longer. I will see Bogart; he has a large, covered sleigh, 
 and if he will take us on any reasonable terms, we had 
 better go as far as Utica, for traveling now is much 
 easier than when the snow is off the ground, and we 
 can wrap the children in shawls, robes, blankets, etc., 
 so they will take no harm, and with the feather beds 
 provide a warm and comfortable seat for you and baby." 
 Next morning at breakfast we children were informed 
 of the intended journey, and preparations at once 
 commenced. Three days later, bright and early, we 
 were bag and baggage on our way to Utica. I now 
 smile as I recall the grotesque appearance we must 
 have presented; every available wrap was brought into 
 requisition, while special care was bestowed on me, for 
 over all my other garments I was lastly enveloped 
 in a warm overcoat of my father's, which created 
 much laughter at my expense. This was a long and 
 
42 LOST VISION. 
 
 never-to-be-forgotten sleigh-ride for us children, which 
 we highly enjoyed, but proved very tedious for dear 
 motherand our baby brother. The merry jingle of sleigh- 
 bells was heard on every side, and we were passed by 
 many gay parties out for a winter's ride over the crisp, 
 sparkling, and beautiful snow. We did not travel 
 after dark; therefore, it was the afternoon of the third 
 day when we reached Utica, where we put up for the 
 night at a very comfortable hotel, and next day, as had 
 been previously arranged, furnished rooms were secured 
 in which we sojourned till late in spring. Fortu- 
 nately, through the landlord, my father obtained em- 
 ployment with a shoe firm, where he gave perfect 
 satisfaction, and advantageous inducements were offered 
 him to settle in Utica; but that was out of the question, 
 and on or about the ioth of May, with the good 
 wishes of friendly neighbors who had made our ac- 
 quaintance, we took passage, with a pleasant captain 
 and good accommodations, on a canal packet for 
 Albany, where, duly arriving, we went on board a 
 steamboat for New-York, which was safely reached 
 early next morning, and from thence we proceeded 
 over the Jersey City ferry, where several friends, who 
 had been informed, of our movements, w r ere in waiting, 
 and had already engaged rooms for our reception in 
 the very neighborhood we had left, where we were 
 warmly greeted, and the Jefferson County baby heartily 
 welcomed. In the course of a few days things 
 generally were put in order, and my father resumed 
 business. Our trip to Western New- York now seemed 
 like the memory of a varied and somewhat troubled 
 dream. Brother Tommie, of course, lost no time in 
 coming to see us, having been at once informed of our 
 
A TRIP TO JEFFERSON COUNTY, N. Y. 43 
 
 return. The happiness of our meeting can be more 
 easily imagined than described; my mother shed 
 tears of joy as she once more clasped him in her arms, 
 and we children, being quite overjoyed at his presence, 
 all talked at once, giving him no opportunity for 
 either questions or answers. When our enthusiasm 
 had somewhat subsided and tranquillity reigned, Tom- 
 mie seated himself by me in a corner and anxiously 
 inquired concerning my sight, and though I was 
 obliged to own that it had not in the least improved, 
 I expressed a strong and cheerful hope that it would 
 yet be restored, in which he as strongly concurred. 
 We then recalled many sweet memories of our happy 
 play-days in merry England, but his visit was limited, 
 and next morning he cheerfully took his leave and 
 returned to Staten Island. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 SEVEN YEARS IN THE NEW-YORK INSTITUTION 
 FOR THE BLIND. 
 
 ^TEW trials and new joys awaited me. As I grew 
 SI older my thirst for knowledge increased, but I 
 knew of no source from which I could obtam it. How- 
 ever, in my sixteenth year I again suffered from a 
 severe attack of inflammation in my eyes, induced by 
 cold, and was strongly advised to consult Dr. Condict, 
 of New- York City, who proved a very kind and 
 friendly gentleman. He prescribed a soothing remedy 
 for the inflammation, but frankly told me that sight 
 was extinct; and thus vanished the last ray of delu- 
 sive hope which I had so long and vainly cherished. 
 The doctor expressed much sympathy for my afflic- 
 tion and asked some questions regarding my educa- 
 tion, and informed me that there was a school or 
 institution for the blind then held in an old-fashioned 
 mansion on Eighth Avenue, between Thirty-third and 
 Thirty-fourth streets, New-York City, and kindly ad- 
 vised me to make application for admission and try to 
 bear my privation patiently. Upon inquiry, this 
 school proved to be a New-York State institution, 
 but received pupils from other States on reasonable 
 terms. On learning that the blind were there taught 
 music, all the English branches, including reading with 
 the fingers, and several skillful arts, my desire to be- 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 45 
 
 come a pupil knew no bounds ; and upon due delib- 
 eration my father deemed it advisable to send me. 
 But my mother hesitated to give consent, fearing I 
 should miss her care and home comforts ; but much 
 to my delight it was finally settled that I should go 
 for a year or two. And though my ardor to obtain an 
 education never for a moment diminished, yet, when 
 all preparations were completed and the day of my 
 departure drew near, some gloomy shadows clouded 
 my bright dreams, and golden fancies of future glad- 
 ness, and in secret many tears were shed at the idea 
 of leaving my companions, my Sunday-school, and 
 our home circle which was now large, bright, and 
 happy, brother Thomas, in whose society I found much 
 enjoyment, being at home and engaged in business 
 with father. The days flew by, and now dawned the 
 2d of January, 1838, on which I was to leave my 
 home and enter the school whose instruction I was so 
 eager to share. In taking leave of my prattling little 
 sister Mary, I wept bitterly ; but being solaced by 
 kind words and a promise that she should be soon 
 brought to see me, I banished my grief and strove to 
 be brave and cheerful, and, accompanied by the beloved 
 late Mrs. Elizabeth Gautier and my dear mother, 
 on the afternoon of that day gladly entered the New 
 York Institution for the Blind. We were courteously 
 received by the superintendent, Mr. Silas Jones, with 
 whose friendly manners I was at once much pleased. 
 After my bonnet and wraps were removed, he pleasantly 
 and smoothly passed his hand over my head, saying 
 my intellectual organs were pretty well balanced, and 
 there was no doubt but that I would learn rapidly. 
 By the first of these remarks I was greatly puzzled, 
 
46 LOST VISION. 
 
 for I then knew nothing of phrenology, and wondered 
 what kind of organs he had discovered in my head. My 
 mother and Mrs. Gautier remained but a short time, 
 being anxious to return to Jersey City before dark; and 
 though a little sad at heart, I cheerfully bade them 
 good-bye, promising to be a good girl and try to be 
 contented. I was now introduced to the matron, 
 Miss Denny, and to the principal teacher, Mr. William 
 Boggs, who escorted me to the girls' sitting-room, 
 where several, learning that the new pupil from New 
 Jersey had arrived, were assembled to receive me, 
 and here I was at once made acquainted with Miss 
 Frances J. Crosby, the celebrated blind poetess; 
 Miss Cynthia Bullock, Miss Ann Smith, Miss Kate 
 Kennedy, Miss Imogene Hart, Miss Josephine Ma- 
 rieuse, and others, all of whom extended to me a warm 
 and friendly greeting, and entertained me for some 
 time with an account of the studies, rules, and regula- 
 tions of the school. Then Miss Bullock, an expert 
 reader of raised print, read me a chapter from the 
 New Testament, to which I listened with delight. She 
 then gave me the book for inspection, and when I had 
 eagerly passed my hand over one or two of its pages, 
 and found myself unable to distinguish a single letter, I 
 was sadly discouraged, fearing I should never, by this 
 method, learn to read ; and that had been one of my 
 most earnest desires. It was now tea time, and I was 
 conducted to the dining-room by Miss Kate Kennedy 
 and seated next to her, where, side by side, for seven 
 years, we occupied the same place at table. 
 
 At eight o'clock, p. m., a service of prayer was held 
 in a large, central room used as a chapel, at which all 
 the pupils were required to be present. My name had 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 47 
 
 been added to the roll, and when called, with mingled 
 emotions, I distinctly responded. My thoughts fondly 
 wandered back to my home, though my heart beat high 
 with joy at the realization of my brightest anticipations 
 that I was now really a pupil of this most excellent and 
 very wonderful school which afforded the blind a fair 
 English education. After prayers, we entered another 
 apartment called the East Music Room, where an 
 hour or more was consumed in chatting, playing, and 
 singing by eight or ten of my new schoolmates, com- 
 posed of girls about my own age, all of whom were so 
 active, bright, and happy, I could not realize that 
 they, like myself, were deprived of sight. At a quarter 
 before ten, Miss Crosby announced that she would 
 take charge of the new pupil from New Jersey, as I 
 was to room with her, and at once, with a kind good- 
 night to all, taking me by the hand, she started off at 
 a pace which rendered me rather timid, every step 
 being new and strange to my " unfrequented feet," 
 which, observing, she told me not to be afraid as she 
 would not let me break my neck ; and after crossing 
 one of the main halls and reaching the third door 
 beyond a long flight of stairs, she remarked, " Here 
 we are; this is our room." We entered, and closing 
 the door she said, " Now, Dollie (which was one of 
 her pet names), this is a square room facing Eighth 
 Avenue, and right here on this side is your bed, and 
 here is your trunk, and here is a place to hang your 
 clothes"; in short, she "tended me like welcome 
 guest." Before saying our prayers, however, she in- 
 quired into my religious views, adding that she was 
 a Methodist, and I at once declared myself an Epis- 
 copalian, to which she humorously replied, " Oh, then 
 
48 LOST VISION. 
 
 you are a churchman," and made a rhyme which ran 
 something like this : 
 
 *& 
 
 Oh ! how it grieves my poor old bones, 
 To sleep so near this Alice Holmes ; 
 
 I will inform good Mr. Jones 
 
 I cannot room with a Churchman ! 
 
 Then she hoped I would not be offended or feel hurt, 
 as she was only in fun ; and with a warm good-night 
 retired to her side of our apartment. Being weary, I 
 crept into my new bed and was soon in the arms of 
 Morpheus, 
 
 " Dreaming of home, dear old home — 
 Home of my childhood and mother." 
 
 Next morning, at the 6 a. m. bell, my dreams van- 
 ished and I awoke rather bewildered; the mingled 
 sounds of tramping feet, the hum of unfamiliar voices, 
 the opening and shutting of doors at once greeted my 
 ears, and some moments elapsed before I could locate 
 my surroundings, but was soon fully aroused by a 
 pleasant morning salutation from Miss Crosby, who 
 informed me it was time to rise, as the next bell would 
 announce breakfast, and if we failed to reach the 
 dining-room within five minutes after its welcome 
 ring we should not gain admission; thus, I was soon 
 up and duly prepared for the morning meal, which 
 over, a general separation ensued, each going his or 
 her way as inclination or duty directed. I was taken 
 to the sitting-room and shown an alphabet card of 
 large and small letters in raised print, and in half an 
 hour was highly delighted to find that I could dis- 
 tinguish several of the large letters at the top, and 
 guess at some of the small ones at the bottom, spelling 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 49 
 
 monosyllables. Morning prayers were held at 8 a. m., 
 followed by a brief lecture on phrenology to the entire 
 school, young and old, great and small, by Mr. Jones, 
 closing with a series of personal questions relative to the 
 subject, to which he received several erroneous and 
 rather amusing answers, proving that all were not inter- 
 ested in the subject of phrenological organs; but this did 
 not seem to surprise or annoy the good-natured lecturer, 
 who dismissed us with a pleasant good-morning. The 
 regular day-school now opened, and, being divided 
 into classes of different grades, assembled in their 
 respective rooms. I was seated at the foot of the 
 junior spelling-class, numbering twenty-five pupils, 
 under the tuition of Mr. Boggs, who was a most ex- 
 cellent, faithful, and patient teacher. Next to me sat a 
 pleasant-spoken lad, named Joseph Lazzay, of Brook- 
 lyn, who seemed disposed to be quite friendly, and 
 asked me if I could spell. " Yes," I replied, " a little," 
 rather timidly, having already learned it was contrary 
 to rules for the boys and girls to hold any communi- 
 cation. Nineteen words were correctly spelled, and 
 the next was " askew" missed by four successively, 
 while I quaked, fearing it should reach me, but much 
 to my relief it was spelled by my new friend, Joseph, 
 who thereupon left my side and went four above me. 
 My word was " gladness," and I proudly spelled it 
 correctly. In the next two or three rounds there 
 were several failures; but Joseph seemed to be the 
 champion and was now at the head of the class. The 
 lesson consisted of a hundred words, out of which 
 but one remained ; " Tweezers," and this was mis- 
 spelled in every possible way till it reached me, 
 fifth from foot of the class, which, by some wonderful 
 
 3 
 
50 LOST VISION. 
 
 chance, to my own surprise, I correctly spelled and 
 went to the head, where I was welcomed by Joseph, 
 who softly whispered, " I am glad you are here." A new 
 lesson of fifty words was now spelled and pronounced, 
 first by the teacher, then repeated several times 
 by teacher and pupils altogether; this being the 
 method of instruction. An hour had expired, and the 
 class adjourned to an opposite room, where the rudi- 
 ments of grammar were taught by Mr. Jairus Bottom, 
 a blind gentleman, who, though still a pupil, assisted 
 in teaching the primary branches. I was here taken 
 to my seat by a girl who had greatly failed in spelling, 
 and seemed to be quite out of temper, muttering to 
 herself, " I don't like this old grammar, nor Jairus 
 Bottom either," and when all were seated and silence 
 prevailed (as if to give vent to her ill-humor), she 
 abruptly said, in a loud tone, " Mr. Bottom, the new 
 pupil from New Jersey is here," to which he gently 
 replied, " That will do, Carrie, your information is 
 quite unnecessary ; I am fully aware of her presence." 
 At this I was a little surprised, knowing he could not 
 see, but afterward learned he was informed by the 
 superintendent, who left the room as the class entered. 
 Mr. Bottom now commenced the exercises by review- 
 ing a previous lesson treating of the parts of speech, 
 at which I was much puzzled, for, knowing nothing 
 of grammar, I wondered what articles, nouns, pro- 
 nouns, adjectives, etc., could have to do with lan- 
 guage; but the class seemed to understand it quite 
 well, as all the questions were readily answered. Mr. 
 Bottom then inquired if I had ever studied grammar, 
 and I frankly acknowledged that I had not ; but he 
 kindly assured me that by paying attention I would 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 5 1 
 
 find it easy, and told me to repeat after him with the 
 other pupils. A new lesson on nouns, pronouns, 
 and their properties, was now imparted with much 
 perseverance by the indefatigable blind teacher, who, 
 on the stroke of eleven, dismissed us with the in- 
 junction to assist each other. After a recess of five 
 minutes we were summoned to the study of elemen- 
 tary arithmetic, under Mr. Charles Coe, also an ad- 
 vanced blind pupil, who was very proficient in the 
 science of numbers, and taught with ease and ability. 
 Carrie was still at my side, and having gained her 
 equilibrium of temper, politely introduced me to Mr. 
 Coe, who, in a pleasant and affable manner, welcomed 
 me to his class, and inquired if I was at all familiar 
 with arithmetic. I replied, " No, I have never ci- 
 phered and only know the tables, and understand 
 notation and numeration." With this he seemed 
 pleased, and hoped I would prove attentive and 
 rapidly advance in the study. Then, turning to the 
 boys, who were talking and shuffling with their feet, said, 
 " Come boys, get still there," and proceeded with a 
 general rehearsal of former lessons, preparatory to 
 ciphering, which he stated he would commence with 
 the class in a few days, and occupied the remainder 
 of the hour in exercises of mental arithmetic. 
 
 It was now noon, and the loud ringing of a hand- 
 bell announced dinner, to which all hastily repaired ; 
 but, alas for me ! this was soup-day, and soup I very 
 much disliked; but, on reaching my place at table, 
 found a dish already served, and a plate of meat 
 and potatoes for which I had but little relish. Miss 
 Kennedy inquired if I was enjoying my dinner. 
 " No," I replied, " I cannot eat it." Just then, one of 
 
52 LOST VISION. 
 
 the waiters in charge, observing my soup untasted, while 
 others had disposed of theirs and, like " Oliver Twist," 
 were asking for more, kindly drew my plate nearer, 
 saying, " Here is your soup, it will get cold." " Thank 
 you," I answered, " but I am not fond of soup." " Oh ! " 
 she said, " I am sorry," and went away, returning 
 soon, however, with a cup of tea, and some nice bread 
 and butter, provided by permission of the matron as a 
 special favor to a new pupil. The afternoon session 
 of literary studies, under Mr. Boggs, closed at 3 p. m., 
 and was directly followed by instruction in vocal and 
 instrumental music, and several mechanical arts, under 
 various teachers. Mr. Anthony ReirT, of New-York 
 City, principal teacher in the musical department, by 
 years of patient and untiring zeal won the love and 
 esteem of all under his kind and masterly tuition. The 
 girls not engaged in music immediately repaired to the 
 sewing-room, where I was presented and cordially 
 received by the teacher in this department, who gave 
 me a seat near her, and inquired if I could knit or 
 sew ; to which I answered that I could knit lace and 
 stockings and sew a little, though not very neatly 
 since I lost my sight. " Can you thread your own 
 needle?" she asked. " Oh, no," I replied, "my 
 mother or sisters always did that." " Well, by prac- 
 tice," she encouragingly added, "you will soon learn," 
 and with a needle already threaded gave me a towel 
 to hem, and when I had finished it she inspected the 
 sewing and pronounced it very good, and told me she 
 would now give me some finer work, and, to my great 
 surprise, that same afternoon, I found myself making 
 the sleeves of a shirt, and wondering what my dear 
 mother would say to that, who never seemed to ap- 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 53 
 
 predate my kind of sewing, being so very neat and 
 particular herself. General employment ceased at 
 5 p. m., and an hour for rest or recreation ensued. 
 Chatting, and promenading two by two up and down 
 the long halls, or on the veranda, was a favorite pas- 
 time with many of the pupils, in which I was invited 
 by Miss Kennedy to participate until tea-time, after 
 which a number of the girls gathered in the sitting- 
 room, and several inquired for the new pupil, each 
 and all seeming anxious to show me some attention. 
 I now learned that every evening, before prayers, an 
 hour's reading was given by Mr. Boggs, and knowing 
 I should greatly enjoy this, went with Miss Bullock 
 to the reading-room; and here, I must not omit to 
 mention that Miss Bullock is the authoress of a very 
 pretty book of poems, entitled "A Bunch of Pansies." 
 Mr. Boggs first read the daily papers, then pleasantly 
 remarked, " Well, the book I ordered has not come 
 up; but I have here a choice selection from various 
 authors which I will read this evening." After prayers, 
 I returned with Miss Bullock to the sitting-room, which 
 seemed the very shrine of social enjoyment ; and thus 
 ended the pleasant programme of my first day's ex- 
 perience in that delightful school, where the sunshine 
 of knowledge, sympathy, and gladness shed then- 
 sweet halos over the dark path of the lonely and deso- 
 late blind. I soon became familiar with the house 
 and could find my way alone to the different apart- 
 ments, and learned the names and voices of most of 
 my kind and cheerful companions ; and though I often 
 fondly thought of friends and the dear ones at home, 
 I was resolved to be contented and improve the op- 
 portunities now within my reach. In a few weeks I 
 3a 
 
54 LOST VISION. 
 
 could fairly read the raised print and was promoted 
 into several of the higher classes, and began to study 
 the rudiments of music. Mr. Jones was a most excel- 
 lent superintendent ; firm in discipline, but kind, fatherly, 
 and patient with the unfortunate class under his care, 
 and I deeply regret that the limited pages of this little 
 book will not permit fond memory to linger over the 
 bright and happy scenes of seven golden years, in 
 which I so highly enjoyed the benefits of this noble 
 institution, from which, at the close of 1844, I gradu- 
 ated with the high compliment from the Board of 
 Managers that I had well learned all that was there 
 taught. 
 
 ON LEAVING THE NEW-YORK INSTITU- 
 TION FOR THE BLIND. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my long loved home, 
 
 Where genial spirits dwell; 
 For I must bid thy hearth and halls 
 
 This day a sad farewell. 
 Thy vesper bell will peal at eve, 
 
 But not, alas ! for me ; 
 For I shall be alone and sad 
 
 Far, far away from thee. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my guides beloved, 
 
 I may no longer share 
 Your kind regards, your patient toil, 
 
 And ever watchful care. 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 55 
 
 Oh, fain with you I'd linger still 
 
 And more of knowledge gain; 
 But 'tis decreed that I must go, 
 
 The wish to stay is vain. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, companions dear, 
 
 My sisters, brothers, friends; 
 This day completes my stay with you, 
 
 This day our union ends. 
 But oh, how can I, can I bear 
 
 To breathe the parting knell, 
 That bids me tear my heart away 
 
 From those I love so well. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, it must be so ! 
 
 The moment now is near 
 That bids me haste from you away, 
 
 My long-loved schoolmates dear. 
 When ye this eve at vespers meet 
 
 To chant a choral lay, 
 Oh, breathe for her one heartfelt prayer 
 
 Who will be far away. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, ye noble sires, 
 
 Whose philanthropic hearts 
 Have formed a plan that e'en the blind 
 
 May learn the useful arts. 
 Expressions tit your praise to speak 
 
 I know not where to find ; 
 May God reward your efforts made 
 
 To educate the blind. 
 
56 LOST VISION. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, to happy hours 
 
 That learning did employ, 
 And gave for every moment's toil 
 
 A sweet reward of joy. 
 For they will be no longer mine, 
 
 My school-day joys are o'er; 
 Far dearer should I prize them now 
 
 Could they return once more. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, to morning walks 
 
 Along the Hudson's side, 
 Where oft amid the rocks we heard 
 
 The music of the tide. 
 And wanderings at twilight hour 
 
 Through grove, by hill and stream, 
 That I have ever fondly prized, 
 
 But dearer now they seem. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, to music's charm, 
 
 From it, too, I must part ; 
 Much shall I miss its magic power 
 
 To cheer my lonely heart. 
 Adieu, ye birds at early dawn, 
 
 That near my casement sung ; 
 While all around the waking flowers 
 
 Their soft, sweet odors flung. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, ye trees and shrubs, 
 And pleasant play-grounds all; 
 
 A voice for me is calling now 
 From yonder front door hall. 
 
IN THE N. Y. INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND. 57 
 
 This stately domicile demands 
 
 A parting farewell too ; 
 But, oh ! 'tis sad with all we've loved 
 
 At once to bid adieu. 
 
 Adieu, adieu, my cloister home, 
 
 With all thy hallowed ties; 
 The precepts thou hast given me 
 
 Most dearly shall I prize. 
 Trials, perchance, await me now, 
 
 I know not yet my lot; 
 But be it weal or be it woe, 
 
 Thou shalt not be forgot. 
 
 Adieu once more, ye loved ones all ! 
 
 Forgive these gushing tears, 
 And all the wrongs I you have done, 
 
 Through seven bygone years. 
 And in your hearts still let me live 
 
 Till ye are called to die ; 
 Oh, now they lead me to the gate ! 
 
 Loved home good-bye, good-bye ! 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 VARIOUS PURSUITS. 
 
 I now returned to my home in Jersey City, where I 
 was almost a stranger, and sadly missed the 
 sympathy and society of my companions. My school- 
 day dreams were passed, and " coining events cast 
 their shadows before." My father had been in ill- 
 health for some time, and though still attending to 
 business, gradually failed, and in 1847 was attacked 
 by a severe fever, which baffled all skill and care and 
 resulted in his decease. This sad bereavement weighed 
 heavily upon my heart and cast a deeper gloom on 
 the dark clouds that shaded my path. Hitherto I had 
 busied myself in various kinds of handiwork, which 
 however, yielded me but a trifling income, and I now 
 resolved to make some new effort that would in a 
 measure render me self-sustaining ; but with the reso- 
 lution came the dilemma as to what course I should 
 pursue, or in what direction I had best turn my 
 attention. Music at that time was not so generally 
 enjoyed as now, and but few would have had any 
 confidence in the abilities of a blind teacher ; thus I 
 did not attempt the pleasant task of teaching that 
 delightful science till twenty years later. Another 
 source, however, from which I might derive some 
 advantage, seemed to present itself. Shortly after my 
 return from school, I became acquainted with the 
 
VARIOUS PURSUITS. 59 
 
 sweet poetess, Miss Jean L. Bruce, then of this city, 
 now Mrs. Washburn, of Yosemite, Cal., who frequently 
 entertained me with choice readings, and, observing 
 my extreme love of poetry, strongly urged me to culti- 
 vate writing in verse, which would at least prove a 
 pleasant pastime in my lonely hours. At first I de- 
 clared my utter inability to do so, and half feared her 
 suggestion was not sincere ; but by her kind and con- 
 tinued efforts and entreaties I promised to try, and 
 produced a short poem addressed to her which she 
 pronounced very good, and had it published next day 
 in a Jersey City paper called the " Telegraph." This 
 inspired me with new hope, zeal, and courage, and in 
 the course of two years I had written a number of 
 poems which, in 1849, I collected and published in 
 book form, under the title of " Poems by Alice Holmes," 
 which proved a very successful enterprise. I employed 
 no agents, but sold the book myself, which not only 
 afforded me occupation but also enabled me to reap 
 all the profits. The next year I secured a second 
 edition, of which I readily disposed, chiefly among busi- 
 ness gentlemen in New- York City, who are ever ready 
 and willing to encourage and patronize any worthy 
 effort. Two years later I conceived the idea of giving 
 an annual literary and musical entertainment in Jersey 
 City, which I at once carried into effect with most 
 successful results. At first, I was assisted by several 
 of my blind friends from New- York, among whom 
 shone two brilliant stars, namely : Miss Frances J. 
 Crosby, who still delights the world with her exquisite 
 poetry, her Sunday-school hymns especially, and the 
 late Professor Robert Elder, whose musical abilities, 
 as far as known, have never been surpassed by any 
 
60 LOST VISION. 
 
 blind performer. Mr. Elder, for forty-two years, was 
 the accomplished and faithful organist of the Sixteenth 
 Street Baptist Church, New-York City. As years 
 rolled on, Time, by his ever-restless wing, wrought 
 various changes in our home circle. My sisters all 
 married and settled in Jersey City. Brother Thomas 
 and family went to the Far West and made their home 
 in Portland, Oregon, where he became one of the 
 chief citizens and enjoyed many honors, and on the 
 day previous to his lamented death was reelected 
 mayor of the city. Brother David married in Detroit, 
 Mich., where he still resides. Mother, brother Will- 
 iam, and myself now composed our household; but, 
 early in 1857, brother William was also induced to go 
 to Oregon ; thus mother and I were left to " hold the 
 fort " alone, which I was determined to sustain till the 
 last gun should be fired. Though not very strong, my 
 health was fair and spirits firm, which adversity seemed 
 rather to stimulate than depress. I still wrote at 
 intervals, and in 1858 had a fair collection of poems 
 in manuscript which, with a few selections from my 
 little book issued in '49, 1 published in a small volume 
 under the title of "Arcadian Leaves," the sale of 
 which again occupied my time; two editions were 
 liberally patronized. In 1865 I was deeply afflicted 
 by the loss of my dear mother, whose tender care, love, 
 and sympathy had ever soothed my every sorrow, and 
 cheered life's dark and rugged road; but such was 
 God's will and it must be so. 
 
 Music now was more generally cultivated and fast 
 becoming the popular and refining enjoyment of every 
 home circle, which much increased the demand for 
 competent teachers; thus I improved the opportu- 
 
VARIOUS PURSUITS. 6l 
 
 nity of adopting the profession I had so long desired, 
 and devoted some time to the restudy of the theory 
 and practice of the science, and formed a plain and 
 easy method for piano instructions, and in February, 
 1867, commenced teaching with one pupil, a boy, 
 whose grave Bible name and old-fashioned manners 
 rather amused me; but he was respectful and docile, 
 and readily learned the names of keys, lines, and 
 spaces, and to distinguish notes and rests ; but when 
 I proceeded to teach him a five-finger exercise, he 
 most positively assured me that he could not use his 
 left hand. " Why not ? " I inquired. " What is the mat- 
 ter?" "Oh, nothing," he answered, "only I can't 
 use it, for I tried on my sister's piano the other day 
 when she was out." I induced him to try again with 
 me, and he was soon convinced that practice would 
 obviate all difficulty. After a prolonged hour had ex- 
 pired, and I knew he was glancing at the clock, I 
 deemed it best to dismiss him; and after the little 
 fellow had politely wished me good-morning and the 
 door closed behind him, I seemed somewhat bewil- 
 dered, and asked myself if I were dreaming, or if it was 
 indeed real that I had commenced teaching music. 
 I soon gained two other pupils, and in a few weeks 
 had a class of ten, which still increased. Some of my 
 pupils I taught at home and others at their own resi- 
 dences, which afforded me a pleasant change of scene 
 and society. I never wearied of the delightful task, 
 and no teacher was ever favored with more agreeable 
 pupils than it has been my happiness to instruct. I 
 would here mention that in 1868, rather against my 
 own judgment, I was persuaded to publish another 
 collection of poems, called " Stray Leaves," to which 
 
62 LOST VISION. 
 
 I could devote but little time; however, two editions 
 were eventually disposed of. In. 1876, much to my 
 regret, I was obliged to discontinue teaching away from 
 my own home, in consequence of failing health, and in 
 '78 and '79 my physical condition was such as to pre- 
 clude all exertion, and in '80, the hitherto undis- 
 covered cause of my illness assumed the worst form 
 and death seemed inevitably imminent ; but, through 
 a most critical operation for double strangulated 
 hernia, under the skill and care of B. A. Watson, 
 M. D., of this city, to whom I owe unlimited grati- 
 tude, life was preserved, and my speedy restoration 
 to a fair degree of health exceeded all anticipation. 
 Scarcely a year had expired when I resumed my 
 favorite employment of giving musical instructions. I 
 greatly rejoiced that through fifty-one years of un- 
 broken darkness which shrouded my existence, oft 
 intensified by pain, care, sorrow, and adversity, my 
 mental organs, discovered long, long ago by good 
 Mr. Jones, still remained unimpaired, and life for me 
 had yet many charms. Time, on gilded wing, brought 
 new and varied scenes in which I found much pleas- 
 ure. In 1883, by invitation of my brother William, I 
 went to California, fully intending to remain there 
 permanently ; but such was not to be, though nothing 
 was lacking on the part of my dear brother to make 
 me comfortable. I fretted for my dear old home and 
 friends, and could not be contented ; thus, after pay- 
 ing him a visit- of about four months, I returned to 
 Jersey City. Of the jaunt I shall ever retain many 
 pleasant memories and of California generally; but 
 specially of Downieviile, where my brother resides, and 
 is a member of the firm of Spaulding, Mowry & Co. 
 
VARIOUS PURSUITS. 6$ 
 
 The courtesy and kindness with which I was treated 
 by the good people of this far-away but famous moun- 
 tain town can never be forgotten, and it is a source of 
 deep regret that they can never know how fully it was 
 all appreciated. For some time after my return from 
 California I was very much unsettled : my heart and 
 brain were overcrowded with the varied scenes of joy, 
 sorrow, hope, anticipation, anxiety, disappointment, 
 greetings, and farewells which had occurred in the 
 short space of four or five months. Days were dark, 
 and friends seemed strange and cold, and dense clouds 
 of adversity overshadowed the sunshine of prosperity; 
 yet I could not, would not yield to the gloom of idle- 
 ness while God gave me health, strength, and ability 
 to hold my place in the ranks of industry, and continue 
 a fair fight in the hard battle of life. Thus, under 
 many disadvantages, I once more resumed my employ- 
 ment ; but 
 
 " Old times were changed, old manners gone." 
 
 Success vanished, and fickle fortune withdrew her 
 smile. The last four or five years have been fraught 
 with many trials and vexations, but still I have 
 held my own and struggled on, and owe the world 
 nothing but love and good-will. Now, empty handed, 
 with rather precarious health, but blessed with hope 
 and courage, my brain clear and active, I have just 
 reached the close of my sixty- seventh year, and though 
 I have no desire to croak or whine about old age, yet 
 even should I be spared to reach three-score and ten, 
 I am well aware it will bring many wants and neces- 
 sities for which I am most anxious to make some little 
 provision, that I may not be entirely dependent upon 
 
d\ LOST VISION. 
 
 my friends, and with this view have resolved to pub- 
 lish a very brief reminiscence of my life with a few 
 select original poems, in book form, which, I trust, 
 a generous public may receive with the same warm 
 and friendly greetings as my previous issues, though I 
 am well aware on the score of literary merit I have 
 little or nothing to claim. Many of my poems have 
 been written on the inspiration of the moment, and 
 the reminiscence is a brief, unvarnished production of 
 memory ; still I hope the perusal of these pages may 
 not prove wholly void of interest, and at least serve to 
 awaken sympathy and kindness, not in behalf of the 
 writer only, but for the unfortunate class generally 
 whom it has pleased God to deprive of the inestimable 
 and glorious gift of vision. Trusting in the favor and 
 good-will of all, I cheerfully submit them for publica- 
 tion. My amanuensis, Mrs. Mary H. Wright, who is 
 my youngest sister, has for many years devotedly and 
 most faithfully attended and assisted me in all my pur- 
 suits, and still, with the love and sunshine of her pres- 
 ence, banishes the gloom which otherwise, I fear, 
 would render the declining years of my life dark, sad, 
 and dreary. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Farewell, sweet days of long ago, 
 
 With cherished scenes of childhood bright, 
 
 And rosy youth, with all thy charms, 
 Thy joys, thy sunshine, and delight. 
 
TO MISS FRANCIS J. CROSBY. 65 
 
 And riper years with ardor fraught, 
 To brave life's rugged, winding way, 
 
 And courage high the heart inspired, 
 
 And gladness crowned each closing day. 
 
 And love and friendship, warm and true, 
 That sweetly cheer fond memory still, 
 
 Your vanished smile, your vacant place, 
 No other joys can ever fill. 
 
 And hope's fair star that lent its ray, 
 Through every scene of weal or woe, 
 
 When prospect shone with promise bright, 
 Or sorrow caused my tears to flow. 
 
 Life's waning years are close at hand ; 
 
 On hurried wings they '11 glide away ; 
 And though my days may linger long, 
 
 Yet, short, alas ! must be my stay. 
 
 When life with all its charms must close, 
 And death shall sound the parting knell, 
 
 My love and peace I leave to all; 
 To all a kind and fond farewell. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND AND CLASSMATE, MISS FRANCES J. 
 CROSBY. 
 
 A pleasing sadness o'er me steals, 
 Like that which pensive music wakes ; 
 
 While I a vanished pleasure sing, 
 And of my soul possession takes. 
 
66 LOST VISION. 
 
 Yes! Frances, dear, when I recall 
 
 To mind those bygone, happy days, 
 When we with youthful ardor sought 
 
 The golden light of learning's rays, 
 And shared each other's joy and grief, 
 
 And daily worshiped at one shrine, 
 And in our leisure moments sought 
 
 Fresh budding wreaths of love to twine. 
 And oft at twilight's rosy hour, 
 
 Some favorite strain from thy guitar, 
 An echo found in many a heart, 
 
 As zephyrs bore its tones afar, 
 And when beneath the willow's shade, 
 
 Thou wouldst repeat enchanting lays, 
 Thus newly by thy muse inspired, 
 
 'Twas pleasure sweet to give thee praise. 
 And e'en in sadder, darker hours, 
 
 When grief or pain oppressed my heart, 
 Thy tender care, thy counsels sweet 
 
 Would to my soul new joys impart. 
 And though those days fled fast away, 
 
 Of them bright visions oft return ; 
 And cherished sparks of friendship still, 
 
 For thee, on my heart's altar burn. 
 And Frances, dear, may I not hope, 
 
 In all thy life, through good and ill, 
 That she who treasures sweet thy name, 
 
 May sometimes be remembered still ? 
 
FOND RECOLLECTIONS. 67 
 
 FOND RECOLLECTIONS. 
 
 TO MY BROTHER, DAVID HOLMES, OF DETROIT, 
 MICHIGAN. 
 
 In measured tones of love, brother, 
 
 Sweet mem'ries come to me, 
 And while enchantment lingers, 
 
 I '11 fondly sing of thee. 
 
 In days of long ago, brother, 
 
 When youth was on our side, 
 Thy hands were ever ready 
 
 My darksome steps to guide. 
 
 And oft thy boyish mirth, brother, 
 
 My heart inspired with glee, 
 While thou, in strains romantic, 
 
 Rehearsed thy dreams to me. 
 
 But time did changes bring, brother, 
 
 And swept our joys away; 
 In paths so widely distant, 
 
 Life's future journey lay. 
 
 But oft the scenes of yore, brother, 
 
 In fancy I recall, 
 And thy dear face and features 
 
 Are mingled with them all. 
 
 And in thy heart of hearts, brother, 
 
 Keep mem'ries green of me, 
 And still I'll fondly cherish, 
 
 A sister's love for thee. 
 
68 LOST VISION. 
 
 TO MISS MARY EVANS, OF PHILADELPHIA, PA. 
 
 May gladness on thy youthful brow 
 Shine ever bright and warm as now ; 
 And purest love, with friendship twine, 
 Their sweetest flow'rets at thy shrine ; 
 And riper years for thee unfold, 
 Earth's brightest jewels set in gold; 
 
 And Time, upon his gilded wing, 
 Unshadowed halos kindly bring; 
 And sunbeams cheer thy future way, 
 And life be all a summer day. 
 And when its varied dreams are past, 
 May heavenly bliss be thine at last. 
 
 HOME, SWEET HOME. 
 
 RECITED BY THE AUTHORESS, AT THE I9TH ANNUAL 
 
 ANNIVERSARY, AT THE HOME FOR AGED WOMEN, 
 
 ON FAIRV1EW AVENUE, JERSEY CITY HEIGHTS. 
 
 Oh ! heart-inspiring words, familiar, sweet, 
 
 What fitting name for age's calm retreat 
 
 When busy life's most potent work is done, 
 
 And nature, with declining years begun 
 
 To yield the vital strength, the zeal, the fire, 
 
 That rosy youth and riper years inspire ? 
 
 When blighting cares have warped the heart and brain, 
 
 And slow disease, perchance, with aching pain, 
 
HOME, SWEET HOME. 69 
 
 Has checked the quick, elastic step so free, 
 And cramped the hands that oft were wont to be 
 With busy skill employed, the livelong day, 
 To keep the wolf of poverty away ? 
 
 When accents sweet no more may charm the ear, 
 
 Nor vision bright the sight-dimmed orbs may cheer, 
 
 When bonnie tresses, turned to silver gray, 
 
 And beauty's sweetest charms have fled away, 
 
 When three- score years have bowed the graceful form, 
 
 And changed the mien of love and friendship warm, 
 
 And life seems void of gladness, sun, and bloom 
 
 And bids the pilgrim look beyond the tomb 
 
 To Eden's land, with milk and honey blest, 
 
 Where weary saints shall find eternal rest, 
 
 Ah ! then, through ling'ring years, with ills replete, 
 
 Who would not gladly seek this fair retreat, 
 
 And find, with joy, beneath its peaceful dome, 
 
 The shrine of unmarred rest — a home, sweet home? 
 
 And gentle ladies who, with ceaseless care, 
 The kindly task and heavy burden bear, 
 To wisely plan, direct, control, and superintend, 
 Make all affairs harmonious blend, 
 What language can your worthy praise express ? 
 But God your work of love will surely bless 
 And prosper still the Aged Women's Home; 
 Its garners fill with plenty's cheering bloom, 
 Expand its shel'tring wings and borders fair, 
 Till all who need may thus its comforts share. 
 May genial wealth her kindly hand extend, 
 And ever prove the Home's most loyal friend. 
 
yo LOST VISION. 
 
 And ev'ry annivers'ry, on its wing, 
 
 New patrons to these grateful inmates bring, 
 
 And public favor on its portals shine, 
 
 Its courts be filled with grace and love divine; 
 
 And sweet content its social hearth attend, 
 
 And peace, good-will, their mystic halos blend, 
 
 And with the gems that mark our city's age, 
 
 Bright may it glow on history's gilded page. 
 
 TO MY LITTLE PUPIL, MASTER HARRY HINTEMANN. 
 
 Now Harry dear, 'tis just a year 
 Since first you came to school, 
 
 And have been taught, as children ought, 
 To value time and rule. 
 
 And learned with me the ABC 
 And simple words to spell ; 
 
 And ev'ry day, I 'm glad to say, 
 You studied very well. 
 
 And then to read did next proceed, 
 
 Despite of Ps and Qs, 
 That oft appeared and looked so queer, 
 
 They, children, quite confuse. 
 
 The tables then, to ten times ten, 
 Could say without mistake ; 
 
 And figures made, with little aid, 
 Which kept you wide awake. 
 
WREATH FOR AN ALBUM. 7 1 
 
 And to recite, with great delight, 
 
 Did easy verses learn ; 
 And slate and book each morning took, 
 
 To study them in turn. 
 
 Nor did you fail to learn the scale, 
 
 Where music is expressed ; 
 And very well the value tell, 
 
 Of measures, notes, and rests. 
 
 But time, I fear, prevents me here 
 
 All merits to recount ; 
 But now rely, per centage high, 
 
 I '11 give you full amount. 
 
 And bright and gay may ev'ry day, 
 
 Of glad vacation be, 
 And when 'tis through your zeal renew, 
 
 And come to school with glee. 
 
 WREATH FOR AN ALBUM. 
 
 While rosy youth is on thy brow, 
 May gladness cheer thy heart; 
 
 And future years sweet halos bring, 
 When present joys depart. 
 
 Should love, with dreamy, potent spell. 
 
 Thy dearest hopes enshrine, 
 May Hymen, at his altar blend 
 
 Some faithful heart with thine. 
 
72 LOST VISION. 
 
 And may life's journey all be bright, 
 Nor dimmed by sorrow's ray; 
 
 And hope's fair star unclouded shine, 
 Where fortune leads the way. 
 
 And loving hearts around thee twine, 
 And friends prove warm and true; 
 
 And flow'rets sweet, that will not fade, 
 Thy pathway ever strew. 
 
 PARTING WITH MY BROTHER, WILLIAM J. HOLMES, 
 OF DOWNIEVILLE, SIERRA COUNTY, CAL. 
 
 Though far away our steps we turn, 
 Still oft for thee our hearts will yearn ; 
 When thou no more our faces see, 
 Still fondly shall we think of thee. 
 When thy dear hands we may not clasp, 
 Ours within their loving grasp, 
 And we no more thy voice may hear, 
 Tones in accents sweet and clear, 
 Wishing each good-night or morn, 
 At close of day or break of dawn, 
 And though we listen at the door, 
 Thy welcome steps will come no more. 
 Ah ! then for thee our tears will flow, 
 With a love thou may'st not know ; 
 And our hearts will almost break, 
 With repining for thy sake. 
 Oh ! brother, dearest, kindest, best, 
 Since we have been thy favored guest, 
 
TO MRS. JEAN BRUCE WASHBURN. 73 
 
 Who e'er such tender care bestowed, 
 As thou hast to thy sisters showed. 
 Oh! cruel fate that bears the sway, 
 And tears us from thine arms away; 
 But hush ! sad muse, words cannot tell, 
 The pain it gives to say farewell. 
 But, brother dear, may joys be thine, 
 And fairest skies above thee shine, 
 And friendly hands and hearts be near, 
 In grief or gloom, thine own to cheer ! 
 Now must we part — the hour is nigh ; 
 My heart will break ! good-bye, good-bye ! 
 
 INSCRIBED TO MRS. JEAN BRUCE WASHBURN, OF 
 YOSEMITE, CALIFORNIA. 
 
 There is a gem of heavenly birth 
 
 The good alone can prize ; 
 A precious pearl of priceless worth 
 
 Whose luster never dies. 
 I found it where the muses tread, 
 
 With footsteps light and free ; 
 I stole it from its emerald bed 
 
 My cherished one for thee. 
 
 There is a pure and holy Thought, 
 
 A balm for mortal woe ; 
 With every gentler feeling fraught 
 
 By angels murmured low. 
 
74 LOST VISION. 
 
 And as it came at eventide 
 In whispers soft and clear, 
 
 I caught it ere its echo died 
 And bathed it with a tear. 
 
 Should sorrow e'er thy bosom fill 
 
 Or clouds thy sky o'ercast, 
 Oh, may these little treasures still 
 
 Remind thee of the past. 
 When mildly on thy placid brow 
 
 The star of hope doth shine, 
 Oh, may thy loving heart as now 
 
 Still fondly cling to mine. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 The Christmas time is coming, 
 With visions bright and fair, 
 
 And scenes of joy and gladness 
 Shall banish grief and care. 
 
 And dear familiar faces 
 
 With sunny smiles shall glow, 
 And greetings kind and joyous 
 
 From heart to heart shall flow. 
 
 And wishes warm and welcome 
 Be said in friendly mirth, 
 
 And loving circles gather 
 Around the social hearth. 
 
CHRISTMAS. 75 
 
 And echoes sweet be wafted 
 
 To dear ones far away, 
 And love with youth and beauty 
 
 Twine garlands bright and gay. 
 
 And festive boards be laden 
 
 With viands rich and rare, 
 Oh, would that not a household 
 
 Might have a vacant chair. 
 
 And Santa Claus as usual 
 
 To little girls and boys, 
 Will bring a Christmas present 
 
 Of pretty books and toys. 
 
 And merry bells with chiming 
 
 Shall hail the happy morn, 
 When in a lowly stable 
 
 The Prince of Peace was born. 
 
 And anthems high and holy 
 
 In choral strains be sung, 
 The church in grace and beauty 
 
 With evergreens be hung. 
 
 And glory in the highest 
 
 We'll give to God above, 
 Who peace, good-will to earth 
 
 Hath sent us in his love. 
 
 Oh, may this happy season 
 
 With gladness on its wing, 
 To every heart and household 
 
 A merry Christmas bring. 
 
j6 LOST VISION. 
 
 A VALENTINE. 
 
 If but thy friendship pure and bright 
 On me reflects its cheering light, 
 The gloomy shades that cloud my way 
 Shall all dissolve beneath its ray ; 
 And true to thee in sweet return 
 Its holy flame shall ever burn. 
 
 TWILIGHT. 
 
 In the twilight soft and rosy 
 
 When the lingering shadows fall, 
 Dreams of fancy, bright and airy, 
 
 Vanished pleasures I recall. 
 When my heart was warm and tender, 
 
 When it beat so light and free, 
 When it cherished, ah ! how fondly 
 
 Love's sweet echo, caught of thee. 
 
 Then with twilight soft and rosy 
 
 Swift the light-winged zephyrs came, 
 Breathing tones of love and po'sy 
 
 Mingled with thy treasured name ; 
 Then I listen till enchanted, 
 
 To that sweet and thrilling strain 
 .Of thy harp, so soft and gentle, 
 
 I may never hear again. 
 
 Would that twilight, soft and rosy 
 When the lingering shadows fall, 
 
 Still could bring the scenes of pleasure 
 Which in fancy I recall. 
 
THY FATHER. 77 
 
 Then my heart, still warm but weary, 
 
 Most devoted, fond should be, 
 Dreaming o'er with pure emotion 
 
 Love's sweet echo, caught of thee. 
 
 THY FATHER. 
 
 TO MRS. N. C. HILLS. 
 
 Weep not in sorrow, thy father is blest ; 
 In Eden's fair land the weary find rest. 
 Life's storms are over, all danger is past, 
 He 's safe in the vale, he 's anchored at last ; 
 Now firm on the Rock of Ages he stands, 
 A crown on his brow, a harp in his hands. 
 Washed in the blood of the Lamb that was slain, 
 His robes are all white, they bear not a stain. 
 The fair city's gate for him stood ajar, 
 And welcomes of joy were echoed afar. 
 He joins the sweet song the glorified sing, 
 And worship, in truth, their Saviour and King. 
 No sorrow is there, no sickness *or pain; 
 No murmur is heard, none ever complain. 
 No partings are known, no farewells are said, 
 No lamentations, no wail for the dead ! 
 No night cometh there, eternal the day ; 
 The light is celestial, unclouded its ray. 
 Life is immortal, with glory enshrined, 
 And peace sheds its halo, with gladness combined; 
 And Jesus reigns there, dispensing his love, 
 And all is delight, in that s'^veet home above. 
 Then sorrow no more, but look up on high, 
 Thou 'It meet him again, in the sweet by and by. 
 4a 
 
78 LOST VISION. 
 
 TO MY NIECE, MRS. JAMES C. HUESTON. 
 
 May joys to grace thy natal day 
 
 Like golden sunbeams shine, 
 And love and friendship at its dawn 
 
 Their fairest flow'rets twine. 
 
 And ever with its sweet return, 
 
 May time on rosy wing, 
 To glad thy heart, thy home to cheer, 
 
 Life's brightest halos bring. 
 
 And hope's fair star with luster beam 
 Through all life's winding way, 
 
 And peace serene, with grace divine, 
 Attend thy latest day. 
 
 July 21, 1886. 
 
 LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 
 
 In the midnight, dark and gloomy, 
 Fondly musing o'er the past, 
 
 When enchanting pleasures bound me 
 To the scenes that could not last, 
 
 By my bedside, light and airy, 
 Ling'ring footsteps seem to fall ; 
 
 Forms familiar hover round me, 
 Pleasing shadows grace the wall. 
 
LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS. 79 
 
 Then in accents soft and tender, 
 
 Voices still to mem'ry dear, 
 Breathing tones of fond affection, 
 
 Sweetly fall upon mine ear. 
 
 Then methinks, my dearest mother, 
 
 Dwelling now in realms of bliss, 
 Twines her loving arms about me, 
 
 Greets me with a gentle kiss. 
 
 And my father, long departed, 
 
 Now his smiling face I see, 
 With his manner kind as ever, 
 
 Fondly still caressing me. 
 
 And my brothers, loved and cherished, 
 
 Though in exile now they roam, 
 Seem to join the broken circle, 
 
 Clasping once our happy home. 
 
 And my sisters, kind and gentle, 
 
 Hail the wonders with delight, 
 While in vacant spaces rising, 
 
 Absent friends appear in sight. 
 
 Thus, the midnight, dark and gloomy, 
 
 Sheds for me its brightest rays; 
 While in fancy, almost real, 
 
 Comes the " Light of Other Days." 
 
80 LOST VISION. 
 
 A GREETING TO MY AUNT, MRS. CHARLES MUSK, OF 
 
 ORANGE. NEW JERSEY, ON HER SEVENTY-SEVENTH 
 
 BIRTHDAY. 
 
 My love with warmest greetings, 
 
 I waft, dear aunt, to thee, 
 And trust that bright with gladness, 
 
 Thy natal day may be. 
 
 And tranquil years most peaceful, 
 
 To Seventy-seven succeed, 
 And ev'ry shade of sorrow, 
 
 To joyous fountains lead. 
 
 And when earth's scenes shall vanish, 
 
 And Jordan's stream -is past, 
 May gates of glory open, 
 
 To welcome thee at last. 
 
 And in that home of promise, 
 
 We'll hope to meet again, 
 And with the blessed Saviour, 
 
 Through endless ages reign. 
 
 ERIN. 
 
 DEDICATED TO MY FRIEND, CHARLES TAGGART, M. D. 
 
 Oh ! tell me a tale of that sunny isle, 
 
 Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave, 
 
 Where the shamrock blooms and the daisies smile, 
 'Tis the home of the noble, the true, and brave. 
 
TO MISS SADIE CONSTANCE TRAPHAGEN. 8 1 
 
 Oh ! tell me a tale of the bards that sung, 
 
 To Erin's heart in the days of yore, 
 To the harp whose silvery cadence rung, 
 
 Through the vine-clad bowers of that Emerald shore. 
 
 There are thoughts that come in the twilight dim, 
 When the bird sings low in its quiet nest, 
 
 When Nature is chanting her vesper hymn, 
 Ere she sinks on the bosom of night to rest. 
 
 And they whisper soft of those halcyon hours, 
 
 When thy young heart dreamed and thy step was free, 
 
 When the wild sweet music of Erin's bowers 
 Was weaving a mystic charm for thee. 
 
 There are crystal drops that in silence start; 
 
 And oft in the beams of a favorite star, 
 Full many a sigh from thy yearning heart 
 
 Is borne away to that land afar. 
 
 Oh ! tell me a tale of that sunny isle, 
 
 Whose shores are kissed by the ocean wave; 
 
 Where the shamrock blooms, and the daisies smile, — 
 Tis the home of the noble, the true, and brave. 
 
 TO MISS SADIE CONSTANCE TRAPHAGEN. 
 
 At friendship's hallowed altar fair, 
 Thy praises would I sing, 
 
 And flow'rets sweet thy path to strew 
 In fragrant numbers bring. 
 
52 LOST VISION. 
 
 Sweet child, upon thy sunny brow, 
 What gifts and graces shine; 
 
 Thy face and form shall laurels win, 
 At beauty's rosy shrine. 
 
 Thine eyes bespeak a gentle soul, 
 
 A spirit born of light ; 
 A mind serene, so pure and chaste 
 
 That evil cannot blight. 
 May fairest scenes of life be thine, 
 
 Undimmed by sorrow's ray, 
 And loving hearts around thee twine, 
 
 And friendships ne'er decay. 
 
 TO MISS ANNIE CONNORS. 
 
 May time upon his rosy wing 
 To thee unshaded halos bring, 
 And purest joys around thee twine, 
 And hope's sweet star above thee shine. 
 And future scenes prove bright and fair, 
 Unblighted by the hand of care, 
 And fortune kind thy path attend, 
 And life be sunshine to the end. 
 
 NUMBER THREE. 
 
 RECITED BY MASTER WILLIE T. HEGEMAN, AT PUBLIC 
 SCHOOL, NUMBER THREE. IN 1863. 
 
 I'm called upon to make a speech 
 
 And cannot well refuse, 
 So by your leave I'll now proceed — 
 
 All errors please excuse. 
 
TO THE MEMORY OF MISS ELLA L. THOMAS. 8$ 
 
 This happy place shall be my theme ; 
 
 I think you will agree, 
 That other schools are far surpassed 
 
 By this, fair Number Three. 
 
 Our teachers are so good and kind 
 
 We love them all, you see, 
 And that's the reason children learn 
 
 So fast at Number Three. 
 
 No partial favors do they show, 
 
 But as we each deserve 
 A kind reward or punishment 
 
 They give without reserve. 
 
 When I have grown a great big man, 
 
 How happy shall I be, 
 To think of all that [ have learned 
 
 At famous Number Three. 
 
 These brief remarks I now must close, 
 
 As others here, I see, 
 With eager lips would testify 
 
 Their love for Number Three. 
 
 TO THE FOND MEMORY OF MISS ELLA L. THOMAS. 
 
 Oh ! darling Ella, can it be in rosy youth and 
 beauty's bloom 
 That life from thy fair form has fled 
 And we must bear thee to the tomb : 
 
84 LOST VISION. 
 
 Prepare in grief thy narrow bed 
 And lay thee down in death's repose, 
 
 And weeping, take our last fond leave 
 And see the grave upon thee close ; 
 
 And turn in sorrow from thy side 
 And leave thee, dearest, cold and lone, 
 
 Where autumn winds with solemn dirge 
 Above thy mound will sadly moan ? 
 
 Oh ! darling child, oh ! daughter dear, 
 What gloom will shroud our social hearth 
 
 Where we shall miss thy sunny smile, 
 Thy winning charms, thy simple mirth. 
 
 And brothers kind and sister dear 
 Will fondly mourn thee, but in vain. 
 
 Thy face we may not see again, 
 But cheering hope inspires our hearts 
 
 With faith to look beyond the tomb, 
 And view the land of promise fair 
 
 Where thou hast gained a blissful home. 
 There, safe within the Saviour's fold, 
 
 Thou art with life and glory crowned, 
 And we will trust to meet again 
 
 Beyond the bright and shining shore, 
 Where pain and sorrow are unknown 
 
 And death and parting come no more. 
 
 TO MY YOUNG FRIEND, LUELLA STACKUS, OF 
 DOWNIEVILLE, CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Gay, bright, and happy, still for thee 
 May childhood's golden moments be, 
 And future years with gladness shine 
 And sweetest flow'rets round thee twine. 
 
TO MISS ELLA HOLMES. 85 
 
 And friendship pure, with sunny ray, 
 Chase ev'ry cloud of care away ; 
 And love unfold his gentle wing 
 And to thy heart sweet incense bring. 
 
 TO MISS ELLA HOLMES, ON HER BRIDAL DAY. 
 
 To see thee, dear Ella, we haste with delight. 
 At Hymen's bright altar thy bridal vows plight; 
 Where love, youth, and beauty attend at thy shrine. 
 A true heart waits fondly its union with thine. 
 
 And life seems enchanted with visions so fair, 
 All glowing with sunshine, unshadowed by care ; 
 And friendship weaves garlands to strew in thy way, 
 And hope's star is beaming with heart-cheering ray 
 
 And love's warmest wishes we tender thee now, 
 That joys ever crescent may shine on thy brow ; 
 And pleasures the sweetest flow close at thy side, 
 And time bring thee treasures of honor and pride. 
 
 And fortune with favor smile sweetly and kind, 
 And halos of gladness with peace be enshrined ; 
 And far in the future on life's sunny sea, 
 Scenes that are brightest we augur for thee. 
 
 And ever thy journey be fraught with delight, 
 No shadow to darken, no sorrow to blight ; 
 The star that now guides thee devoted attend, 
 Thy bridal vows cherish with love to the end. 
 
86 LOST VISION. 
 
 THE GRAY MULE. 
 
 To the memory of the brave gray mule which lately 
 lost his life by slipping on the ice, which had formed 
 on the steep and narrow paths, causing him to fall and 
 roll a distance of 500 feet down the mountain-side. In 
 his descent he struck and broke off a young oak-tree, 
 four inches in diameter. He was owned and highly 
 prized by the firm of Spaulding, Mowry & Co., of 
 Downieville, Sierra County, CaL, to whom these lines 
 are respectfully dedicated. 
 
 Alas ! brave mule, thy race is run, 
 
 Thy packing journeys o'er; 
 Along the trail on mountain steep 
 
 Thou may'st not travel more. 
 
 Oh ! sad mishap that did betide 
 
 Thy path with danger rife, 
 That hurled thee down the mountain-side 
 
 And robbed thee of thy life. 
 
 The miners watch with anxious eye 
 
 Thy welcome form to greet, 
 Who on thy service have relied 
 
 For stores of bread and meat. 
 
 Another now thy place must fill 
 
 To bear them due supplies, 
 And thou wilt rest in calm repose 
 
 Beneath fair S'erra's skies. 
 
TO THE RICH. 87 
 
 Thy masters, too, will mourn thy fate, 
 
 That thus thy life should end ; 
 Thou hast a faithful servant been 
 
 On whom they could depend. 
 
 Thy courage, strength, and worth 
 
 Will long remembered be, 
 And when they speak of noble mules 
 
 High praise they'll give to thee. 
 
 And though to mark thy verdant grave 
 
 No sculptured stone is seen, 
 Yet those who mourn thy vanished form 
 
 Will keep thy mem'ry green. 
 
 TO THE RICH. 
 
 Oh! do not turn away the poor that trembling seek 
 
 your aid, 
 But give a little from your store and you will be re- 
 paid; 
 For God himself declares in His most gracious Word, 
 " That he who giveth to the poor but lendeth to the 
 
 Lord." 
 Nor coldly pass affliction's child whose heart is wrung 
 
 with grief, 
 But breathe in accents sweet and mild kind words that 
 
 bring relief; 
 For he who shares another's woe, another's burden 
 
 bears. 
 For him in sorrow's night shall flow the sympathizing 
 
 tears. 
 
88 LOST VISION. 
 
 Nor treat with scorn the erring one who would his 
 
 steps retrace, 
 But kindly teach him how to shun temptation and 
 
 disgrace ; 
 For he who back to virtue leads a brother gone astray, 
 For him the blessed Saviour pleads when snares beset 
 
 his way. 
 
 TO MY FRIEND, MRS. BESSIE SHAFFER, ON HER 
 BIRTHDAY. 
 
 To grace thy welcome natal day 
 I would this simple tribute pay, 
 And trust each year on brighest wing 
 May halos sweet unnumbered bring. 
 
 And thy fair barque on life's broad tide 
 O'er calm and peaceful waters glide. 
 When summer flowers shall pass away 
 And scentless, dead, and withered lay, 
 
 May autumn leaves around thee twine 
 And shed their incense at thy shrine, 
 And friendship's flame, when tears may flow 
 With golden light, unchanging glow, 
 
 And blessings fair with love divine 
 Be ever fondly, wholly thine, 
 And sweetest peace thy home attend 
 And life be joyous to the end. 
 
TO PETER KELLY. 89 
 
 TO MY FRIEND, PETER KELLY, OF DOWNIEVILLE, CAL. 
 
 I'm not the saint 
 That you would paint, 
 
 But sinner here below ; 
 Yet oft, ah ! me, 
 I think of thee, 
 
 And tears of friendship flow. 
 
 And to return, 
 
 My heart doth yearn, 
 
 To S'erra's mountains fair, 
 Whose caps of snow 
 In beauty glow 
 
 When sunbeams linger there. 
 
 And Yuba's lay, 
 Through night and day, 
 
 Its tuneful murmur blends 
 With birds of spring 
 That gayly sing 
 
 Till autumn's season ends. 
 
 And woodland game 
 Grow almost tame 
 
 Where farmers till the soil, 
 And wealth untold 
 In veins of gold 
 
 Repay the miner's toil. 
 
 There foes are few 
 And friends are true 
 
 And hearts beat light and gay, 
 
90 LOST VISION. 
 
 And life doth seem 
 A happy dream 
 
 Unmarred by sorrow's lay. 
 
 What did beguile 
 My heart the while 
 
 To leave my brother dear, 
 And friends to weep 
 In lieu of sleep 
 
 Who loved me most sincere. 
 
 Ah ! fickle fate, 
 Be not too late 
 
 Nor let me plead in vain, 
 But waft me back 
 By steam and track 
 
 To Downieville again. 
 
 And there abide 
 Till life's last tide 
 
 Shall bear my soul away, 
 To soar above 
 On wings of love 
 
 Where shines eternal day. 
 
 Now, till we meet 
 And kindly greet 
 
 Each other face to face, 
 May I by thee 
 Remembered be 
 
 And in thy heart have place. 
 
VISION. 91 
 
 THE PAST. 
 
 Mournfully, pensively, o'er the bright past 
 
 Sorrow's dark shadows a gloominess cast ; 
 
 From fond beating hearts, young, happy, and gay, 
 
 The sunlight of hope has faded away ; 
 
 And fast-fleeting time has borne on its wing, 
 
 Loves, that no future unmingled can bring; 
 
 And deep fretting care like mildew or blight 
 
 Has dimmed the bright eye that beamed with delight ; 
 
 And unsparing death has ta'en for his guest 
 
 The young and the fair, the dearest and best; 
 
 And heart-thrilling joys that once lit the brow, — 
 
 How have they vanished ! Oh ! where are they now ? 
 
 All shrouded in gloom are the bright days of yore, 
 
 And visions of fame enchant us no more; 
 
 And sweet blooming youth has turned to decay 
 
 And life like a dream is passing away. 
 
 VISION. 
 
 The sun in his glory unclouded may shine 
 
 And light, the bright essence of wisdom divine, 
 
 With radiance invest the arches of space, 
 
 And beauty all nature adorn with her grace. 
 
 The stars in their orbits may glisten like gold, 
 
 And the queen of the skies her treasures unfold ; 
 
 The twilight at even soft halos may shed, 
 
 The bright rosy morning new glories outspread, 
 
 The hill and the valley in verdure be clad, 
 
 And sunbeams the streamlets make merry and glad ; 
 
92 LOST VISION. 
 
 And bright blooming flowers in summer may glow 
 And winter be mantled in raiment of snow; 
 And kind laughing eyes may gaze with delight 
 On the form that is fair, enchanting, and bright. 
 And jewels most precious in clusters may shine, 
 And beauty hold captives entranced at her shrine ; 
 But all these bright visions which God has designed 
 Are shrouded in darkness and hid from the blind. 
 But wisdom and knowledge, twin daughters of light, 
 May beam on the spirit that's burdened with night; 
 And learning and science which sages- unroll 
 Illumine the reason and flash o'er the soul ; 
 And music and po'sy their halos may blend 
 And visions of beauty in glory transcend ; 
 And fancy, unfettered, bright gem of the mind 
 May gild the dark shadows that circle the blind; 
 And gladness of heart shall glow on the face 
 When pages of story our fingers may trace; 
 And sorrow and sighing be mingled with joy 
 When sweet occupation our efforts employ. 
 Though shaded and gloomy our pathway may seem, 
 And hopes we have cherished be changed as a dream, 
 And storm after storm our sky overcast, 
 And bright airy castles be crushed in the blast, 
 Yet life's fairest flowers together we'll twine, 
 And hearts that are warmest with love we'll enshrine, 
 And hopeful and happy we'll banish despair, 
 And life's transient evils with patience we'll bear ; 
 And sweet be the pleasures they ever may find, 
 Who sunshine and gladness have shed on the blind. 
 
CLIPPINGS FROM NEWSPAPERS. 
 
 THE EXTRAORDINARY CAREER OF A BLIND WOMAN. 
 
 Jersey City, January 27, 1885. 
 To the Editor of the New- York Dispatch : 
 
 Dear Sir : An article appeared in your issue of December 
 7th last, which treated of the work of blind people, and which gave 
 a short biographical sketch of those who had attained the most 
 prominence in literary circles. Among those mentioned was 
 one with whom I have had the pleasure of being acquainted for 
 a number of years past. I can appreciate the reasons why you did 
 not treat at greater length of the lives and works of these persons 
 individually, but I think it is due to her as well as her many 
 friends that she should have been brought out more prominently 
 than she was. It is for this reason that I send you a short sketch 
 of her life, a career which, considering the condition of the per- 
 son referred to, is indeed remarkable, not to say marvelous. As 
 a rule, intrinsic worth and merit are recognized by the American 
 people and particularly by the exponents of their thoughts and 
 feelings — the public press, no matter what position the person 
 holds in the social scale, no matter what, through force of circum- 
 stances they are obliged to undergo. There is probably not a 
 woman alive to-day who has worked so hard, so faithfully, so 
 energetically, and who has done so under the most discouraging 
 circumstances, as has the subject of this article, Miss Alice A. 
 Holmes; in fact, to use her own words, she has spent her whole 
 life "in writing, in fighting, and in love." At the age of seven- 
 teen she became a pupil at the New- York Institution for the 
 Blind, and there she had as her friend and classmate that bril- 
 liant scholar, Miss Frances J. Crosby, of whom she now speaks 
 in glowing terms. At the age of twenty-four, Miss Holmes 
 graduated from this institution, having mastered all the branches 
 there taught. She immediately began her career as a writer, 
 
94 NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. 
 
 and her first effort, a book entitled " Poems by Alice Holmes," 
 was published in 1848, and met with immediate success. A few 
 years later she published two other volumes of poetry; one 
 " Arcadian Leaves," and the other" Stray Leaves." All these pro- 
 ductions reached a second edition, and met with much approba- 
 tion. Miss Holmes is now about sixty-four yearsofage,andthough 
 she has undergone a continuous and discouraging strife, she 
 still retains much of her youthful vigor and vitality. She is a 
 fluent talker, a hard student, and is unusually gifted as regards 
 her powers of memory. It is indeed a rare literary feast to spend 
 an evening in her company, for she not only recites original 
 poems of a high order of intelligence, but has read the works of 
 all the prominent authors, and quotes from them with surprising 
 correctness. The chief object of her pride however, is the suc- 
 cess she has met with as a musician and teacher of music. She 
 points with pride to the ability of her pupils, some of whom can 
 be found in all the principal cities, where they have become dis- 
 tinguished, both as teachers and in social circles. She has 
 always enjoyed the reputation of being an exceptionally talented 
 woman, and, considering her blindness, her works are really 
 wonderful. During years of hard work, discouragement, sick- 
 ness, and adversity she has never succumbed, having always 
 been buoyed up by her happy disposition. 
 
 Medicus. 
 
 [From the New- York World, j 
 
 KEEPS DICKENS'S MEMORY GREEN. 
 
 A BLIND WOMAN WHO REMEMBERS THE NOVELIST'S 
 GENEROSITY. 
 
 One of the brightest and happiest women in Jersey City 
 is Miss Alice A. Holmes, the oldest and most noted blind 
 resident of that city. A classmate of Miss Frances J. Crosby, a 
 musician and writer of poems, Miss Holmes has led a very 
 active life, with too little time to grow old or become despondent. 
 A "World" reporter called upon her at her home, 248 York 
 Street, yesterday afternoon. She has lived in Jersey City since 
 
NEWSPAPER CLIPPINGS. 95 
 
 1830, and now, at the age of sixty-seven, is spending the close 
 of her days in writing an account of her life and reminiscences of 
 those she has met. " I am not writing for name or fame," she 
 earnestly said, " but for what money there is in it. I have always 
 been obliged to work hard for my own support, and it was a 
 puzzling question, at first, what to do. I began to write verses, 
 and in 1848 published a book entitled ' Poems by Alice Holmes.' 
 In i860 I published 'Arcadian Leaves,' and in 1868 had my 
 last book, ' Stray Leaves,' issued. I have been working all 
 winter on my new book, which I hope will pay, as I am not now 
 able to do hard work, and have not enough means to support me. 
 For several years I taught music, and had eighteen or twenty 
 pupils at a time." An interesting incident in the visit of the 
 younger Dickens to Jersey City was an interview Miss Holmes 
 had with him after one of his readings. When the elder Dickens 
 was in this country, he gave $1700 to Dr. Howe, of Boston, to 
 have " Old Curiosity Shop " printed in raised letters for the blind. 
 Miss Holmes sought an interview with the novelist's son, to ex- 
 press to him her gratitude for his father's generosity. At the 
 recent anniversary of the Old Ladies' Home, of Jersey City, 
 Miss Holmes read an original poem, which was declared to be 
 the gem of the entertainment. 
 March I, 1888. 
 
V 
 
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