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COUSIN ALICE:
A
MEMOIR OF ALICE B. HAVEN.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
549 & 551 BROADWAY.
1871.




ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the,-ear 1864, by
D. APPLETON & CO.
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of
New York.




TO
THE CHILDREN OF
A.L I CE   ]3.  -I A V EN
AND
TO  HER FRIEND S,
THIS MEMORIAL
OF A LIFE SPENT IN BEARING THE BURDENS OF OTHERSZ
AND SO FULFILLING THE LAW OF CHRIST,
IS AFFECTIONATELY
INTSCRIBED.








" YOU MIGHT HAVE WON THE POET'S NAME
IF SUCH BE WORTH THE WINNING NOW,
AND GAINED A LAUREL FOR YOUR BROW
OF SOUNDER LEAF THAN I CAN CLAIM.
B BUT YOU HAVE MADE THE WISER CHOICE,
A LIFE THAT MOVES TO GRACIOUS ENDS
THROUGH TROOPS OF UNRECORDING FRIENDS
A DEEDFUL LIFE, A SILENT VOICE. "
Tennyson.








PREFACE.
HE best words which we can frame to
describe a painting by a Master, fall
immeasurably below the masterpiece itself in the power of moving the intellect
or swaying the feelings of the beholder. Even
the silent marble, chiselled into grace and
beauty, inspires emotions which are beyond
the power of reproduction in the phrases of
any language used by one who knows all its
secret resources.
Yet these triumphs of art are incommensurable with the moving forms of Beauty and




8                PREFA CE.
of Grace which they feebly figure and represent
There is hardly more of likeness between them
than between death and life. Indeed these are
changeless and dead, while that which they
embody is changing and vital, whether it be
the landscape which is another yet the same,
in every hour's sun or shade, in the green of
spring or amid the autumn's flying leaves, or
whether it be the human form, which with every
motion creates a new and livelier sculpture.
There must needs come then to the one
who has written, or to them who read, a more
painful sense of inadequacy and imperfection,
when it is a life which has been portrayed,
when it is not the single aspect of a form, or
of a scene, but the unfolding and upbuilding
of a noble character, which has been attempted
to be described; its collision with circumstances, and its inner conflicts. There are even
subtler and finer graces in life than in beauty,




PREFA COE.
and a noble character is more indescribable
than a splendid view, and less easy to be fixed
in any form of words for remembrance or
influence, when the scene is distant or the life
has been transplanted to another sphere.
Yet it was due that such a life as hers
who is the subject of this biography should be
written, however briefly or imperfectly; for in
the judgment of those who saw merely its
spiritual radiance, as well as of those who
lived in its life-giving atmosphere, it was a
life filled with temptations and trials which
wrought in her a singular humility; of afflictions and difficulties converted by a deep
religious chemistry into Christian graces; of
weaknesses and imperfections transmuted into
spiritual symmetry and power. It was a life
which none who saw it as it was lived, and
none to whom these pages shall convey any
just conception of it, would willingly let die.
l*








CONTENTS.
PART I.
THE O R D EAL.
PAGE
CHAPTER I. —INTRODUCTORY,...        15
I. —CHILDHOOD,....      20
III.-ScHOOL LIFE,...  29
IV.- HER MARRIAGE,...      40
V.-THE YOUNG WIFE,...  55
VI.-THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD,.       67
VII.-THE STRUGGLE,...  80
VIII.-THE TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPIA,   96
IX.-IHER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA (CONTINUED),. 110
X.-WINTER IN CHARLESTON,.        125
XI.-THE STRUGGLE ENDING, ~..  138
PART II.
H O ME  LIFE.
CaIPTER I. —SECOND MARRIAGE,...    149
II.-NEW EXPERIENCES,... 160




12                    CONTENTS.
PAGE
CHAP.' II.-IDEAS OF LIFE WORK,...      170
IV.-THE SPRING IN NASHVILLE,..         183
V.-RETURN TO THE NORTH,..            195
VI.-INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL,. 204
VII. —HER SABBATH,...             214
VIII.-CONFIRMED FAITII,.... 225
IX.-LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE,..     238
PART III.
EA D Y FOR REST.
CHAPTER I.-TIIE WILLOWS,.. 249
II.-JOURNAL AND LETTERS,...     260
III.-RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859,. 271
IV. —-WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ,.      285
V.-THE SUMMER OF 1861,... 300
VI.-HER FIRST ILLNESS,...     315
VII.-AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH,... 330
VIII.-HER LAST JOURNAL,'..      345
IX.-LAST LETTERS,.... 358
X.-LAST HOURS,....     368
CONCLUSION,...  76




PART I.
THE  ORDEAL.








PART I.
THE   O  DEAL.
CHAPTER I.
INVTR OD UCTOR Y.
MILY  BRADLEY  was the name
borne in childhood by Mrs. Haven.
If there is that in blood which particularly forms, or modifies, character, this child had a singular inheritance. IHer
ancestors, on her father's side, were men whom
enterprise and a love of adventure kept upon
the sea. Her father's father, and all his brothers, with remoter connections, were sea captains
in the various services of our country. They
were brave, resolute men, whose determination
and daring were proverbial.




16            COUSIN ALICE.
Her father, too delicate for such a life, on
account of an injury which he had received in
his youth, and which prevented his attaining
the physical force of his brothers, was yet not
unlike them in spirit. Pride, ambition, and indomitable purpose, were the stamina of a character softened by tender and generous impulses.
Dying while his four children were all in the
years of infancy-even the eldest could only remember him, as a sad-hearted and depressed
invalid, consumed by a fiery and hopeless ambition.
He died on the 13th of September, 1830,
Emily's third birthday.  An infant daughter
soon followed the father, and Emily was thus
left the youngest of a fatherless group of little
ones.
She became the charge of a mother most
unlike the father in character and disposition;
the representative of a family noted for firm
faith and fervent piety. Her maternal ancestry
was the counterpart of that on the father's side.
Two more opposite races could not have blended. Her mother was of Baptist and Quaker
descent. Nearly a score of clergymen could be




INTRODUCTORY.              17
counted amongst her immediate ancestors and
relatives. Her father had had but little sympathy with his wife's family, so unlike himself
in traits which, nevertheless, commanded his
respect, if they did not arouse his emulation.
They were humble-minded, devout, and, in some
cases, scholarly men, most unworldly in purpose
and unselfish in action. Their strong faith, their
unswerving fidelity to their religion, and the
simplicity and purity of their lives, sent a sweet
and healthful current into the veins of their
children.
Emily's largest inheritance, both mental and
spiritual, was from this side of the family; but
there was a persistent force of character derived
from her father, which marked her whole life.
Even in childhood she showed the most opposite traits, one or another predominating in
the various phases she passed through, and giving tone to the different periods of her life.
These could all be traced in her later years, not
then presenting contrarieties that were perplexing and discouraging to those around her, but
harmonized by her religion into a character,
forcible in action, which was unremitting from




18            CO USIN ALICE.
principle, and profound in devout meditation,
and in a rich, spiritual life. Never was there a
better illustration of the many-sidedness which
is essential to breadth of interest, sympathy, and
purpose. It was this large nature, this comprehensiveness of mind and heart, which, finally,
purified by the graces of God's spirit, absorbed
self, and made the noble woman.
That this height was not reached without
hard struggles, many futile efforts, and much
discouragement, by the way, will readily be
seen by all who can appreciate the conflicting
elements of her nature, the peculiar trials of her
life, and a delicate physical constitution, which
most persons would have felt justified in pleading as an excuse for many short-comings.
Harmonious character is not an inheritance
or an endowment. It is the result of strenuous
effort; it is the guerdon of the self-controlled;
it is the unconscious crown of the devoted, the
self-denying, the resolute and fervent spirit. If
intellectual character be " knowledge organized
into faculty," then religious character is simple
faith matured into spiritual insight.
This child, with her rare endowments, ripen



INTR OD UCTOR Y.            19
ed into a woman, illustrating each form of character, while she led a life of increasing singleness
and humility.
To trace the growth which had such rich
results, and to read from this short life lessons
which shall long teach others her sweet wisdom,
is our purpose.




CHAPTER II.,,HILDHIOOD.
ROM an early period a disease of the
eyes manifested itself in this child,
who had never seemed to promise
robust health.  This so affected all
her school-life, that she was liable to great suffering, yet a peculiar patience under her suffering grew out of it. This was in marked contrast
to an elder sister, whose impetuosity often allowed the younger child an ascendency in her
superior self-control. There was a difference of
five years in their ages; but the difference, even
in childhood, was frequently lost sight of in the
precocity of Emily and in her early-acquired
power of restraint.
She learned so rapidly on all subjects, and
every thing that camne within her reach, that she




CHILDHOOD.              21
was soon noted as a child of rare acquirements.
Her memory was as ready as it was retentive;
and it was to this faculty that she was indebted
for her remarkably extensive knowledge, as her
eyes were often useless for months together, for
either reading or study.
When she was six years old she was adopted
by an uncle, her mother's eldest brother, a clergyman of fine literary taste and scholastic attainment. His wife was a woman of uncommon
mental strength, her husband's companion in his
library, giving him his best intellectual stimulusand sympathy. This gentleman, the Rev. J.
Newton Brown, was residing in Boston at this
time, engaged in editing " The Religious Encyclopedia," a work of research and erudition.
Mrs. Brown was his constant assistant mi the
preparation of this book. Though childless, she
was a passionate lover of children, finding her
recreation in those of her adoption, for another
little girl was already sharing the mother's love
which overflowed her heart.
They remained in Boston till the work they
were engaged upon was completed, and then returned to Exeter, New Hampshire, where Mr.




22            COUSIN ALICE.
Brown was a minister of the Baptist church.
The time spent in Boston was very pleasant to
Emily. The beautiful Common, near which
they lived, and where she played, made one of
he most cherished pictures in her memory of
ner child-life; and associated with it was the fair
little Louise, her adopted sister, whom she loved
very tenderly.
In Exeter she was able to go to school, as she
had done in Boston, for a year or two, when she
was attacked by the disease which so often darkened her young life, and which became in this
instance a blindness that lasted for several
months. That she suffered terribly none could
doubt; but her suffering was rarely, if ever, a
matter of complaint. She would be patient in
a darkened room for hours together, drawing on
an imagination and a memory which were
equally remarkable, for her pastime. What was
read aloud to her she remembered accurately,
and she spent a great deal of time in parodying
familiar little poems and in composing wonder stories. Sometimes her uncle, who was also
an invalid that winter, was her companion, sometimes her elder sister, then living in the family,




CHILD HOOD. 2.
but oftener the dear little Louise, whose love
was a great solace, though the two children were
mentally so unlike, that the bond between them
was almost entirely that of affection.
Sensitive and imaginative as she was, some
idea may be formed of her self-control and patience, from two instances. She bore applications of leeches to her eyelids and face, day after
day, for hours at a time, without a perceptible
shudder, and with no word of the shrinking which
she afterwards declared possessed her to such a
degree, that she sometimes thought she should
lose her senses.
Another great trial was, that at night she
was the only person who slept on that floor of a
large three-story house. Her bedroom had been
arranged on the first floor, usually occupied by
the family during the day, when it was thought
she would most need to be surrounded by companions, in the hope that the lone hours which
she spent-and these did not begin till the elder
members of the familyhad retired to rest-would
be passed by her in sleep. As she never required
any thing at night, it was not considered necessary for any one to remain with her.




24            COUSIN ALICE.
She said many years afterwards, that no
words that she could use, could ever describe the
hours of torture she sometimes passed, when suffering or her fears kept her awake, and the victim of her active imagination. She was but nine
years old when passing through this ordeal, and
few children would have borne it without a murmur, leaving the revelation of her suffering till
years had passed.
Her reserve grew upon her, and it was inevitable that she should be easily misunderstood,
and should often lack sympathy. This increased
the privacy of her inner life, and led her to say
frequently that she passed two childhoods equally
real, one that all knew of, and another that no one
suspected. Traits were manifested in her outward life, giving rise to many fears on the part
of those who had charge of her, which gradually
gave way to the inner growth out of which the
woman was born.
When Emily was nine years old, her own
mother was married a second time. The child
had always yearned for her own home and the
indulgence of that first-remembered mother's
love. She and her sister returned in the spring




CHILDHOOD.               23
of i838 to Hudson, N. Y., which was their birthplace and their mother's residence. After spending the summer with her mother, the elder sister,
whose school education was in progress, returned
to the uncle and aunt, under whose fostering
care she remained till her marriage, which occurred as soon as she graduated at school. Mr.
Brown was now professor in a theological institution at New Hampton, N. H. There was a
young ladies' school in the same town, which
had a great reputation then, and here, when
Cornelia left, Emily came to pass her girlhood,
and receive her mental training.
The two sisters were thus parted; nor were
they ever together again except for a few weeks
or months, and after the lapse of long intervals
of time. Yet as years went by, and like tastes
and principles assimilated very unlike natures,
the love which never failed between them led
to mutual influence, and this to a bond stronger
than mere kinship involved.
The school-life of Emily, in Hudson, has its
record in a journal begun when she was but
twelve years old, and in many little stories written for juvenile magazines and readers. " IKeep2




26            CO USIN ALICRE.
ing a Journal," a story to be found in a little
volume, recently published, called "The Pet
Bird, and Other Stories, by Cousin Alice,"
gives the history of the beginning of this first
journal and of her practice, which she kept up
as long as she lived.
An instance may find place here of her singular patience under disappointment and suffering. Cornelia was married when Emily was
thirteen, and spent a few weeks in Hudson with
her family, before leaving for the South, where
her husband resided.
Various excursions were planned, in which
Emily took great delight. The most charming
of all was to be a visit paid to a favorite uncle
living near the blue range of the Catskills, which
bounded the landscape west of the pretty little
city of Hudson. This range of mountains had
been fertile in romance to the poetic nature of
the child. To penetrate them had been a daydream for years, and now it was to be a reality.
She could hardly wait for the morning to come
when the journey was to begin; and an enthusiasm, all the more fervent that it was commonly




CHILDDHOOD.            27
so pent up, was for once poured out in eager
expressions of anticipation.
The morning came, golden with promise for
the day, when this journey was to begin; but
the poor little girl was found quite blind upon
the couch to which she had gone the night before so gay with hope. Her brother and sister
stood sorrowfully beside her, ready to give up
the visit thus saddened by her disappointment,
and looking for a lamentation proportioned to
the anticipation she had been indulging.
But there were no tears and no murmurings;
there was little indication of the sharp pain of
body and mind to which they must leave her.
She said, simply, " I ought not to have anticipated so much. I should have remembered
how liable I am to such attacks as these. This
is a common thing with me. Don't think any
more of it, or of how much I wanted to go. It
will spoil your visit, and that would be worse
than losing mine."
Even while she spoke in calm, low tones, her
slender little fingers were clasped so forcibly, as
to send the blood to their tips, and to show at
what a cost she had attained this self-control.




28           CCUSIN ALICE.
And this was the child's philosophy taught
her through much suffering, giving her a power
of endurance which, when the grace of God aided
and enhanced it, made up the strength of her
life.




CHAPTER III.
SCHOOL LIFE.
OON after the incident just ientioned, Emily went to New
Hampton " to complete her education," as the phrase is. She
had already exhibited some ambition to become
a scholar, and had begun to use her pen, as was
shown by an accumulation of manuscripts,
some indicating more than common promise,
while others were merely the safety-valves of a
nature that found little, and inadequate, expression to those around her.
Emily was a member of her uncle's family
while she attended school, having the advantage
of his supervision of her studies, and of his large
and well-selected library. He was a poet him



30               COUSIN ALICE.
self, and this was also an advantage to the aspir
ing girl. But one hindrance always awaited
her in the progress she aimed to make. The affection of her eyes subjected her to constant depression, and forbade her taking that place in
her classes which she might otherwise have held
with ease. She was not infrequently entirely
dependent for her preparation for school on the
studying aloud of a classmate; and thus prepared, she would still appear to better advantage
than many who had been able to spend hours
over their books. In a record made in her journal at this time, she says:
"f Il, ill, ill. What is the use of my good resolutions
about system and time, and doing my best? Am I never
to be perfectly well? Shall I never have what people
call health? This thought is enough to wear me out.
They say I have patience! They little know how terribly I feel the sting of an incurable malady. Am I yet
to be entirely blind? But I have seen the time when I
thought I could bear even blindness, so the love of God
was mine. Now I am without God and without hope."
" To hide my wretchedness, I often assume an ugly
manner, and people say,'how unamiable! "'"
"This bitterness must be overcome. It will poison
my life."




SCHOOL LIFE.              31
Expressions like these abound in the pages of
her journal.
The reference to her willingness to bear even
blindness, if she could feel the support of God's
love, will be better understood by an explanation
of her state of mind in regard to religion. The
child of many prayers, and of vivid spiritual impressions from her earliest years, she had persuaded herself, when only thirteen years old, that
she was a fit subject for church membershipand encouraged in this feeling by some who
thought her uncommon maturity should be respected in the matter, she had been admitted as
a member of the Baptist church in Hudson. As
she grew older, and had a clearer perception of
what such a step involved, she became aware of
her unfitness for the relation, and grew impatieiln of its restraints, and of the false position
in which it placed her.
It had not the effect which such a misstep
sometimes has on a young person, who, feeling
that she has been the victim of a delusion, fancies that all professing Christians are either victims or impostors. There was never any tendency to scepticism in her mind. She recognized




32              COUSIN ALICE.
only her own unfitness; and there are continual
expressions even iri her lightest moods, of dis.
satisfaction with herself on this account, and of
the yearning for something better and higher,
and more satisfying than any thing she could
yet grasp.  In all this she saw only one source
of comfort-the love of God; and this seemed to
be denied to her, though to possess it she thought
she would even be willing " to forever close her
eyes to every object of beauty and affection," as
she says, with great earnestness.  She was not
apt to give expression to her affection for others
in the caressing ways which are natural to some
young girls, but her heart was wanner than her
manner indicated. She writes of this:
"I have never known positive happiness. My sorrow
is all regret, my joy is hope. I live only in the past and
future. Often my heart is full of love-love to all around
me, even to those whom I treat with apparent coldness
and indifference. I cannot let those I love, know it by
outward signs, still less by words. Few understand me.
I do not quite understand myself, I think."
A few days later appears a record, which
gives a rare insight into her nature, and the
phase of her life then passing:




SCHOOL LIFE.                 33
"Of all my wild and ambitious dreams, I have never
dared commit one to paper; but to-day I am too full of
them to repress the thoughts which are crowding upon me.
"I sometimes feel that I am not born for a common
destiny, that I have talents which might elevate me
above those with whom I now associate-most of them,
I mean. I dare not say that I have genius. It is too
holy a word to be taken lightly. But hundreds have had
these same thoughts and feelings, have felt this same
spirit strive within them, have hoped, dreamed, prayed,
and-died, leaving the world nought with which to keep' their memories green.' The grave has closed over their
high hopes. And this is not all. These persons have
had genius; outward circumstances alone have hindered
its development.
"Then many have been deluded, who have vainly
dreamed that they were of the chosen few destined to
immortality; and when these dreams have passed away,
they have sunk to the common level, content with the
common lot. For this reason I have never put my hopes
and fears upon paper. I would not care so much for the
first fate. I could at least carry my high thoughts with
me; but the last, after all I had hoped, and dreamed, and
toiled for, to give up voluntarily, to forget that I ever
wished to be distinguished, or to look on those wishes,
if remembered, only as the follies of a child-aye more,
to be content with this, and to pass through life unnoticed and unknown-this I cannot endure. I am excited
this morning. If I waited till my thoughts cooled, I
2*




84               COUSIN ALICE.
should not place them on record; but, feeling as I now
do, I would say,'henceforth, ambition, be thou my
angel!'
" And I would that it might be a holy ambition; that
I might have the love of the good as well as the worldly;
that I might have the thanks of my fellow-creatures, as
well as their praises. Is this a vain dream? It shall not
be. By a fixed determination, and by every effort, I will
accomplish the task I would mark out for myself. For
help in this, I look to my journal. I will begin my work
by improving my time, and by being ambitious in small
things. I will strive to perform my duty, and when I
come to the great struggle, I shall not be faint-hearted.
I cannot afford to waste time now in dreams of what
may befall me."
During the years of her school life, this journal is a record of variations of the feeling here
described. A thirst for love, which often took
the form to those about her of a craving for
praise and admiration; a sense of great and increasing dissatisfaction with herself, and in all,
by which she vainly sought to alleviate this
thirst of her soul; an ambition for a recognition
in the region of intellectual producers, and resolves that sustained her even under the greatest
discouragements.




SCHOOL LIFE.                  35
She shrunk from revealing her profounder
emotions, and did herself great injustice by their
concealment. Even to her sister she writes, in
the very year in which she makes a record of
her resolution to do duty well:
" Your eternal monotone of duty disenchants me with
life. Say it is duty, and the fire goes out, the living impulse is dead. I hate the word. I was never appealed
to by an action that was the offspring of a sense of duty."
It was the struggle of a young and active
spirit, feeling its strength "with the sense of
wings," but ignorant as yet that strength, to be
power, must come under the dominion and into
the obedience of law.
Her reserve was, however, sometimes thrown'ff, and her nobler nature found irresistible expression. A schoolmate, who was in the same
family, and her constant companion, bears witness to the rare occasions of which this could
be said:
"I used to sit at her feet and listen to her eloquent
words, till I was carried out of the realities of our lives
into the higher regions which she seemed to penetrate.
I listened in wonder and full faith, and I half worshipped
her, as she bore me along. I can never describe the




36              -COUSIN ALICE.
effect of these talks upon me: they opened new worlds
to me. When I used to write to my mother so admiringly of Emily, she, seeing her only as she was commonly
known and understood, would rebuke me for yielding
myself so much to her influence. But I was borne along
by the irresistible force of her genius.  People have
called her brilliant and fascinating in society since then,
and we have heard how unequalled she was in conversational power., Was it strange that I yielded to the power
which even then was hers whenever she chose to use it?
It was her genius which gave it to her as much then as
later in life."
She was herself becoming conscious of the
brilliant faculty which afterwards characterized
her in society.  She was also finding out that
she possessed some personal graces, which had
their influence on others. Notwithstanding the
weakness to which they were liable, her eyes
were remarkably beautiful; large, soft, lustrous
Drown eyes, with a capacity for expression that
amounted to fascination. A delicate, well-formed mouth, with the flexible upper lip, which is
always attractive: a profusion of rich brown
hiair, a brilliant color and a graceful bearing,
were her chief charms.  Her hand was as diminutive as a child's; indeed she required a smaller




SCHIOOL LIFE.             37
glove than any ladies' size-her fingers taper and
white, and pink-tipped; they certainly did not
seem made for life's uses. She used to say laughingly of herself, that her vanity in her hands survived all other weaknesses of the kind; that even
when the gravest cares of her later years were
resting upon her, her one temptation in dress
was fresh and pretty gloves; to these she always
treated herself when any pecuniary success made
her elate; but she said, "I never wear new
gloves to church-I feel so very silly in my consciousness there of my vanity."
This personal vanity was a great trial and
temptation, and, finally, mortification to her;
but it opened to her one gate to the lovely humility of her later years. In her girlhood it was
indulged, as would be natural to one who was
admired and flattered. She did not think she
was beautiful even in later life, when "hler
features had been chiselled by thought," but
she felt that she had personal power, especially
in her conversation with men, and she involuntarily exulted in it, always to follow it with a
self-inflicted humiliation, which a sense of the
pettiness of the pleasure brought her. She did




9S               COUSIN ALICE.
not attempt to analyze the power she possessed,
but to exercise it was a temptation few of her age
could have resisted. Against this exercise, however, she was soon on her guard, and very early
we find her making resolutions to refrain from it,
and to live down with nobler aims the consciousness which might become the bane of her life.
The more intense her dissatisfaction with herself, the more trifling and reckless was her bearing to those who sought to do her good. She
writes:
" This spirit of evil will alienate all my friends. I see
their discouragement; I hear their predictions of evil for
me; I know their distrust of my motives, and their want
of comprehension of me-their lack of appreciative sympathy makes me desperate. I seize the present good, and
let them croak on, while God only knows how miserable
I am, and how I hate myself for this double life, this denial of the good which is contending with the evil of
my nature."
One of her teachers, a close observer and
good student of human nature, wrote to her
sister:
"Emily gives me many anxious hours. She lacks
heart; she lacks the power to rise above herself, and to




SCHOOL LIFE.                  39
forget herself in the happiness and good of others. I am
compelled to fear, too, that she is wanting in principle.
She is not frank; and when I am talking with her, I am
conscious that her soul is veiled to me. One day she
said, in a cold, sarcastic tone, after an hour of remonstrance on my part:' I thank you for your good intentions. You are, however, very unjust to me-but I am
used to that, and can bear it. I am thankful for one faculty-the power to hold my tongue when words would
not avail.' Thus buffeted back, what can I do for her?
Yet she has an extraordinary mind; she is mentally fascinating, and will be so externally. She is proudly ambitious; and should she continue so, and ever have good
health and the untrammelled use of her eyes, she will not
rest till she has achieved a reputation as a writer. I must
believe that she wears the worst outside, that she is much
better at heart than she is willing to have us believe. I
once heard her say:'Above all things, I hate cant.
What my life does not do for me in commanding the respect of others, may go undone. I cannot talk goodey."'




CHAPTER IV.
HER MARRIA GE.
For a wonder-change within her heart
At that sweet time is wrought,
When on the heart is softly laid
The spell of deeper thought."
HIS is inscribed at the beginning of
the last volume which records her
school life, and if the writer could
have anticipated all the book would
hold, it could not have had a fitter preface.
Thought and feeling were working  "wonder
changes" during these moulding years.  Externally, there was a life of feverish excitement,
contrasting with the despondencies her ill health
could not fail to bring. Emily, as she said of
herself afterwards, went to her journal as to a
confessional, and it bears witness now of the




HER MARRIAGE.             41
sharp struggle which her noble aspirations had
with the temptations to levity and frivolity that
so often gained the victory at that period. No
one could condemn her failures so severely as
she condemns them herself, and constantly she
vows herself to a higher life, in whose serene atmosphere of self-denial and worthy purpose she
should be able to command her self-respect. Her
standard was never lowered, but her lips were
continually false to the nobility of her soul, and
that she so misrepresented herself, filled her with
remorse.
The books she read, the criticisms she has
recorded of them, and the books and poems she
planned and, in some cases, began, show how
unflagging was her mental activity. There are
graphic sketches and fine plans for poems, and
even dramas of an ambitious sort, introduced
from time to time-ending generally with a
sigh over her inadequacy to their accomplishment. Her contributions to the school literature, and the essays, sketches, or poems which
she read before its "Literary Society," were
original and full of promise. Those who were
appreciative amongst the teachers, and her ma



(2            COUSIN ALICE.
turer friends, already predicted for her a brilliant
literary career. They did not foresee that this
strong, personal ambition, would merge, as her
heart expanded and her life developed, into
nobler purposes and loftier aims, to whose accomplishment she would sacrifice every personal advantage and every thought of self.
During part of her last term at school, she
occupied herself with a travesty of the fourth
book of the fEneid, which was very cleverly
done, and which was read with great applause
at a public examination. Even at this age she
was fitted for such a work by a quick and subtle
play of humor, joined to a fine, keen wit. These
qualities gave piquancy to the expression of the
most commonplace ideas, and aided always in
the brilliant effect of her conversation. No good
point in a subject escaped her, and her use of
language was dextrous and graceful. She lacked,
of course, the finish which came later, but her
power of expression was remarkable notwithstanding this. In conversation, her repartee,
which flashed as quickly, and in those days not
as innocently, as the summer lightning, the ready
allusion for which she was indebted to her mem



HER MA RRIA GE.            43
ory, the apt quotation firom the same source, the
witty comparison so clever, and yet so unexpected by slower and less fertile minds, made up
the quality of the talk, which came with feminine fluency, and in a low, soft voice, whose pretty
inflections were always attractive in themselves.
A friend, rising one day to say'farewell, gave
it with a graceful quotation. Catching up his
idea, she poured out quotation after quotation
for at least ten minutes, till it seemed as if she
had exhausted all applicable passages in the familiar poets, and then she said, " I only stop for
want of breath."  " I believe you," was the reply; " you would do for a poetical dictionary."
The writer recalls an instance of her uncommon memory. It occurred some years after,
when she was living in Philadelphia. They
were spending the day together, and Emily said,
" Have you seen' In Memoriam' yet? "
"No, though very impatient for my first
reading."
" So am I; I will send and get the book."
The book was brought, and she began to
read aloud. As she read, her heart and eyes
were full, for she had now entered upon her sad




44            COUSIN ALICE.
experience of bereavement. When she finished
reading, she closed the book, and, referring to
some passages so beautiful, that they had been
twice read, she repeated them, and without reopening the volume, she recalled other passages
that had struck her, and continued this till she
had repeated more than half the poem, and then
stopped because visitors were announced.
"And you have never seen this book till this
morning? " said her listener, with great surprise.
"' Certainly I have not. And now you see to
what I am indebted for most that I know, learned
in spite of my eyes."
It was not verse only, where the rhyme and
rhythm are so helpful to the memory, that she
thus kept in mind, nor that alone which appealed to her imagination and tastes. Strange
as it may seem, she had a great fondness for statistical information, and a masculine grasp of
ideas that one would never suppose would find
place in her mind. She was greedy of such
knowledge, and listened eagerly to any one from
whom it could be gathered. After her editorial
life began, this was manifest. A review of a vol.
ume on Political Economy fell from her pen be



HER MARRIAG E.            45
fore her check had lost its girlish bloom, and she
wrote innumerable articles on subjects women
rarely touch, even in their reading. Had her
eyes allowed her opportunity for thorough study,
the vigor of her intellect would have been as
eminent as its grace. Every year of her life
gave some evidence of this.
She had a great desire to be a good musician,
but she never had strength to spend that time at
the piano which was necessary to her becoming
a fine executante. This was a constant pain to
her. Her voice was sweet, but lacked power.
She sung charmingly, however, accompanying
herself, and often adapted music to words. She
delighted in minor music, and had a peculiar
taste in songs. In her young days she sung very
archly and with much variety of expression;
later in life, singing was worship to her, and she
gave preference to sacred pieces. The last song
she ever sung, and her favorite for years, was a
little poem, " The Two Brides," by R. H. Stoddard, set to a weird tune, which haunted all who
heard it.
She made frequent contributions, while at
school, to the papers and magazines of the day.




46               COUSIN ALICE.
This displeased her friends, who were desirous
that she should not publish till her powers were
more mature.  Her sister wrote to her from the
South, asking that she should not see her name
before the public till she had reached the age of
eighteen.  The request was literally complied
with, but her contributions were sent as formerly, only under feigned names.  The popularity of a poem written when she was sixteen,
and copied into more than thirty journals, made
the temptation to publish too strong to be resisted. These lines are a fair expression of that
period.  They were suggested by a sentence in
Bulwer's play of ]Richelieu-" In the bright lexicon of youth there is no such word as fail."
And this poem, part of which is copied here, is
also a school-girl's production, and seems to give
voice to the aspiration which marked her true
inner life. The motto is from another poem:
It is not the dream of a fancy proud,
With a fool for its dull begetter,
A voicefrom the spirit proclaims aloud,
We are born for something better."
And hast thou, too, been pining long
For that which may not be?
Post thou share in the solemn thoughts
That long have dwelt with me?




HER MARRIAGE.                      47
Thy words have wakened once again
The wish within my heart,
That in a nobler, freer life,
My spirit might have part.
I strove to check my soaring thoughts,
And turned once more to earth,
Seeking in pleasure to forget
The mood that gave them birth.
But now they cast aside the chain,
And, spurning all control,
Bid that I listen, and obey
The voice within my soul.
I know when comes the spell on thee,
When from thy weakness bowed,
The tide that ebbed within thy heart
Flows once more strong and proud.
When thou wouldst strive to rend the bonds
That fetter thee, and find
New life, where custom leadeth not,
Where forms no longer bindThe earth is then a mockery;
Existence but a dream;
And those who share with thee its fears,
As shadowy phantoms seem.
When space, infinity alone,
Seems vast enough to fill
The void which, struggle as thou wilt,
Dwells in the bosom still.
*     *     *      *     *      *




48                 COUSIN AL1CE.
These are but dreams-we are of earth,
And here we must abide;
Must quell, subdue, these murmurings,
And check this daring pride.
Our spirits are too gross, too dark,
In such a land to be,
And from the bonds of earth and sin
By death alone made free.
Yet when through gloom, and gathering storms,
The vale of death is passed,
When from this vesture of decay
The soul is free at last;
When sweeping pinions unto us
With boundless strength are given,
Then shall we know this purer life,
As found alone in Heaven."
At this time Joseph C. Neal, of Philadelphia,
the author of " Charcoal Sketches," which were
then in the height of their popularity, retired
from  the editorship of the " Pennsylvanian," and
established a literary newspaper, which he called
"Neal's Saturday Gazette."   Some numbers of
this paper found their way to New  Hampton,
and excited the admiration of the clique in school
who aspired to be writers.
Emily having carelessly remarked that this




HIER A IARRIA GE.              49
would be a good paper in which to appear, was
challenged by her companions to find admittance to its columns. Accepting the challenge,
she wrote a story called " The First Declaration,:"
which she sent to Mr. Neal with the norn de
plume of ALICE G. LEE, using a middle name,
Gordon, to make the incognito more complete.
The story was not only accepted, but was published, with a very kind editorial notice, in which
Mr. Neal says:
" Though second to none in our admiration of Fanny
Forrester, it would be injustice not to say that " The First
Declaration" will compare, without injury, with any production of the kind that has of late adorned our periodical
literature. How it affects others we cannot tell; but it
is to us like moonlight on the flowers when the weary
day is done, or like music on the water, to meet with a
sketch so replete with playfulness, yet so delicately marked
with Coleridge's' instinct of ladyhood.' There is genius,
too, and originality in its naivete; a nice and feminine
perception of the beautiful, with an ability to portray it,
which cannot fail of its purpose whenever it is exercised."
Such commendation from such a source warS
an inspiration to the ambitious girl; and of
course tlhis contribution was followed by others,
o




50            COUSIN ALICE.
both prose and verse, many of which were kindly
alluded to by Mr. Neal in his " Notices to Correspondents."
In the course of the summer Emily left school
for her home in Hudson. There, in the autumn,
a correspondence sprung up between Mr. Neal
and herself. It originated in a request which
she made, when sending him something for his
paper, that he would be good enough to give
her his real opinion of her writings. She says
she made the request with much hesitation, and
after the letter was sent off would gladly have
recalled it. But he responded at once, and so
kindly, yet critically, that she received the best
sort of encouragement. She continued to write
freely, but did not publish every thing; indeed,
from this time Mr. Neal exercised a most friendly
supervision over her mental progress, for their
letters were soon numerous, and his were expressive of an increasing interest.
One tendency in her mind which was evident
in her writing, and for which she certainly had
singular talent, was to show up the weak points
of others, and to expose the social fictions which
she encountered in her first entrance into society.




HER f4LRRIA GB.             o
Her unlikeness in tastes and pursuits to those
with whom she associated, the admiration she
easily won, and her indifference to conventional
exactions, had the effect of calling forth some
strictures in the little town, which she met with
keen sarcasm; and she thus gathered material
for some stories, in which was the germ of the
volume she published a few years after, called
" The Gossips of Rivertown."
A story in this vein was sent to Mr. Neal
that winter, but he delayed its publication, and
used his influence to show her that she would
find the indulgence of such a spirit a bane to her
powers. She describes her usual mood from
fourteen to twenty as very morbid; and it was
not strange that a root of bitterness should take
hold in the rank growth which resulted from
the circumstances of her life. She appreciated
the kindness of the strictures made by her wise
friend; her heart taught her that she was not
elevating herself by such indulgence, and she
willingly refrained from the use of her powers
of irony and sarcasm, cultivating instead charity
toward others, pity for their faults of ignorance




62            COUSIN ALICE.
and narrowness, and a strong perception of the
good in all, of the beautiful everywhere.
It was quite a year from the time her first
story had attracted his attention, and after their
correspondence had assumed somewhat of an intimate character, that Mr. Neal was informed
of the real name of his youlg protegde. Before
this time, Emily had written to her sister of the
discomfort she was beginning to feel in her incognito. In seeking once to account for his interest in her, he had said, pleasantly, "Perhaps
your name has something to do with it. Alice
Gordon-lee sounds verv Scotch, and my mother
is a Scotchwoman, you know." That she was
awakening a personal interest could not be unfelt, and she began to wish the deception was
ended.
At this time, a young gentleman friend, a
cadet at West Point, returned to that place at
the expiration of a furlough, and wrote to Mr.
Neal to have the " Gazette " sent to him again,
saying. " It has a new charm for me now, since
I find it contains the contributions of a dear
friend, under the nom de yplzure of Alice G
Lee."  Mr. Neal was very much surprised, and




HER JIMARRIA GE.         53
wrote a witty letter to the young lady who had
so long and so successfully worn the mask.
Having made acquaintance while he was
passing through Philadelphia with Emily's brother-in-law, Mr. Richards, who was also an
editor, at the South, Mr. Neal proposed to visit
him in Hudson, where MZrs. Richards had been
spending the summer with her mother and sister. The visit was made in September, - 1846.
It resulted in a confirmation of the agreeable
impression their letters had produced; and on
his return to Philadelphia, Mr. Neal wrote, declaring his affection for the brilliant young girl,
whose ability he had admired and fostered, and
offering marriage. He was accepted, and the
wedding-day was fixed in the coming December.
As the time for the marriage drew near,
Emily was violently attacked by the disease
which had so long affected her eyes, and lay for
some time dangerously ill with erysipelas in the
head. On learning her dagger 3Mr. Neal came
to Hudson immediately, and remained with her
till she was able to leave as his wife.
From this time her eyes were quite well;
this violent manifestation of the malady ending




54           COUSIN A-LICE.
the suffering which, from the time of her third
year, had been so frequent and so unmanageable.
At last she could comprehend more nearly than
ever before "what people call health," though
she was not even now to know it always, for
from this time she became a victim to nervous
headaches, which, while she accounted them
slight suffering when compared to that she had
been accustomed to, most' persons are willing to
make an excuse for the indulgences of the in.
valid.




CHAPTER V.
THE YO U1VG WIFE.
NEW volume of the journal begins
the record of her new  life.  On
its first page is a motto  from
Burns,  whose  significance  was
made plain by the events which followed her
removal to Philadelphia.
"Who made the heart,'tis He alone
Decidedly can try us,
He knows each chord, its various tone,
Each spring, its various bias;
Then at the balance, let's be mute,
We never can adjust it,
What's done we partly may compute,
But never what's resisted."
Below  this are Mrs. Fry's rules for daily
living'
"1. Never lose any time. I do not think that lost
which is spent in amusement or recreation some time
every day; but always be in the habit of being employed.




56               COUSIN ALICEr.
" 2. Never err the least in truth.
"3. Never say an ill thing of a person when thou
canst not say a good thing of him. Not only speak char.
itably, but feel so.
" 4. Never be irritable or unkind to any one.
"5. Never indulge thyself in luxuries that are not
necessary.
" 6. Do all things with consideration; and when thy
path to right action is most difficult, feel confidence in
the Power which alone is able to assist thee, and exert
thy own powers as far as they go."
Thus did she begin to hedge up her way to
the exercise of faulty propensities, and to signify
the fresh and worthy aims of her life.
Mr. Neal was an only child, and resided with
his widowed mother. To this home he brought
his young wife, introducing her to one who was
to exert no little influence on her mind and
character.  Mrs. Neal was about seventy then;
but though her fragile form showed the infirmities of age, her dignified bearing and her clear
and vigorous intellect made it plain that such a
companion must be of unspeakable advantage to
the daughter-in-law. Scotch by birth, as her son
had said of her, her life from her early widow



TIHE; YO UNG WIFE.          5
hlood had been devoted to the rearing of her son.
For forty years she had been his best friend and
adviser. In his literary life she had kept pace
with him; she was not only at home in modern
literature, but familiar with old English and classic stores. A ripe scholar, her mind yet untouched by the blight of age, a severe yet not
unkindly critic, as elevated as she was clear and
vigorous —could the young writer have had a
better companion, or come under more favorable
influences?
It was a trying ordeal for an inexperienced
girl, such an entrance into society. Her husband's friends were naturally men and women
of cultivated and mature intellects, who had
their own misgivings of the fitness of a marriage
of such unequal ages and natures. All were
kind to the blooming girl who came like sunshine into the quiet household; all whom nature
had endowed with a perception of the trials before her, and who saw what was hidden from her
in the future.
At the request of Air. Neal, and his mother
also, " Alice " became the household name of the
bride, and known only by this in the circle of




68             CO USIN ALIC.
her new friends, and to the public, before whom
she appeared more frequently now as a writer,
her real name fell quite into disuse. She wrote
so much that first year, that then, and for some
time after, she used other cognomens for the
reading world-that of " Clara Cushman" was
almost as well known as Alice G. Lee.
It was over this signature that she -wrote a
graceful little story, called "' The Chapel Bell."
She had been saying to Mr. Neal that imitation
of the German, and indeed other foreign tongues,
was less difficult than one imagined. She fancied she could enter into the spirit of the German
at least, well enough to deceive the public. He
bade her try, and the little story which she prefaced with " Translated from the German," was
the result. How well she succeeded may be inferred from the fact, that John G. Saxe, struck
by the poetic beauty of the sketch, turned it into
rhyme, calling it " a paraphrase from the German."  He was- not aware that he was under
any illusion in regard to it, till Alice's brotherin-law called attention in his paper to the sketch
as originally published in "Neal's Gazette."  It
had then appeared in a collection of Mr. Saxe's




THlE YOU'NG  WIF'E.                9
poems, and had been pronounced by a revTiewer
the most poetical in spirit of any thing Mr. Saxe
had ever written!
The poet at once made a courteous and graceful acknowledgment to Mrs. Neal of his indebtedness to her, and subsequent editions of his
poems contain the same acknowledgment in a
note appended to the poem in question.*
This and some other things very unlike each
other in character, were written at her husband's
suggestion, that she might try her wings. He
was confident of her ability, and proud of it, and
his aim was to give it a symmetrical development
and thorough culture.
Under date of February 15th, 1847, Alice
writes in her journal:
" I know that I was born to do good, and that not in
a narrow circle. Even my husband does not understand
this ambition which fills my heart. He says,' all young
* " This ballad is a paraphrase of a beautiful prose tale written by Mrs. Alice B. Neal, and published as a translation'from
the German.' The story is so extremely' Germanesque' in its
style and spirit, that the best scholars in the country did not
suspect its American origin, till the fact was recently disclosed
by a relative of the gifted authoress."




60               COUSIN ALICE.
people are ambitious; it is characteristic of their age.'
He is mistaken, I trust. This strange impulse for,an extended sphere of action, which seems at last working to
an end, is not a childish whim. I am strong, though they
do not know it-strong alike for good or evil. It had
nearly been evil, but, thank God, that mood has departed
I am learning daily, grasping more and more that is to be
of use to me in the future: storing material for labor that
is to come."
But it was not all work and study. This
was her first experience of a life whose glimpses
heretofore had only tantalized her.  The new
world of music, opened to her in the opera and
concert-room, she entered with the zest of a
first love.  Histrionic art fascinated her.  The
brilliant conversation of the clever and cultivated friends of Mr. Neal, in which he shone so
preeminently, was always delightful to her. She
found her husband loved and honored, and her
pride as well as her love was satisfied. She
never wearied of watching the impression he
produced; her own was always of secondary
interest. He was a man of delicate mould and
organization, with sweet and noble features and
most intellectual head, fair, waving hair, and




THE YOUNG WIFE.            61
soft blue eyes. His voice was low and wellmodulated; his conversation was distinguished
by humnor rather than wit. This most winning
and amiable nature was so well understood generally, that, though for thirteen years the editor
of a leading daily political paper, he might be
said to Oe without an enemy in the world! The
lash which he was so capable of using, was applied with such dexterity and rare judgment,
that those who suffered were at the same time
shown their error, and compelled to acknowledge
that justice had overtaken them. His heart always held his pen on the line where judgment
and mercy met.
He was, as before their marriage, Alice's.
most competent teacher, and best intellectual
guide. Her appreciation of this, and her acknowledgment during all her life of her indebtedness to him, made a tie between them as
strong and beautiful as the romance of their love.
She bent herself to improvement with all assiduity, now that opportunity was so rich for it.
In character her gain was as great as the development was rapid.  She combated diligently




62              COUSIN ALICE.
with faults, the result of nature, and the growth
of her girlhood's suffering.  She writes:
"IMy besetting sins now are indolence and irresolution.'I will do so much to-morrow, or next week.'
To-morrow comes and is gone; week after week passes,
ald I am planning rather than executing. My bane has
always been a consciousness of ability, and impatience of
feeble results. Thus I am easily discouraged and despondent, What I have done is a small part of what I
can do."
When they had been married three or four
months Mr. Neal had a peculiar illness, resembling brain fever.  There was always danger
with him, from his delicate physical organization.
of brain trouble, the mental development being
very disproportionate. From the prostration of
the fever he recovered; and though to the casual,acquaintance he seemed quite well again, yet
the balance was never restored. On some subjects a settled mania continued, and there were
intervals when reason was quite unseated.
How Alice bore herself in this terrible trial,
must be gathered from two record;s —one made
in her journal, and the other in a note addressed




THE YO UNG  WIFE.                63
by Mr. Neal to her sister, under date of Mray
13th. She writes:
" My journal has always been a solace; may it be so
now, for truly I have need of a comforter. When I commenced this volume I was full of hope; a new day, the
brightest of my life, was dawning. Now it would seem
as though hope had forever left me.  My husband is, I
fear, incurably insane; a fate more terrible than my
imagination could have pictured. God only knows what
he is suffering. I, his wife, who am with him night and
day, cannot tell a tithe of the agony which makes him
weary of life.
"' It is hard to leave you, my own Alice,' he says;' I
dare not think of the parting with my poor mother. Yet
would that I might end my despair; would that I could
sleep in peace.'
" And then he reproaches himself for bringing me
from a happy home to a scene of so much present and
future misery. In vain I tell him that I have strength'to hope all things, suffer'all things;' that I know he
will recover.'Every dark cloud has its silver lining,' I
say. This is, perhaps, but the shadow of that dreaded'first year,' of which we often spoke.' Poor child,' he replies;' would to heaven it were
so for your sake and my poor mother's. Oh, Alice, that
you should love me so well! Promise me the day shall
never come when you will curse my memory, when you
will say, " he was the destroyer of my peace."'




64               CO USIN.ALICE.
" My husband! would to God that I could die foi
thee! Perhaps I do not know my own heart, but now I
feel sure that I could die calmly and happily, did I know
that my death would restore to him health and happiness.
"Most terrible of all-none but myself know the
fatal secret. I must bear my fear and its anguish alone.
"I knew I was too happy-that some fearful gloom
was hanging over that bridal-even though my heart
fainted with excess of joy.
" I will try to banish this fear. It may be that we
are both deceived; that my husband will yet be restored
to me.
"'Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.'"
In the note to his sister-in-law, Mr. Neal
writes:
"I intend this missive as a humble companion to the
more extended remarks and observations of my good and
dear Alice, wishing to say to you that she makes the best
of wives, and especially as regards good temper, an accommodating spirit, and very great forbearance, which
perhaps may a little surprise you, as she has been terri
bly tried by my affliction, which has been a long, pro
tracted illness of a singular character. Give her credit,
then, as I do, for the exercise of the most Christian virtues, and love her more for the bright traits of character
which trial has educed, perhaps as much to her own sur
prise as to the gratification of others."




THE YOUNG WVIFE.           65
Two or three months more went by, and the
troubled spirit of Joseph C. Neal was at rest. He
died suddenly, and just as his friends, and even
himself, had begun to hope that the cloud might
be lifted, and his mind restored to perfect serenity. He was quite conscious of his condition
during intervals of more or less length; and, as
the preceding extracts have shown, talked of it
with his wife, and understood and loved her the
more tenderly for the strength and deepening
love which his situation created in her.
But at last the silver cord was loosed; the
beautiful mind was no more shrouded in the
clouds which the suffering body cast over it, and
the gentle and loving heart lost its pain as it
grew cold in death.
The aged mother lost the object of a life's
devotion; the young wife, one whom she reverenced and loved with the fervor and romance of
her age and nature. They clasped their arms
about each other, and resolved henceforth to
abide together in the home made sacred to both
by the memories of their beloved. In their
agony they were yet not uncomforted. for it




66           CO USIN ALICE.
had been made plain to them that his life would
never again be unclouded, and they knew the
time might come when they would both covet
for him the repose of the grave.




CHAPTER VI.
THTE FIRST YEAR O  WIDOWHOOD.
HERE is no record immediately following Mr. Neal's death.  Alice
was long recovering from the shock.
The strain upon her nervous system could not but be severely felt for many
months, and the bewildering effects of her sudden bereavement were almost paralyzing. But
the record made on her next birthday will tell
the story better:
"SEPT. 18TH, 1847.
"My twentieth birthday, so long looked forward to,
finds me a childless widow. It is nearly two months
since my poor husband was laid at rest, free from mental
suffering! free from fear of death!' He may not come
to me, but I shall go to him.'
"Thanks and great glory to the Heavenly Father,




68               CO USIN ALICE.
who has given me strength to bear the sharp and won
derful trials of the past year; who has given me peace
of mind and resignation under this severest of earthly afflictions. I, too, should have gone mad if I could not
have prayed, if I had not the knowledge that He orders
all things for my good. There seems to be a direct message from Him, to tell me that henceforth my life must
be devoted to IIis service.
"A few days after my husband's death, I entered the
little study where we had so often read together. The
Life of Madame Guyon was lying on the table. Scarce
knowing what I did, I opened it, as the thought came to
me that this was the last book he had spoken to me about.
We were, I am grieved to say it, laughing at what we
thought her fanaticism, as it regarded her faith in special
interpositions of Providence in her behalf.
"How kindly, yet how terribly, was God about to
manifest the truth of this to me!
"' I opened the book at random, and my eyes fell upon
a passage that described my feelings exactly. I felt in an
instant that I was directed to its reading, and I prayed
that God would receive me as His child, and from that
moment would mould me to His will. I remembered
that it was just a year from the hour when I had made a
similar prayer and resolve. Then I had just heard of
my poor Louise's death, my first great earthly loss. I
do think that God has had me in His special keeping
since that time  I have been led away from my resolve
by my peculiar position during the past winter, and




THE FIRST YEA]R OF WTIDOWHOOD.   69
have forgotten to love Him, in my absorbing affection
for my husband. But He is long-suffering and willing
to forgive.' Whom He loveth He chasteneth, and scourgeth every one wohom He receiveth.' I have been bitterly
scourged and chastened; but once more I thank Thee,
Oh my Father, that Thou hast made me to love Thee,
and to praise Thee for it forever.
"I have so many kind friends who love me for my
husband's sake, I am not left destitute and dependent.
I have health, strength, and energy to fill the position assigned to me. I am daily fulfilling my husband's dearest
wishes, doing all in my power to comfort his mother.
Would that I could do more to fill his place! and his
cherished projects will be carried out through my aid.
HIis name will live, his example will guide me."
"-    IlOTEL, NEW YORK, Sept. 15th.
" How great a change has the last year wrought in
me! How much of life was crowded in its span! I have
stood this day upon the spot where he first kissed me in
acknowledgment of our betrothal. I sat long upon the
seat to which he led me, and where he placed this ring
upon my finger to link me to himself. One year ago today, I met him for the first time, face to face. We parted
as we met, each heart filled with unacknowledged affection. Two months from that time, I was here again. 1
twas his wife. Now I sit here alone and sorrowful; he is
laid in his grave, and my bridal dress is exchanged for the
garb of the widow."




70            COUSIN ALICE.
When MIrs. Neal returned to Philadelphia,
it was to begin a life of earnest and self-denying
effort. /Mr. Neal's property was embarked in
the paper upon which he was engaged. This
investment his wife preferred to retain, and she
became one of the editors of the paper. Before
this she had written editorials under her husband's eye; now she was to act alone. Certain
departments were assigned to her, and one she
almost created in its freshened beauty and value.
The juvenile department, called "'The Bird's
Nest," had many sweet voices issuing from it
besides that of "Cousin Alice," as Mrs. Neal
called herself when writing for children.
Some of the best female writers of the day
contributed to the paper. Many of them had
begun to do so before the death of Mir. Neal;
others were interested in the efforts made by the
young widow to sustain the reputation of the
Gazette in all points where she could, and they
gladly gave her all the aid in their power. Fanny
Forrester was no longer in this country, having
been married the year before "Alice Lee" became Alice Neal; but "Grace Greenwood,"
who vas then mnaking her fame, "Edith May,"




THE FIRST YEA]R OF WIDOWHOOD.   71
"Estelle," Mrs. Eames, Caroline May, of New
York, the Tuthills, mother and daughters, of
Princeton. and others, some of whom have
ended their career in the literary world, and
some departed this life for a better, were the
friends and co-laborers of Mrs. Neal. Their
friendship encouraged her in many an hour of
despondency, and when she felt the burden beyond her strength, their aid was given lovingly
and generously.
In " The Bird's Nest," several young writers
first dared to let the world hear of them; and
some who are now full fledged, were then encouraged and borne up by the unaffected interest of Alice Neal. She became the personal
friend of many a timid young debutante, who
little dreamed that the warm sympathy she received came from one who was little in advance
of her in age.
There was an unusual maturity in what Mrs.
Neal wrote at this time, both in her prose and
verse. A poem called "The Blind," was commended, for its uncommon dramatic power, by
some of the best critics of verse; and if "poets
learn in suffering what they teach in song," it




72               COUSIN ALICE.
might well have had a startling force and depth.
Her youth was almost lost sight of in her position; but this did not expose her literary efforts
to unkindly judgment, and her successes were
numerous and gratifying.
During all the excitement of this career, on
-which she had entered with her whole- energy,
and which was at once so brilliant and so trying
to one of her nature and age, Alice never lost
sight of her noblest ambition. There was nothing
so fascinated her as the brilliant social life that
wooed her with its enticements, but there was
nothing satisfying to her in this, and no praise
yet touched in her the spring which could overflow her soul with peace. During the autumn
she writes in her journal:
"I am strongly acted upon by external influences,
moved by the emotions of those with whom I converse,
by word or in books. I have been reading this morning
the life of Elizabeth Fry, a great and good woman.
There comes to me again the feeling which has haunted
me from my earliest childhood, that I am being moulded
for some noble and holy mission; that I have passed
through the sea of sorrow and suffering, that my feet may
be more firm upon the dry land.
" God has been leading me from the moment of my




THE FIRST YEAR OF WVIDOWHOOD.    73
birth; He has given me talents and placed me in a position for their rapid and judicious cultivation. I passed
years burdened with ill health, and in uncongenial surroundings.'The blind has' again'received sight,' and
health is added to an other blessings. I yearned to be
loved, and He gave me the affection of a noble and generous heart, the unreserved teaching and confidence of
one whose nature was unselfish and pure-wise as the
serpent, harmless as the dove. I wished for literary distinction, and even now, while I am scarce a woman, my
name is beginning to be heard.
" IHe has kindly shown me the emptiness of this world's
praise, its treachery, and its deceitfulness. He removed
from me my husband, yet softened the chastisement with
so much mercy, that murmurs died upon my lips, and
were turned to praise for His infinite goodness.  He was
a father to the fatherless. He has been my support and
trust in my early and lonely widowhood.
"I have felt very humble and grateful this morning
in recounting all this, and it has seemed to me that I
could yield my whole being into His hands to be moulded
by Him. I have tried to pray in truth, that He would
receive me as a servant to do His pleasure. Yet I know
that much of this emotion is simply the enthusiasm of my
nature, and that soon, perhaps to-morrow, I shall again
be yielding to pleasure and ambition. I dare not make a
resolution, I have so often broken the most solemn; but
I do pray most humbly that He will assist me in my
struggle to learn and to perform my duty.
4




74              CO USIN ALICE.
"I know that I am surrounded by temptations on aL.
sides; my youth, my position, and my ambition for a
brilliant life, will be constantly leading me away. I do
not strive sufficiently to learn the right, or to fix and
confirm the basis of my Christian belief. I do not feel
that emotion which others describe as love to God and
my Saviour. I am too selfish in my life and in my prayers. These are confined to my own welfare and that of
my dearest friends. I do not feel, with the intensity
which the subject demands, the situation of those who
are without Christ, and the hope of life eternal.
" I am wavering in my resolutions to do right, and
am too easily led by others. I am vain-vain of personal
attractions and mental endowments. I am given to exaggeration, and have not a sufficient perception of the
beauty and holiness of truth. My vanity not only fills
my mind with trifling thoughts, but gives me a love of
display and of universal admiration. For a time at least
let my diary be a beacon, by a weekly record of my
shortcomings in my attempts to serve my Heavenly
Father. In His strength, and not in my own, I would
begin this new life."
Some weeks later there is another indication
of her struggle with a fault which she had in
common with most persons of a vivid imagination.  Her enthusiasm aided her imagination in
the coloring she would give in her conversation.




THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOW[HOOD.    75
She sometimes saw things, she says, as she would
like to see them; "and it was very difficult to
look so steadfastly that the iris-hues would disappear, leaving only the white light of truth."
To correct this tendency, she strove against the
ardor of her nature, encouraging any thing that
dampened it-welcoming rebuffs even, and refraining from murmuring when humiliations
came, as come they do to all who are prominent
in society, and especially before the public eye.
Her demerits were never long out of her mind;
and the reviews she constantly makes of her
conduct, and of her motives, could not fail to
give her a wholesome self-knowledge, by which
she laid the foundation for the superstructure of
character which made her later years eminent.
She says, under date of Oct. 10th:
" No record last week. It had, as usual, much to be
repented of, and I gained very little, only I hope I am
getting a greater regard for truth, for my conscience
checks me, even at the shadow of its oppcsite. Still I
romance a great deal.
"Let it be my care, if ever I have children to train,
that they are not led into deceit through fear, as I was
at one period of my life; and may I never let them know
that I think the thing possible. Little liar! How often




76               CO USIV ALICE.
do we hear the expression without reflecting on its consequences."
Afterwards she writes:
"The sermon this morning was upon'the love of
God.' That is what I do not feel.
"' R.,' said I, as we came home from church,' can
you understand the meaning of love to God?'
"'  I can,' he said.
"'Well, do you think you love God?'
"'I do,' was his earnest reply.
" Now, what can be the emotion?  I am thankful to
my Father in heaven for His daily mercies. I try to yield
my will to His. I ask, when I pray, that He will make
me love Him, and do all my duty by Him. But there is
something to which I cannot attain. It has been the
enigma of my life; and when I once feel a devoted love
to God, and to His Son Jesus Christ, then I shall cease to
doubt that I am His child."
This record is followed, as are many others
through all her later journals, by a written
prayer. In this instance the petition is for humility, patience, content, wisdom, and perfect
sincerity. The simplicity, earnestness, and directness of these forms, which, she says, she found
of great service, and used from  time to time,
though she generally uttered a Spontaneous




THE FIR S T YEA R OF WI 0 DOWHOOD.    7
and extemporaneous prayer, are very marked.
She was certainly learning to pray in the way
in which she many years after directed a servant.
She said then:
" Those who desire to pray acceptably,. sometimes feel
very unhappy because their prayers are not long enough.
We must make it familiar to us, for without the help of
God we are every hour in danger. Those who desire
much, pray for much: those who are years uttering the
petition,' that which I see not, teach thou me,' see their
need of many things which are still hidden from you.
See that your prayers are sincere, rather than lengthy,
and as frequent as may be. Some force you must use
toward natural inclination, for that is not to pray at all;
and blessed will you be when you have learned to be
much in prayer."
This was her course from the time she began
in tile darkness in which she now found herself,
to feel her way to the Light. That she stumbled much was not strange; that sometimes the
thick darkness appalled and discouraged her,
was not to be wondered at; that the inconsistencies of her inner and outer life humiliated her
continually, was only to be expected.
On December 12th, her wedding-day anniversary, she writes:




'78              COUSIN ALICE.
" The dreaded' first year!' how often we thoughtlessly used the expression, ends to-day. This was the
anniversary that was to have been a joy to us both, that
was to have been kept' withfeasting and gladness.' The
first year of marriage would be passed: we should have
had time to study each other's character, to appreciate
worth, to correct deficiencies. After this we were to be
happy forevermore-no clouds in our domestic horizon,
no discords in our harmony. One year ago I became a
wife-still a child in years and knowledge.
" I think a vague presentiment of evil haunted me
from our first meeting. I see it as I read over our letters.
I recall my emotions when married scarcely two months.
I wrote in this volume a prophecy of the struggle I am
now undergoing. Little did we think, as I read it over
to him, how terrible the reality would be.' You are a
good child, Alice,' he said.  I have just read a precious
letter, in which he wrote,'death alone part thee and
me.' The parting came too soon. God only knows why
we were deprived of the happiness looked forward to by
us both. If it is that my life should be dedicated to His
service, I pray to be content, and for strength to bear the
trials I am, and constantly shall be, subjected to."
These trials were sharp indeed; the record
of them shows how thorny her life had become
as soon as she stood alone, unguided and unguarded. It might well awaken questions of the




THE FIRST YEAR OF WIDOWHOOD.  79
purpose God had in view in leading her through
these rough ways. To those who knew her in
her later years, it was made plain; to her it was
mysterious, except as she saw in it the loosening
of her hold on the world.




CHAPTER V'II.
ERE STR UGGLE.
HE so often alludes to the struggle
she was going through, that it may
be as well to define it a little more
clearly. She was very young for
the place she held before the world, very inexperienced, and considered very charming. Her
personal attractions and her conversational ability have already been described: the interest of
these was heightened by the romance of the
events which had given her her position. There
was a rare maturity about her, tthe result of uncommon ability and insight; but her tempta
tions, so fully set forth in her own language,
brought snares to her path, which only more
than mortal foresight and prudence could render
harmless.




HRR STRUGGLE.                 81
A  gentleman who was one of Mr. Neal's
partners, and who was engaged with her in the
settlement of her husband's affairs, an astute
man of the world, said afterwards in speaking
of their connection:
" Alice Neal was the most remarkable woman I ever
met. Young girl as she was at that time, she comprehended the business details laid before her, and showed
a judgment in regard to them which no other woman I
ever knew could have shown-I might almost say at any
age. She was a match for that proverbially close-dealing
man,'a Philadelphia lawyer.' She would have made an
admirable lawyer herself."
Notwithstanding the impression made by her
clear, strong mind, it was inevitable that youth
and inexperience should make some grievous
mistakes; but taking counsel in all things of her
husband's mother, and regarding as paramount
to every thing her husband's interests and reputation, she was able to show much wisdom and
judgment in the administration of his affairs.
Upon her fair young shoulders came the burden
which had fallen from his.  Her friends looked
on in astonishment that she did not sink beneath
it. In her need she rallied all the strength she
4*




82              COUSIN ALICE.
was conscious of possessing; and those who
looked to see her faint and fail beneath accumulated difficulties, saw instead the resolute opposition to every encroachment of despair, the
steadfast determination, based in her simple reliance upon the source of all strength and courage,
"to endure unto the end," and accomplish the
work that was given her to do.
No words could do more justice to the principles which were now so plainly operating on
her daily life, than those which we quote from
an article written by one who knew her as inmately as a person can be known, reviewing the
course of a life so beneficent in its results.
"Few even of those who knew her intimately, comn
prehended the trials and struggles, the privations and
temptations which she met and overcame. The natural
tendency of her temperament was ease-loving and selfindulgent. She had a keen enjoyment of all beautiful
and luxurious things, a taste for social pleasures, and a
perfectly natural consciousness of the admiration which
her beauty and vivacity never failed to elicit. Yet with
all this, to tempt her away from the path of self-denial
and sacrifice which she had chosen, the instances in
which she swerved from it are few and far between;
while the records of her self-forgetting labors for others




HER STRUGGLE                   83
come in troops. That one and another might be supplied
with needed comforts, she denied herself every thing but
the simplest necessaries, and much that would have been
considered indispensable by a majority of judges. Her
dress, her table, the furnishing of her house, every personal surrounding, evinced the same principle of economy
in opposition to natural tastes; but in spite of the rigid
simplicity enforced, there was about all an air of grace
and refinement, which was perfectly inseparable from
her, and with which every thing she touched was at once
invested.
" This subtle attribute was one of her chief charms:
those who knew her sufficiently to appreciate the delicate shades of her character, will recognize it readily,
and remember how all-pervading it was."
There are many who will recall with pleasure the rooms in their house in Seventh street,
where assembled from time to time her husband's friends and her own, and her admirers.
for some there were whose professions of admiration had little of friendship in them, as we,
shall see.
In the drawing-room, at the window-farthest
from the entrance, was seated Mr. Neal's mother;
after a certain hour in the morning that highbacked, morocco-covered easy chair was rarely




84            COUSIN ALICE.
vacant. Beside her on the deep window seat,
and about her on chairs and small tables, were
the latest papers and reviews, American and
foreign, giving this remarkable old lady intelligence of a world in which her interest was as
fresh as it had been fifty years before.  The
Italian clock on the table kept no better time
than Mrs. Neal in her daily routine, nor to the
casual visitor seemed more mechanical. But a
quick eye and a fine sense of propriety lay beneath this calm demeanor, and nothing that occurred was lost upon her, as Alice flitted about,
or her visitors came in and went out.
There were pictures on the walls, books and
pictures on the tables, an open piano, a shaded
lamp-everywhere articles of virtu, in keeping
with the tastes and pursuits of the two ladies,
and the marked individual air which their surroundings always possessed.
Opening from this large room was a smaller
one-the attractive library and study, with its
rows of choice books on the shelves, occupying
one side of the room, the etagere also filled with
books, but crowned by a tiny work basket, showing that the habitual occupant of the room was




HER STRUGGLE.             85
a woman, and a disposition of easy chairs and
hassocks, which was always inviting. The papers on the table beside the open desk were always in the nicest order; the weights and clasps
everywhere about the room held no ill-assorted
and carelessly-arranged treasures; every thing
was exquisitely neat and truly feminine. A few
pictures and ornaments were gracefully disposed
about the apartment, a vase of flowers usually
found place on some table or stand; but the
room took its character from its book shelves,
and its occupant, who sat writing generally on a
little footstool, her portfolio in her lap, and her
Bible on the chair beside her, indicating to a
close observer what always preceded her morning's work.
Miss Leslie, whose fame was of years' standing, was a very sincere friend of the young
writer, giving her always the advantage of her
experience and shrewd observation. It was an
event in Alice's life when she made the acquaintance of the author of "The Atlantic
Tales," which had been one of the favorite books
of her childhood. A clear-sighted and societytrained old lady as she was. Miss Leslie, with




86             COUSIN ALICE.
her keen insight and her wise counsels, was a
friend with whom intercourse never lost its zest
for Alice. Years of life abroad, association with
eminent literary persons and artists in England
and in this country, the artistic training which
Charles Leslie's sister would be likely to have,
the philosophical development which was the
natural tendency of her mind, and which the
sister-in-law of Henry Carey had opportunity
to cultivate, combined with her native shrewdness to make Miss Leslie's friendship an untold
advantage to one who was finding material for
her work in the same channels, though using it
so differently. Mr. Careyv, of whom we have
spoken, was very kind to the young aspirant;
Dr. John Hart, a fine scholar and good critic,
admired and praised her; Mrs. Peters, the accomplished wife of the British Consul, a lady of
taste, culture, literary association, and social
preeminence, served her with friendship and
warm interest; indeed all were her friends, in
the literary circles of the city, who were capable
of appreciative and disinterested friendship.
But there was a shaded side to this fair picture. That Alice Neal was young and admired,




HER STRUGGLE.              87
was enough to make the malignant and envious
critical. Her success was bitter to some-the
admiration she excited in society, to others.
There were plenty who would flatter her, and
malign her with equal fervor, and she had, in
her inexperience, no test by which to try them.
There were some who were older adepts in social
life, who appealed to her love of pleasure, and
lured her by temptations to frivolity, that.they
might gratify their own contemptible baseness
of nature, which would have looked coolly, if
not complacently, on the havoc they might have
made with her happiness or reputation.
She frequently visited New York, where her
only brother now resided, and became acquainted while there with Miss Lynch, Ann S. Stephens, Mrs. Seba Smith, and others belonging
to the literary cliques which these writers represented. Such associations with those to whom,
as a school-girl, she had looked up with the deference their genius inspired, was perfectly delightful to her. The excitement of these visits
was great, and to her youth, and the self-enforced
severity of her life, not always wholesome.
In one of these visits she overheard, at a social




88            COUSIN ALICE.
party, a remark which opened her eyes to the
baseness from which a love of gossip springs, and
to which it leads. Her own name was used in
a manner which startled and wounded her. In
the strength of the pain she suffered, she at once
resolved to court an investigation, which should
enable her to define her position, secure her
standing, and sustain herself. The record of her
conversations with those whom she had considered her friends, is most pathetic, when we remember that a young, warm-hearted woman,
almost a child still, had thus to take up her own
cause. She traced the falsehoods to their sources;
in some cases it was to remarks made about her
by those in whose protestations of friendship she
had trusted, and to whom she had yielded her
confidence. In a conversation of some hours
with such a person, who finally dropped the veil
and allowed herself to be seen in her true colors,
Alice learned unsuspected lessons of life, and the
vanity of social distinctions and professions. She
saw how treacherous had been the quicksands
which, in her ignorance, she had mistaken for
the solid land, and how narrow her escape, which
she regarded with unfeigned thankfulness. This




HER STRUGGLE.             89
most prominent failure was not the only one she
had to face; and she might have been sick at
heart, with all her philosophy and courage, if
some had not borne the ordeal and proved themselves true and noble. But it would seem from
the record, though Alice herself left the impression unwillingly or unconsciously, that some of
these even had been wanting in the moral courage, which is one of the most prominent elements of a worthy friendship.
It is a matter of wonder to all true-hearted
people, how a friend can see another, whom she
might influence and guide, to whom her wisdom
and experience would be untold treasures, drifting on the rocks that lie unsuspected beneath the
smiling sunshine, and in the summer seas. If
the whole story of this period of trial could be
given in the simple and touching words in which
Alice has recorded it-" for a beacon," she says,
" to myself "-it would be a potent rebuke to
the selfish and cold-hearted, no less than to the
false and malignant. The world is full of those
whose calm natures and narrow souls are never
tempted over the line of propriety, and whose
sharp eyes are ready to detect the first footstep




90            COUNI1, ALICE.
beyond it, while their souls are filled with a virtuous indignation, " which points the moral and
adorns the tale," with which they are so ready.
They forget the new commandments our Saviour
gave, and remember only the severity of the law
which has appalled them into virtuous lives.
Loyalty, tenderness, and charity are as unknown
to them as the propensities which they criticize
with so much zest.
And, besides these virtuous souls, are the inefficient who shrink from the exertion, the cautious who will not interfere, or are afraid to
commit themselves by counsel; and those of
still colder natures, who watch with curious eyes
the mental and moral processes they do not care
to interrupt. Alice, earnest, ardent, courageous,
and demonstrative, was a fine subject for such
critical review and examination.
She shrunk from no test, however painful, in
the search for truth upon which she had entered.
It cost her her trust in some whom, in her ignorance of their nature, she had counted friends. It
cost her an agony of anxious effort and suspense,
and an amount of courage which proved the sincerity of her purpose. It cost her humiliation




HER STRUGGLE.              91
and heart-sinking, but it brought her treasures,
wisdom that one can only learn after such expenditure; a knowledge of human nature, which
is only acquired by such opportunities; a power
of self-restraint, which brought back some of the
reserve of her younger years; and some friends,
whom she could henceforth trust through all her
life, however varied its course.
She saw how she had been misled by the
ignis fatuus of worldly friendships, how she had
mistaken flattery for appreciation, professions for
worth and honor; she saw herself misrepresented and blamed where she knew her motives had
been pure and worthy, for her very good was
evil-spoken of, and a weaker nature would have
succumbed to the fierceness of the attack.
But to her this was a seed-sowing from which
the world reaped a harvest of sweet counsel, and
a wisdom divine in its charity. Well might she
say of herself, that she passed through deep waters, that her feet might be firm upon the dry
land.
" ever," she writes, "was the goodness of God more
manifest in all the dealings which my life shows. It was
tery hard; no one can ever know what I suffered. I saw




92                COUSIN ALICE.
how a careless word or action had sufficed for a foundation for their ill report; how often, in the simple consciousness of my integrity, I had been rash, and had
so appeared defiant in action; how my vanity had sometimes betrayed me; and my very freedom from the faults
I encountered in others, had made me as unguarded as I
was unsuspicious. Conventionalities often originate in
narrowness and pettiness, but they are respectable as
safeguards. I have learned to hold these at their true
value in losing much simple faith. I understand, however, these lines in' The Lost Bower':'Some respect to social fictions
Hath been also lost by me;
And some generous genufiexions,
Which my spirit offered free,
To the pleasant old conventions of our false Humanity.'"
In her journal, under date of July 9th, 1848,
she writes:
I" As this is the Sunday preceding the solemn anniversary of my husband's death, and, as I solemnly trust, of
my spiritual birth, I have resolved to commence a review
of my first year of widowhood, knowing no fitter preparation for that sad day of fasting and of prayer. I
know the record will convict me of much that will be
bitter in recollection, as well as wrong in commission.
"First, with regard to my spiritual progress: let me
look back and trace from the hour of my renewed dedi



HER STRUGGLE.                  93
cation to God, all that has had any influence on my profession as a Christian.
"At first there was a constant struggle with fearful
recollections of the past, anxieties for the future, and present suffering. I depended too little on the grace of God,
too much on my individual strength."
Then with a review of some of the trials which
have been recorded, she says:
"And so I prayed for true friends, and in answer to
my prayer I found Mrs. T. and her daughters, who have
been my best help in my religious life, who have counselled, warned, and comforted me. Mrs. 1. has done
battle for me with some disposed to be malignant, and
Mr. and Mrs. P. have told me of my faults and given me a
sister's care.
"Early in the spring I paid brother a visit. Once
more I grew heedless and thoughtless. It was in Lent
when I had solemn thoughts with regard to my duty of
joining the visible Church of Christ. I could not feel
that I was a Christian, although I was trying to act
rightly; but I tried feebly, and I could not resolve to
give up the pomp and vanity of the world.
" At the commencement of Lent, my friend -C. T.
passed a morning in my study. She spoke to me of my
many temptations, and asked my conscience if I would
not be safer in the church. I had no acquaintance with
my rector, and no acquaintances with the exception of




94               COUSIN ALICE.
my friend's family, who could at all encourage me in'well doing.' I listened in silence, but resolved the next
day to discover myself to Mr. Odenheirner, the Rector of
St. Peter's, where I had attended church since Joseph's
death.
"On that day, after the homily had been read, I lingered in the pew, while a sense of suffocation came over
me. I saw an acquaintance cross the church, and speak
to Mr. Odenheimer; with sudden resolution I joined
them.  Our rector smiled pleasantly as I approached,
and seemed surprised when he found that Mrs. Neal was
before him.
"I told him all. I poured out my doubts and my
wishes. He listened kindly and attentively; he'did not
wish me to enter the Episcopal Church, unless I was fully
decided in all points of its faith,' and he encouraged me
to go on in'well doing.' The worst effect of the morning's conversation was that my vanity was stimulated. I
began to think that I was doing well, and it made me resolve to pray against vain glory.
"In the winter, when first praying to know my work
in the vineyard, an opportunity offered for me to take a
Bible class in a Moyamensing Mission School. The girls
were from a lower class in society, profoundly ignorant,
and I should even have said uninteresting. Gradually I
came to love them, and to look forward to meeting them
weekly with pleasure. I have them still under my charge,
but I sometimes fear that I am a blind leader of the blind.




HER STRUGGLE.                  95
For those I pray that I may be able to watch for their
souls, as one who must give account. God grant that it
be not a fearful rendering."
And here comes the sharp introspection which
followed a second visit to New York that year,
the memorable visit which has been spoken of.
In finishing her account of the ordeal she passed
through, she says:
". I consider that God is answering my prayer for humility, but in a way that I had not expected.
" On the whole, I trace a little improvement; I humbly acknowledge my backslidings, with much neglect of
duty; and I confess that wherein I have attained, it has
been in the Divine strength."
She records a visit paid by Mr. Neal's mother,
his cousin, and herself, to her husband's grave at
Laurel Hill, and says:
"So ends the anniversary of Joseph's death. The
first milestone of my life is left behind. I am thankful
for the pause beside it, for the struggle of the year, and
for the calm which it has brought. May this coming
year have a better record.
"Lead me not into temptation,
But deliver me from evil."




CHAPTER VIII.
TEE TENOR OtF HER IMFE IN PHILADELPHIA.
X, iN the autumn of 1848 Alice Neal again
visited New York.  She speaks of
meeting many of the literary people
with whom she had had so much
agreeable intercourse in the spring. But she
was becoming disenchanted, learning to distinguish true from false friends, and to estimate
rightly the meretricious brilliancy of much of
the social life which had been so fascinating to
her, when it terminated the vista into which her
girlhood had looked.
Some of the friends made during this year
were friends for lifetime; they were those
whose Christian principles made them not " of
the world " in which they moved. There was




TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 97
already visible in Alice the ennobling influence
of her new life; and she now began to interest
and attract those who recognized her earnestness, and her serious idea of life, about which
were twining the graces of a religious character.
One dear friend, whose letters she kept very
choicely, and whose gift of a ".Bogatsky " she
gratefully acknowledges, was of service to her in
many ways; her very life of devotedness, of the
sublimest self-sacrifice, of cheerfulness under the
sharpest trials, and courage when the unaided
human spirit would inevitably have given way,
and trailed its pinions in the dust; all this was to
Alice's sympathizing and appreciative nature a
lesson of might, and strengthening, reminding her
that she, too, "might make her life sublime."
She often said, when speaking with those who
knew the recesses of this strong, rich inner life,
that she could not fitly express her acknowledgment to that friend who so unconsciously taught
and so nobly enforced her lessons.
In the latter part of the year, learning that
some near and beloved friends and relations were
going to California, then a new world, where
life was beset with perils, she went over to New
5




98            CO USIN ALICE.
York to give them  "bon voyage," and up to
Hudson in a violent snow storm, because she
thought she might be some comfort to those left
alone by this departure. It was her peculiarity,
that though very sensitive to weather-changes,
and feeling intensely and pervadingly the influence of the sullen or the stormy east wind, or
the despondency brought by the warm southwest, she was never deterred by fierce wind, or
driving storm, from the accomplishment of any
purpose which she might have in her mind.
Indeed, when the violence of the weather
amounted to an obstacle, it was sure to rouse in
her those qualities with which she was always
ready to confront " the lion in her path."
The principle of duty was coming now to be
the spur of her life, and it made her indomitable.
The records of the resolute manner in which she
henceforth performed all duties, especially those
toward the sorrowing and comfortless, would fill
this volume, if such a record had been kept.
But little is known of this, except such instances
as abide in the hearts of those she served, or in
the memories of those to whom accident revealed
the secrets of a life " spent in bearing the bur



TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 99
dens of others." Her journal has rarely even a
casual mention of such service. As an intimate
friend said of her years after —" the right hand
could not know what the left was doing," so delicately and privately were her self-denials, sacrifices, and charities performed.
It was while she was in New York, at this
time, that she made the acquaintance of Mr.
Haven, in whom she became interested, at first,
from the circumstance that he also was just leaving for California. He was at once one of her
admirers; but this was not noticeable, for these
seemed to spring up in troops wherever she
alighted. But before he sailed, the acquaintance had taken a warmer character, and she had
been induced to partially respond to his feeling,
and to give him a promise to correspond with
him while he should remain in California. He
was not a religious man, and her gift to him at
parting of a well-marked Bible, was very characteristic.
The engagement into which they entered
was so partial, and so entirely private, that she
returned to Philadelphia, and her life went on




100              COUSIN ALICE.
as before, this interest sending no visible ripple
over its surface.
Soon after this, Read the artist was engaged
to illustrate a volume of " Female Prose Writers," which Professor Hart was to edit. A crayon
drawing was made of Alice, which was engraved
in London, and which, with others, adorns that
volume. It is an idealized picture, but to those
who saw the spiritual lineaments, the most satisfactory picture that is left of her.
In speaking of her in this volume, Professor
hart says, in reference to her life with her husband's mother:
"To this excellent woman, now seventy-two years of
age, with a filial love like that of Ruth to Naomi, she
has said,' I will never leave thee nor forsalce thee.' Since
the death of Mr. Neal, the two ladies have continued to
live together, the younger gracefully acknowledging the
rich stores of experience, the varied reading, the fine
tastes, and judicious counsels of her aged companion,
which have more than compensated for her own more
active exertions.
" Mrs. Neal is one of our youngest writers, and what
is of most favorable omen, shows, in her writings, constant signs of improvement. In the language of a contemporary critic, who writes on this subject con amore,




TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 101
and whose opinion we make our own,' Her poetry has
more maturity than her prose, for the gift of song comes
to the bard as to the bird, direct from heaven. Polish
and metrical correctness may be added to genuine poetry,
but it is doubtful whether the fount be not as pure and
sparkling at its first gush, as when quietly flowing on in
a deeper stream. Mrs. Neal's prose contributions are
continually improving, and the knowledge which, with
uncommon industry, she is constantly acquiring, will enlarge her sphere of thought and illustration; and better
yet, the religious tenor of her writings shows she is
guarded by principle, which will strengthen her intellect,
and make her in after years an ornament and a blessing
to our land.'"
The reference made by the Professor to the
relation existing between Mrs. Neal and herself,
is gracefully alluded to in a sonnet which she
used as a dedication to the book, bearing the
title of " The Gossips of Rivertown." This was
in two volumes, and the second was chiefly composed of stories and poems-the only collection
of the kind she ever made, though she might
have filled many volumes in this way.
"The Gossips of Rivertown" is the only
book she could ever wish nnpublished. The
feeling in which it originated has been explained




102               CO USIN ALICE.
in a former chapter; and years after its publi.
cation she tried to purchase the plates and suppress the work, because of the personalities in it
into which she so sincerely regretted having been
betrayed. It is the only record which shows
what control she needed to exercise over her
perception of the ludicrous, and her remarkable
power of sarcasm. She was so humiliated, however, as she became conscious of the indulgence
in which she had allowed herself, that she had
no satisfaction in the very decided "' cleverness "
she showed, and of which, as well of the other
traits mentioned, there is no other striking evidence. She always spoke of it with pain and
mortification.  The sonnet alluded to should not
be lost, however:
"As Ruth of old wrought in her kinsman's field,
From the uneven stubble, patiently
Gathering the corn, full hands had lavished free,
Nor paused from wind or sun her brow to shieldSo have I gleaned where others boldly reap;
Their sickles flashing in the ripened grain,
Their voices swelling in the harvest strain,
Go on before me up the toilsome steep.
And thus I bind my sheaf at eventide,
For thee, my more than mother; and I come
Bearing my burden to the quiet home,
Where thou didst welcome me, a timid bride;
Where now thy blessed presence, day by day,
Cheereth me onward in a lonely way."




TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADEILPIIA. 103
The time- was coming when Alice had resolved to disclose to the world her religious
standpoint; and we find the following entry in
her journal:
her journalFeb. 4th, 1849.
" A bright and beautiful Sabbath, yet I indulged in
indolence; and as I was preparing for church in a gust of
passion,   ~, as usual, the provocation " (alluding to a
person in the family who was a great trial to her), " my
mind would wander in prayer. It is the third Sunday before Lent; at the close of that solemn fast, I hope to be a
member of the Church of God. Let me remind myself of
the necessity for increased watchfulness, lest by any
means I be drawn again into the world I have so nearly
renounced. Let me prepare for extraordinary temptations.' I had some of my Sunday-school class present this
morning. I hope I am thankful for this, the more that
they seemed interested in the subject of the lesson, which
was prayer. Through a remark of one of the girls, I saw
more plainly than ever, the evil of letting the thoughts
wander in prayer. I proposed to her as I have to myself, the habit of praying aloud, from which I have always shrunk. I tried to pray for them on my return
home, as well as for S. and T. and my brother. Let me
choose these, with my class, as subjects of earnest an(
special prayer for the year."
"5thW Feb.
" Ill, but worked on; a visitor came in, and I was not




104              COUSIN ALICIE,
as careful as I must be; I must not trifle, even by a look.
If ever I overcome this great fault of my lifie I shall feel
as if a victory was won."
" th Feb.
"Visitors all the morning-Mrs. Hale, Judge K.,'Kate
Campbell,' Mrs. K., C. M. Then a music lesson. I have
tried to think in all this whirl; I have so many interruptions."
"11th Feb.
"I had an excellent class. I feel encouraged. Oh
that I may do my whole duty to these dear girls! I do
think my mind wanders less in prayer, and that I am able
to pray more earnestly. Let me remember to watch as
well as pray."
She then goes on to speak of the impression
produced upon her mind, when coming from
church, by meeting group after group, some of
them evidently " taking sweet counsel together,
as they came from the House of God in company," while she walked on solitary and lonely.
She certainly found little encouragement amongst
her habitual associates, to lead the elevated spiritual life to which she aspired, and which alone
seemed to promise her satisfaction and peace.
She had another source of discomfort nowit was in remembering her promise to Mr. Haven,
and the anticipation that the consummation of




TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHIILADELPHIA. 105
her engagement,*whenever it might come, would
oblige her to leave Mrs. Neal. She tries to allay
the feeling of disturbance, by reminding herself
that it is too far in the future for her to suffer
real distress, as she could not fail to do, if she
expected soon to leave her to whom all the remembrance of her husband, " her best friend,"
as she never failed to consider him, bound her.
Years at least were before her, during which she
might remain with the desolate mother. To
comfort and brighten that lonely life, she was
willing, while her strength held out, to encounter toil and privation, if necessary. There were
many satisfactions in her life; there was pleasure in the appreciation she received, in the honest friends she culled from  the many proffering friendship, in the aid she could afford to
young writers, and in the substantial assistance
she was able, through the increasing remuneration her pen brought her, to extend to those who
were in need. She had not yet grown weary in
her routine of life; but if the prospect of another sometimes flashed over her' mind, where
she would be guarded by a sheltering love, is it
wonderful that, storm-beaten as she had been,
5*




106           COUSIN ALICE.
and as she might be again, she should begin to
dream of refuge and rest?
In addition to -the stories, editorials, and
poems that came constantly from her tireless
pen, she wrote " Helen Morton's Trial," a story
of a child's temporary blindness, which could
not but be touchingly graphic, when she knew
so well " that of which she affirmed."  At the
suggestion of her rector, she submitted it for
approval to Bishop Henshaw, of Rhode Island.
The Bishop wrote very kindly and approvingly
about it, for which she was most grateful. This
was the first of a series of books suitable for
Sunday-school use, containing the history of
Helen Morton, and, with its companions, was
destined to great popularity, not only in the
Episcopal families which it reached through
their publication society, but wherever pure and
earnest religious teaching for children was valued.
Among her papers was found a letter from a
stranger, evidently a lady of culture as well as
of piety, asking that a fourth volume should be
added to the series, carrying Helen's life, with:ts lessons, still further.
She planned also a volume of religious poetry,




TENOR OF HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 107
collected from different sources, which she called
"Sabbath Chimes; " but some untowardness
prevented its publication. She also planned, to
be executed by herself, a series of poems, to be
entitled " Thoughts in Lent."
These holy days of the church were always
of peculiar interest to her.  The spirit of this
institution especially appealed to  her.  She
prized all the associations, all "the means of
grace" which each season brought. There was
only delight and comfort in the opportunities
afforded her for church-going, for freedom from
secular cares; and through all her life we find
her giving herself for this Lent or that, special
subjects to be remembered constantly in supplication.
" March 25th.
" One week from this morning is our Confirmation.
I do earnestly pray that I may be in a proper spirit to
receive the rite. I am so near the Zoar of the Church,
God keep me from looking back, and afterwards give me
strength' to escape to the mountains.' The past week I
have endeavored to set a watch upon the door of my
lips, but have continually forgotten my aim. This shall
be renewed for the week to come."




108           COUSIN ALICE.
Having made up her mind to become a communicant at St. Peter's, she thought it her duty
to work in its Sabbath-school, which would make
it necessary to give up her class in the mission
school. This was a painful thing to do, as she
had grown to be much interested in her pupils.
She informed the clergyman, who had charge of
the mission, of her intention, and in a long conversation acquainted him with the circumstances
and state of mind of each scholar.
Now comes a record of the day of her confirmation, and the Bishop's address written down
with her usual accurate memory of all she heard.
She had not intended to partake of the communion till Easter, but she felt constrained to do so
on this day.
The parting with her class was painful to all
-the scholars weeping bitterly; nor could she
restrain her own tears.
She recounts with much gratitude, that there
was no opposition made in the family to the step
she was taking, but that she was treated with
uncommon kindness and consideration by them.
".May 6th.: My first Sunday as teacher at St. Peter's. I have a




TENOR OF  IER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA. 109
very interesting class, and like it better than the mission
school. I sat with my little people in church; they behaved well, and we are on the best of terms. I do believe
I was intended' to feed the Lambs.' God grant that I administer no poison with the'sincere milk of the
Word.''




CHAPTER IX.
HEWR LIFE IN PIIILADELPHIA.
IFE was taking on sterner aspects for
Alice Neal with every new year.
One by one the delusions with
which she had begun it were fading into " the light of common day." Where she
had found one worthy friend, she had proved two
false, envious women and men whose disinterestedness was only on the lip, if even its pretence
was found about them. Their never large income
grew smaller, and Alice toiled all the more indefatigably, and sought at every avenue a chance
of success.
L. A. Godey, Esq., of the "Lady's Book,"
" a gentleman amongst publishers," as a cynical
writer once called him, when speaking of the
difficulty writers often found in getting paid for




HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.       I 1
their contributions to our periodical literature,
had been a friend of Mr. Neal and his interest
in the young widow was always of the sincerest
and noblest sort. Seeing her efforts, he gave
her the encouragement of an offer for regular
contributions to the pages of his magazine, and
placed an editorial department under her control.
Besides this engagement, she sent off stories and
poems in every direction, working on her own
paper meanwhile with the greatest assiduity.
She increased the economy which already marked
her personal expenditure, while the comforts of
the house remained unabated, and the number
of those who were more or less her pensioners
increased rather than diminished.
Her suffering from attacks of headache became greater; her strength was less, and the attacks more numerous and prostrating; no great
excitement or fatigue could pass without this
penalty being incurred. She resisted the enervating tendency of such suffering with positive
heroism-passing few days where work was not
the rule, rest the exception.
Her spiritual life was characterized by discouragements arising from a sharp sense of her




112              CO0USIN ALICOE.
failures in her efforts to overcome faults, and by
renewed energy in her endeavors. A friend,
one of the very few who were admitted to the
penetralia of her soul, writes of her in reference
to her course at this time:
"With her sweet playfulness, her outspoken variable
feeling, her quick perception alike of the ludicrous, the
noble, and the good, her character was most fitted to encourage those who, struggling with the impulsiveness
and excitability almost inseparable from delicacy of health
and organization, often feel as if, in their very temperament (to those who misunderstand it), there is apparent
inconsistency with their deep and serious spiritual perceptions and aims."
That she never gave up effort, under the influence of any discouragement, temporal or spiritual, was her distinguishing trait, and the secret
of her final success. That the rebound was always in proportion to the depression, showed
the elastic power of her mind and the firmness
of her underlying principle.   She more and
more excluded pleasures from her life, and bent
to her toil. She writes years afterwards:
" I ca-not trust myself to speak of the racking, dizzy
headaches which would follow a restless night of wild




HIER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.            113
plans to get money, money, not for myself-my wants
grew less all the time, with the narrowing of my personal
ambition-but for those whom I found I could aid, for
the comfort of those I loved, as I was finding out, better
than myself, for those whom God's providence was bringing into the line of my life. In a great measure, I tried
to write first and find a market afterwards. I had three
bitter and cruel (then cruel) disappointments before Mr.
Appleton began to publish for me, or Mr. Godey had
made my contributions monthly. You do not know, no
one can ever know, the pecuniary struggle, close and
sharp, of those two years. I stinted myself in every
thing. Once to those who might, I thought, have shared
one burden with me, my self-righteousness disclosed itself in a letter, which I have been ashamed of ever since.
" From that moment I left off saying,'Lord, what
shall this man do?' I said instead,' Lord, I thank thee
that thus far I have been able to do. Do not punish me
by leaving me to sit idle and see any want. If I ought to
have help in the work I have undertaken, put it into the
hearts of others, and provide them the way; if not, let
me rest content that it is my duty, not theirs.' I have
prayed that others might be spared trials in life. As He
put the desire and prayer into my mind, so He has placed
the power into my hands to avert these trials in some
cases. He has in many ways prospered me abundantly,
and has granted me so many of my prayers, that I have
learned to put away care for the future, and live almost
entirely in the present; and then I have such a blessed




114              CO USINV ALICE.
trust for what time I am afraid as I remember the past,
that now I am not conscious of anxiety for any thing.
As some one said in a book I was reading recently,'In
looking back, even I do not see where the struggle has
been.' 
At this same time, writing to a person who
was seeking a publisher in vain, she says:
"I think I see the wisdom of the returned story.
Success would have tempted you beyond your strength;
besides, what time and strength you do have, God may
have consecrated' to a vessel of honor,' and He would not
suffer you to waste on trifling stories what He calls for in
His especial service. I feel this about you. I have done
so ever since you took up your pen in earnest. I have
always felt, when I was met so distinctly by a rebuff,
that there was an angel in the way, though I could not
see it there, and I ceased to beat the poor beast that refused to carry me-I mean of late, since I began to think
how every moment and hour could be best economized.
" Your troubles are those that hurry, and worry, and
unfit for mental productiveness, or exertion even. You
should seek, for your health of body and mind, to lessen
rather than to increase your engagements.
"Does God exact day labor,
Light denied?"
"Get your John Milton, and read the whole of that
for the fiftieth time. It is the greatest possible comfort




HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.            115
to me, though I never can believe that Miss Barrett did
aot write it instead of Milton."
These letters were written long years after
the time in her life of which we are speaking;
but they embody the wisdom which was the
gain of these severe lessons —a wisdom which
made her life broad and strong in its serene
current, and which enriched all lives bordering
on the stream of hers.
In Mlay 17th, 1851, she makes the following
entry in her journal:
" It is Sunday night-a dropping rain without, mamma and I alone, the dear parlor lighted by the solar lamp,
Joseph's gift that pleasant afternoon. The books, the
pictures, the open piano: let me daguerreotype the scene
for years that are to come, when mamma is lying beside
Joseph, and I have another home.
" There is an engraving on the table, a proof of Mr.
Furness' picture of myself, which has just arrived from
London. Is all tltis real? the scenes I have passed
through during the last five years! And here am I,
drifting out to an unknown future, holding days as dark,
perhaps, as some in the past, for youth and romance will
have faded, and friends of to-day will be afar off, or dead
then.
"A person came here yesterday, who told me he had




116              COUSIN ALICE.
seen my picture in a log-cabin out West, and that my
little books' were doing good,' and that I was loved and
praised for them. My dreams realized! But how is it
with me?
" R. and Mr. M. have been in this evening, as they
have been every Sunday evening for the last five years.
I have been cross, and rude, and uncharitable. When I
think I am doing so well, pride and self-love are always
ready to get the better of my good resolutions. Yet I do
think my principles are more clearly defined, my practice not always quite so faulty. But alas! I am still on
the borders of sin, and always in the midst of temptation!
1" This journal is to me a series of waymarks, by which
I trace the graduations of thought and feeling which make
me what I am. It is egotistical, of course; but it is meant
for no eye but my own.
"I have been to church but once to-day. I have
yielded completely to sloth. It is one of my great faults,
so many others spring from it."
It was during this year that her engagement
to Mr. Haven became known. It excited a great
deal of comment, and occasioned many strictures. There were not wanting those who
thought or said that it would be most cruel for
her to leave Mrs. Neal; the consideration and
sacrifice of so much bright life was forgotten by




HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.               117
them, in the monstrous possibility of her finding
happiness in any other course of life! Then it
could not but occasion a remark that she whose
tastes and principles were so marked should
have bound herself to one who would have no
religious sympathy with her, and no sympathy
in her tastes, no appreciation possibly of the
elevation of her life in its self-abnegation, and
its perpetual aspiration. In a poem called " Unmasking," having for its motto, "They call me
heartless when I am only strong," she refers to
her early bereavement, to the burden she had
borne so many years uncheered, and so often
unappreciated, and then says:
"And I go forth alone, to brave
Life's falsehood and its scorn;
Remembering that its cold deceit
Thou, too, hast nobly borne,
And with a pure humility,
Its offered honors worn.
This thought hath made me strong to check
The bitterness of grief;
Hath nerved my heart to bear the pain
Which Time brings no relief;
Yet I am censured that my love
For thee hath been so brief/




118             CO USIN ALICE.
So brief! ah well! I only ask
They may not have to bear
One half the loneliness I know,
One tithe of my despair;
Our Saviour for his enemies
Through death-pangs breathed a prayer."
Alice Neal's feeling for the husband of her
youth admitted no question. To the close of
her life his name was uttered with a reverential
tenderness; but her loyalty to this dream of her
girlhood, from which she awoke to life's realities, did not enjoin upon her the inner solitude,
or the toil, or the exposure to the blast, from
which nothing would shield her now but a husband's care, and love, and guidance.
It was her peculiarity, that she judged always for herself of any important step she might
have in view. She did not form her judgments
hastily, or without looking at the question on
every side, and especially without praying
much over it.
Having done this, all she could do, she would
remain quiet, the question apparently unmooted
even in her own mind. This was in advance of
the formation of a judgment; she was quiet, because she was watching for what she considered




HIER LI'E IN PHILADELPHIA.       119
God's leading. This method of procedure kept
her often from asking advice when the asking
was expected, and made her sometimes appear
opinionated and arrogant. It was not uncommon for her to say:
" I have been thinking over my plans for -M. I must
wait for light to see which way to move. As I can do
nothing but this, I will put the matter out of my mind;
it would be only a waste of time to go over the same
ground again. when no conclusion is possible at present."
Her sister having passed the summer of 1850
in Philadelphia, in the autumn of that year
Alice accompanied her and her husband to New
York, and spent a few weeks there during the
sensation occasioned by the coming of Jenny
Lind. She gave herself up with great freshness
and sense of enjoyment to the charm of the
music, and scarcely less to the interest she felt
personally in the singer. An evening passed
with her at her hotel was an era to Alice, though
Jenny Lind singing casta Diva, and Jenny Lind
conversing in her deep, guttural tones, seemed
beings of different mould and endowment. Her
personal attraction consisted in the single-mind.




120            COUSIN ALICE.
edness of the fair Swede, the force and purity
of her character, and her unaffected charity.
The illness of her brother this year brought
to Alice fresh care and anxiety, and with this
came losses in business, "bringing care upon
care, and sorrow upon sorrow." She occupied
herself with striving in every way to accomplish
her purposes. The tact which was so eminent
in her, that it enhanced every attraction, and
was, after all that can be said in description of
her personally, the most magical of her charms,
that which eluded the last analysis of her powers
of fascination, was her best reliance in her business affairs. Energy, courage, and tact, were
the elements of character which constrained success for her.
Exercising these unsparingly, she did not fail
to reap the benefit of them. She was able to
effect an arrangement with the Messrs. Appleton
to publish the first volume of her very popular
series, called "'The JHIome Books."  Each of
these had a proverbial title, and the title of each
describes the phase of life in which it was written, and out of whose experience it grew.  This
first book was " No such Word as Fail."  How




IIER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.           121
significant of the history of this year of endeavor,
of disappointment, and of success!
She also wrote, during this year, a second part
of Helen Morton, which she called "Watch and
Pray," a title as significant of the lessons she
was learning in her spiritual life.
She speaks simply, but pathetically, of the
trouble'she was having in regard to the Gazette;
for, clever and wise as she was getting to be, she
was after all only a slender little woman, hardly
out of her girlhood; and her partners were astute
men, themselves embarrassed by the precarious
success of a literary journal. She wrote to her
brother-in-law, who was engaged in the same
kind of an undertaking:
" It is very pleasant to have a literary paper of one's
own; but it is a very unprofitable investment, a most expensive hobby, and no one has any business to undertake
it on a smaller income than $25,000 per annum! "
She says:
"I have such depressing struggles in view of my duty,
so much doubt about the future, that I sometimes do not
sleep o' nights; but a clear trust in heaven alternates
with the wretchedness unspeakable-a trust as clear as
the sunshine in the sky while I write, cloudless, satisfying.'
6




122             COUSIN ALICE
On a scrap of paper without date, but found
in this volume of her journal, she writes:
"I have often thought what a mistake it was in nature
to make me so small! With all the ardor and enthusiasm
pent up in my heart, with all the wild fancy and impetuous, headlong impulse, the strong will, the self-centred
egotism, the power of endurance, and the strange and
terrible scenes of my life, I should have had some response
in my physical frame. I should have been strong, full.
Yet I have no pride with which to arch a stately threat,
or sweep the ground as such a woman would. It is a
defect in my nature that I have no strong pride; the fire
is quickly kindled, and as quickly dies. It is a strange
thing that I have accomplished most in the world by an
acquired virtue, by industry rather than talent."
It will be seen how indomitable this industry
was, as well as how unselfish the purposes for
which it was exercised.  Sleep and rest were
her best medicines when exhausted by fatigue
or work.  She always ate daintily and sparingly,
but she slept as heartily as a tired child-a deep,
dreamless slumber, from which she was roused
with difficulty. Toward morning her sleep was
soundest and most refreshing; and often, when
awakened, she would plead for a little more
time, and hence was almost always a late riser.




HER LIFE IN PHILADELPHIA.        123
As is usual with persons of her temperament,
her evenings were long and bright, prolonged
often to " the small hours," when life seemed to
culminate, as if the chalice were then freshly
brimmed with the richest wines. No one who
saw her in these choice moods will forget their
rare fascinations. It was hard to recognize in
the morning-wakening slowly and reluctantly,
like an unrested child-the bright and sparkling
being of the previous evening. Through all the
morning there seemed to be a slow unfolding of
the earthly cumbering, each removal bringing
its own gleam of spiritual life, till the charm of
the bright soul was again revealed in its beauty.
Hence she knew nothing of "fresh morning
hours." Her first conscious impulse was " work,"
her first thought "duty."
A friend who slept lightly, to whom indeed
food was all that sleep was to Alice, remonstrated
with her once on her late rising.
" I sleep to live, as you eat," she replied.
" You say you have no respect for me till midday. I do not think I have much for myself
till some time after I awake; nor then, till my
spiritual nature is fairly roused. I have often




124            COUSIN AbLC(,.
wondered if any one else was as soulless as I am,
sometimes for hours; my conscience first brings
me to consciousness. If it grows, and characterizes me, and I hope to come more and more under its influence, I may yet be an early riser!
But I think I shall be a compact of the virtues
by that time, over whom the flesh will have no
sway."
Yet for years this lover of sleep, and of her
ease, who could so long defend her practice of
late rising, was an early riser to  accomplish
properly the day's duties, and to give time for
constantly increasing engagements.




CHAPTER X.
WINTER IN CHARLESTON.
N the autumn of 1851 her brother-inlaw, coming North, found Alice wearied and depressed by the peculiar and
painful trials of that year. There had
been no external flagging, but her wings were
wearied with her long flight, and bruised by the
buffetting with the storm of untoward circumstances which had assailed her for some time
past. Again, as in the year previous, her record could have been "care upon care, sorrow
upon sorrow."
Yielding to the persuasion of her brother,
and in consideration of the ill health of her sister, rather than with the purpose of recruiting
her own exhausted energies, much as she needed




126           CO USIN ALICE.
this, she returned with Mr. Richards to Charleston, in October. She did not intend to spend
the winter there; but month after month went
by, and it was late in February before she left a
city whose hospitalities had been so abundant
and so grateful to her.
Her enjoyment, never lacking zest while she
had any strength, was very keen during this
visit. Her name was well known, her little
books were exceedingly popular, the story of her
life was interesting, and " Mrs. Neal" was admired and courted wherever she appeared.
Never was she personally more attractive
than at this period. Her slight figure was always tastefully and gracefully arrayed, although
with a girlish simplicity. No persuasion could
induce her to wear ornaments in her hair, unless
occasionally a natural flower, worn with the
careless ease of a child.
" Mrs. Neal is here," said a lady one evening
to a guest.
" Yes," replied the gentleman; "I was told
she was in the room, and have occupied myself
trying to find her."
"Oh, you would never know her from any




WINT'ER IN CHARLESTONM.      127
preconceived idea. She is in that group by the
piano; they are begging her to sing."
" You don't mean that that young girl in
white is Mrs. Neal, the writer? I thought that
was some bright young creature, just from school,
fluttering her wings in society for the first time,
though her ease of manner puzzled me. Such
pretty little hands and girlish arms, and masses
of brown hair put up so simply; such a fresh
bloom, and so unhackneyed in manner generally,
I never would have believed it! "
She was very fond of riding, and, for health's
sake, at the recommendation of her physician,
she had been for some time the pupil, in Philadelphia, of a celebrated riding-master. The fine
weather of a Southern winter made the exercise
charming. A gentleman well known in the literary world as one of the most industrious and
prolific writers in our country, called while she
was out riding one afternoon, and sat awaiting
her return.
She came in attired in her well-fitting dark
green habit, the " Jenny Lind" hat, then in
vogue, surmounting the heavy braids which set
off her youthful face, the little gauntleted hand




128            CO USIN ALICE.
holding an inlaid whip, making a tout ensembk
that was as lovely as a picture; so the gentleman thought, for his exclamation, as she stood in
the doorway, was a spontaneous tribute"A picture for remembrance! "
And years afterwards, in speaking of lovely women, he would bring up the apparition that enchanted him, as the most bewitching he had
ever seen.
Later, as she stood in the same dress in the
deep embrasure of the window, the light of the
sinking sun playing about her, the animation the
ride had given her, replaced by the finer fire of
the brilliant conversation into which she at once
entered with her vivacious visitor, " the picture
for remembrance" was complete.
It is not wonderful that such attractions
made her a greater favorite even than her reputation as one of the most promising young writers of the day; and, conscious of the pleasure
she was giving, it was not possible for her to
find less than the greatest enjoyment in society,
especially when, as in that she entered in
Charleston, the highest culture accompanied unl




WINTER INV CHARLESTON.        129
common refinement. Familiar with corresponding circles in Philadelphia and New York, she
unhesitatingly gave the preference to that of
Charleston, a preference expressed again when,
years afterwards, she was again a guest in the
city.
No one who met her during the winter of'51, will forget "the fascinating Mrs. Neal,"
whose movements were paragraphed in the pub
lie prints, whose bon mot8 were repeated, who
was always the centre of the most brilliant circle
in the room, who seemed too bright and happy
to know any thing of the serious and shady side
of life.
She quite overturned the ideas commonly
formed of literary women: so young, so bright,
so girlish and insotuciante, was this one of the
editors of the " Saturday Gazette," one of its
publishing partners! was this the stay, not simply of her venerable mother-in-law, but of others
widowed and fatherless! was this the writer of
wise letters to young aspirants for literary distinction! and, above all, was this the sad-hearted
woman, already finding "the world recede,"
6*




130            CO USIN ALICE.
while she was fixing her gaze on the skies which
alone were satisfying, unchanging, and eternal I
So society saw only one phase. Every week
a long letter was read in the quiet parlor in Seventh street, telling " dear mamma" what the
truant had done during the week since the previous epistle had been written. What visits and
visitors, what rides and excursions, what gay
gatherings in the evening, and what the result
of her morning's occupation.
These mornings were spent in work, no matter how numerous and fatiguing the evening's
engagements had been; and she not unfrequently went to two or three parties, or a social entertainment after a concert.  Every morning
she wrote, sitting as usual, portfolio in her lap,
on a low footstool, in the sunshine of the south
gallery; or, if too cool for that, by the crackling
woodfire, which she considered one of the luxuries of this Southern winter, and an inspiration
in itself, after having had all her life only the
sedate Northern anthracite.
In these home letters there was an odd mixture of business and pleasure.  In turn she
would consider and provide for the wants of the




WIN~TER IN CHARLESTON.       131
family in Seventh street; and another, almost
as much dependent on her care and exertion;
and would give a faithful attention to the details
of her business affairs. Her care, and forethought, and prudence, blended oddly with the
graphic accounts of her gay life; her descriptions
of society were like her talk, sparkling with brilliant mots, and attractive from deft and graceful phrase.
No bee ever made honey in the sunshine more
industriously. She gathered material in her
visits to the Orphan House for the most pathetic
of her books, " Patient Waiting No Loss." She
wrote descriptive letters for the "Philadelphia
Bulletin;" she kept up her engagement with
Mr. Godey; wrote constantly for her own paper; and, when this was done, gave morning
after morning to fresh creations, as if she could
not sufficiently fill up her time, and idleness or
even rest were impossible to her.
IHer little nephew, a child of three years, was
her playfellow when work was over: she rhymed
and sang for him, and every evening, no matter
what its hours held for her of social excitement,
the child went to sleep with her songs lulling




132          CO USIN ALICE.
him, or her stories following him into his dreams.
Time spent by others at the toilette, was not
needed by her in her simple adorning; and often
the carriage at the door would find her still in
the nursery with the boy. " Aunt Lallish" was
sweeter to her than any greeting "Mrs. Neal "
received.
Though she had not time, nor did she dare
to use her eyes for fine needle-work, she had a
dainty use of the needle. She one morning
brought her sister l baby's robe, exquisitely
made, which had occupied her during stolen
hours.
When did you find time for this, Alice?"
"Oh, I made time, as anybody does who
particularly wants it. I find time for all I have
to do, though I am not as swift as you are in my
movements, and have a habit of taking my coffee when you are thinking of ringing for lunch.
I must own to the complacency with which I
regard this exploit; I am as much surprised and
delighted with myself as I would be with you if
you had written a book. Won't baby's dimpled
shoulders and arms be lovely in this; I kept
thinking of that all the time."




WI.NTER IN CHARLESTON.       13?
She had great pleasure in the fine chimes of
St. Michael's and St. Philip's, which made the
city atmosphere ripple with music on the Sunday afternoons. Nowhere were bells sweeter
than in this river-environed city; and Alice's
first realization of the capacity of chimes was
here. Her sister finding her in the open gallery
one afternoon, apparently lost in the delicious
harmonies, said:
" Are you making a worship of your enjoyment, and not going to evening service? "
" Most certainly I am going to evening service. Music like this makes me devotional; but
I need something more than this to go through
the week with."
"What do you mean?"
" Oh, I need to be strengthened all the time.
This only soothes, makes me grateful, perhaps;
but my life is such a struggle, such a fight-with
temptations; and then I must be made contrite
for wherein I come short of the requirement."
The disposition to indulge in rest in the afternoon of Sunday, was often alluded to with
pain; and busy as was every week day, she
never allowed herself the indulgence without




134            CO USIN ALICE.
putting it down as "a yielding to temptation."
While she had strength for it, she was in the
habit of attending every public service of the
day, and through the week, during Lent; and
at other times she was always glad when it was
said to her, " et us go up to the House of God."
Certainly her "delight was in its courts."
Her fondness for statistical information was
manifested in Charleston. This was her first
experience of Southern life, and she made no
superficial observations, but examined for herself into details that few women consider. She
filled many sheets with the result of her investigations. When asked if she expected to write a
book on the South, she replied:
" Oh, no; but I had an opportunity to learn
this now, and I may have use for it some time; I
never like to trust too much to my memory,
good as it is. I believe I never neglect such opportunities-I never dare to. I've grown religious about that."
She found time for this in the midst of occupations which would have made twenty-four
hours of daylight desirable. The secret of it lay




WINTER IN  CHARLESTON              135
in the directness with which she applied herself
to whatever work was before her. She wasted
no time in idle reverie; she thought and worked
to the purpose, utterly intent upon what she was
doing, till it was accomplished. She made a
plan in the morning for the day's work, and lost
no time in " drifting." This was not only the
secret of large accomplishment, but of her work
being well done when it was done.
In February she returned to Philadelphia,
visiting Washington enr route. She writes to
her sister:
"   is here,'lobbying' I suppose it would be
called, if she were a man. She is using all her cleverness
to secure an eligible post for her husband. I have great
faith in tact, and great respect for it; but when an ambitious woman is using it to push herself into a worldly
eminence, you may be sure I learn a lesson. It is only
another form of unscrupulous selfishness. Do you think
I am uncharitable?-possibly. But be assured it is not
the result of envy, as for a moment I feared it might be
when I first realized the hard judgment I was passing. I
only know my impulse was disgust; and I appreciated
Joseph's shrinking from an acceptance of the many offers
made to him of political position, or of advantages which
his political services made it proper for him to accept,




136              COUSIN ALICE.
when I come to see what company it brought a modest
and worthy man into!
" You laugh at my interests in politics, forgetting that
I had some training from one who could have been eminent as a politician; and you ask me to write to you'whether Millard Filmore or Fillard Milmore is President, and by what means he happens to be in the chair
of State.' I understand what your affectation of ignorance implies. Do not be afraid of my knowing too
much even to please you, who have such a horror of women dabbling in politics. If I had the disposition, Washington would cure me; but what a place to study human
nature here, where the eagerness of pursuit unmasks it so
continually.
" ----   the Massachusetts idol, is a guest in tle
same family with myself. I find myself watching him all
the time, to see whether he is sincere. A man taking so
lofty and pharisaical a stand is bound to be unfettered by
personal ambition, or any petty influence from within. It
seems to me a terrible thing to stand up before the world
at such an elevation, that only a demi-god could fully sustain himself. South Carolina resents no man's position
as much as this man's.
"After my little flutter in Charleston, it has been
grateful to find myself in the shadow of stronger wings.
Too much sunshine would be ruinous to me. I never
should be able to save myself from a butterfly's life, and
-a butterJfy's fate. The world grows more and more




WINTER IN CHARLESTON.               137
unsatisfactory. Certainly I was not made for what is
called pleasure, which palls so readily, that I am lost in
wonder at those who make it their life; who have passed
double my years in pursuing it here, and who must find
in it a satisfaction which eludes me even on the crest of
the wave."




CHAPTER XI.
THE STR UGGLE ENDING.
-_H~-IHE  benefit she derived from  her
-r~<~~    winter at the South is evident in
the different tone of the entries
made in her journal on her return:
"This has been a happy Lent, so far. I cannot but
contrast the bright prospects of this spring with the dark
clouds of last.
" All seems too fair, too calm. I am looking daily for
something that shall mar. I only hope when the trial
of my faith shall come, that I shall not' charge God foolishly.' At present it seems impossible that I should ever
doubt His care and love. Then, too, I seem to have no
immediate temptations: home is so fair and happy, my
days are so industrious and cheerful, my sleep is so sweet
and sound. May God keep me from presumptuous sins."
March 24th she makes a sweet record of what
she calls "a Sabbath-day's journey."




THE STRUGGLE ENDIN7G.         139
Her feeling, in view of the return of Mr.
Haven to this country, was very disturbing.
Her winter of absence from  Mrs. Neal had
shown her that in her extraordinary self-poise,
" mamma," as she always called her, was cheerful, and apparently content even without her;
too reserved, and possibly too phlegmatic, to
make it known even if she "wearied" for the
sunshine she could not fail to miss.
Then, too, another experience, which was not
confined to her winter in Charleston, though its
lessons had new enforcement there, made her
reconsider her present position toward Mr. H.
She had admirers whose name was legion, some
diffident and hopeless, as became those who admired " a far-off star;" others, presuming and
bold in the earnestness with which they regarded a possible future conforming to their most
ardent desires. Her engagement, well known
as it was, had not prevented some aspirations
which annoyed her, and some whose sincerity
made her unhappy, as she saw the pain her discouragement caused.
She writes on May 6th:
"I have just finished reading the life of Mrs. Godol



140              COUSIN ALICE.
phin. I do not know when I have enjoyed a book so
much.  One rarely knows so beautiful a character.
There is much in the book that comes home to me now;
her doubts, to marry or not to marry, for instance. I
have quoted part of this in a letter to S., as expressing
what I feel; but the struggle is ended for the present. I
seem to have given up all to the direction of our Father,
who knows what is best, far better than we ourselves
can. I shall wait for some plain token. My husband
will have more confidence in me, when he sees that I
cannot desert a duty for a selfish happiness. All things
now, as heretofore, will, I am persuaded, work together
for our good.
" Another reason for liking the book is, the example
of strict watchfulness and constant devotion which it
gives."
"May 29tlh.
" This week of temptation and ill-doing is better than
a deceitful calm —both the temptations that I most dreaded and most guarded against.
" Monday my devotions were hurried, because of business. I was successful, fortunately, but I was too tired
at night to pray even. Tuesday it was business, and illness again gave me no time. Wednesday vain glory and
egotism, harshness and bitterness of spirit. So on Thursday; still no prayer, no regular reading. Friday trifling.
Saturday, was led, or rather, led myself into some of my
worst faults.
" Thoughts to be pondered:




THE STRUGGLE ENDING.               141
"It must always be remembered that consistency is
essential to a useful character. Without it, many may
love, but none will respect you.
"True humility, like every other grace, begins like a
gift, and increases like a habit."
" July 7lth.
"Though written months ago, this will do for the
motto for my yearly review, to remind me in time to
come of the principal virtues which I need-meekness
and patience.
"' It is five years to-day since my best friend died!
Five years! Mamma sat here that morning, and I put
my arms about her neck for the first time in my life, and
said:
"' Don't send me away from you, mamma.'
"'No, Alice; you must never go away from me,' she
replied.
"And now the struggle is always going on!  God
direct me aright, is all I can pray.
"Every day I find out more and more how much I
owe to Joseph, and the trials that came through that
love. He said once,'Wle will show Neelie a woman
at twenty-five;' and to mamma,' What a woman
Alice will make!' I wonder if I have half fulfilled his
hopes. Oh, may God guide me as lovingly through all
the trials that are to come, in whatever shape they
may be.
" Mammais scarcely changed since then. Who would




142               COUSIN ALICE.
have believed it possible! She loves me as well, or better than then, I know.
"'Mamma,' I said, a few days ago,'any one to see
me wandering around would think me very idle.'
"' No indeed, Alice; they would wonder how such a
little body could attend to so much.'
" Dear mamma! I put it on record, not for the praise,
but to recall your kind tone and smile.
"My faults of character have deepened, I fear. JIn
some cases it is my fate to see the best, yet the worst pursue. I do hope I am gaining some ground against my
besetting sins; but others have developed themselves,
which seem even harder to watch against. I am less indolent, and more irritable; less selfish in great things,
and more so in my daily life. I dread life as much now
for its temptations as for its trials."
"Sunday, Juoly 25th, 1852.
"' One temptation goeth away and another cometh,'
says my invaluable Thomas a Kempis. This morning I
have found these sentences almost as helpful, in the ninth
chapter of the second book:
"' Temptation going before is wont to be a sign of ensuing comfort.'
"'Some comfort is given that a man be stronger to
bear adversity. Then followeth temptation, lest he should
be proud thereof. The devil sleepeth not, neither is the
flesh yet dead; therefore cease not to prepare thyself for
the battle, for on thy right hand and on thy left are enemies that never rest.'




TIT  STR U GGLE EN~WDING.          143
"During this last week I have been much worn with
nervous impatience and irritation. If I, not yet twentyfive years old, with so much health and so many comforts,
say,'Oh, weary life,' what shall I be at fifty or seventy,
or with poverty, or loneliness, or pain; or what is to
keep me in the endeavor of the intervening years?
"All last night this was in my mind:
"' If thou hast run with the footmen and they have
wearied thee, how canst thou contend with the horses?
And if in the land of peace, wherein thou trustest, they
have wearied thee, how wilt thou do in the swellings of
Jordan?"'
In the autumn of 1852 Alice accompanied
her sister, who was awaiting, at the North, the
subsidence of the yellow fever in Charleston, to
pay a visit to some young friends in Accomac
County, on the eastern shore of Virginia.
IHer acquaintance with these young people
was not yet personal, and had arisen in this manner: The " Saturday Gazette " had found its way
to this remote part of the country, and fallen
into the hands of a group of children, who were
its eager and emulous readers. All of them in
the end became writers.  The eldest of them
sent her first contributions, with a humble little
note, to Mrs. Neal, the editor of " The Bird's




144           COUSIN ALICE.
Nest."  The sweetness and uncommon finish of
the sketch attracted the attention of the young
editor, who praised it; and in time, as more
sketches and verses came, letters passed, and a
strong mutual interest grew up between the little "1 Marie E." and her friend " Cousin Alice."
By the advice of Alice, contributions were
sent by "Z Marie E." and her younger sister, and
even a brother still younger, to " The Schoolfellow," a juvenile magazine published in
Charleston by Mr. Richards. He soon shared
his sisters' interest in the young Virginians.
Since Alice Neal had first written to them, they
had been bereft by death of father and mother;
but they were still living at " Margaret Hall,"
wards of their eldest brother. Mr. Richards had
visited them in the spring of 1852; and it had
been arranged that "Marie E." should spend
the ensuing winter in Charleston with his family,
Mrs. Richards coming to Accomac for her on
her way South in the fall.
This she did, as we see, Alice bearing her
company. The visit was one of rare interest to
all. "Margaret Hall " was a very old mansion,
which had survived the flood so memorable in




THE STR UGGLE ENDlING.        145
that part of the Eastern Shore; and its thick
walls, arched doorways, and iron-studded doors,
seemed ready to resist another siege of the elements. In this home, remote from all literary
association, except such as their own household
afforded, these children had passed years of
mingled study, play, and romance, till when the
two sisters were nowj ust entering their teens, mere
children still, their father's instruction had made
them fine Latin and Greek scholars; and their
well-endowed minds, with the sparse culture of
a few periodicals, and some choice literary works
which their father's library held,or which they procured for themselves in the occasional opportunities they had to send to the cities, were already
giving promise of ability and productiveness.
The third of this trio, the brother, whose clever
translations from the Greek, when he was only
eleven, had been welcomed by the editor of " The
Schoolfellow," was destined to a short life of wonderful brilliancy —dying before he attained manhood, though not before he had graduated with
honor at college, and had been admitted to practice at the bar.
The correspondence with these interesting
7




146           COUSIN ALICE.
young people was three or four years old when
this visit was paid. During this time " Cousin
Alice" had been friend, counsellor, and comforter, and now she found herself looked up to
with an admiring deference, as touching as it
was graceful.
Driving over this beautiful country, wandermg through its superb forests, visiting amidst its
hospitable people, and leading these fresh spirits
into new fields of literary culture, an autumn
month sped fast for Alice. Here at last was
peace after all the turmoil of the struggle; the
world shut out, her soul grew strong. It was
while here that she wrote the book whose material she gathered in Charleston. The preface of
" Patient Waiting No Loss " is dated at " Margaret Hall.";" Marie E." did not go to Charleston. Cir.
cumstances developed themselves during the autumn which decided Mr. Richards to make the
North his home. Marie came to Philadelphia
with Mrs. Richards a month after Alice's own
return, and at New Year's went to New York
for the winter.  Before a twelvemonth w.as
ended, she became the beloved sister of her




THE STRUGGLE ENDING.         147
visitors during that lovely autumn-marrying
their only brother.
Little did Alice Neal think that she was
training a dear sister and co-worker in her
young protegee; one who was to be a sister in
spirit as well as name, who should stand beside
her henceforth in all her work and life, ministering to her in the close of both; wiping the
death dews from her brow in the final agony,
and humbly and prayerfully ending the work
which death found unfinished in the hands of
" Cousin Alice."








PART II.
HOME LIFE.








PART II.
HO lE LIFE.
CHAPTER I.
SECOYD MARRIAGE.
Jan. 1st, 1858.
66      - D  IVE years from the date of our partial
engagement, we were married after
dinner, in St. Peter's Church, Philadelphia, Fan., sister, and brother Willie
being present."
This is the simple record of this event in her
life.  Mr. Haven had returned from California
about a month previously: the entanglement of
circumstances was such, that it seemed impossible to decide what would be wisest. Before this
date there is a record running from the time of




150           COUSIN ALICE.
their first acquaintance, of the struggle " to know
and do -the right;" this struggle was making
her life yet more turbulent and wearisome. Mrs.
Neal laid no obstacle in her path; if Alice felt
that she must leave her, she would spend her few
remaining days with a relative, where she would
have care and comfort, the inconsidered needs
of an existence prolonged beyond her hopes, and
holding little that was attractive in it now.
Hopeless of disentanglement, the knot was
cut by the sudden determination that this life,
" so hard and lonely," as she pathetically calls
it, so wearing with its perpetual struggle, so full
oftemptations and trials, must end; that she must
have the arm to lean upon, the judgment to
guide, the ever present sympathy and support
of a husband's protecting love.
On their return from church, on this New
Year's Day, Alice, with Mr. Haven, entered the
parlor which was no longer to be her home.
Mrs. ZNeal sat in her accustomed place by the
window, her tea-tray beside her, as usual, at that
hour. Alice went up to her" Mamma, I have decided; I am Mr. Haven's
wife."




SECOND JARRIA GE.               151
The old lady said, quietly, though a little
tremulously:
"You have been a good daughter, Alice;
you will be a good wife;" and so she blessed
her with unspoken words, each heart full of that
which could not be uttered, as they recalled the
former bridal, which had brought Alice to the
home she was now leaving forever.
Some time after we find in her journal:
"Saturday we came to our rooms at the St. Denis, in
New York, to commence the world together.
" For many reasons, our marriage seemed hasty and
unwise. In the tangle of circumstances which surrounded me, I do not see how it would have been better to
wait. I certainly believe our Father overruled all."
The next entry is:
" Jan. 12th.
"' Continue in the faith grounded and settled, and be
not moved away from the hope of the Gospel which you
have heard.' Do net let me, Oh my Father, forget the
trials and sorrows of the past in this prosperity. Do not
let my heart be lifted up to forget that it is thy gift.
Save me from worldliness ard insincerity, from neglecting any talent, any spiritual for any worldly pleasure.
Help me to pray constantly for my husband's best good,
to look forward with cheerfulness and resignation to the
Ja*




152              COUSIN ALICE.
events of the future. Make me more humble, patients
and peaceable; more like my Master."
"18thM
"'Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy
and vain deceit, after the trzaditions of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.'
"Help me, Oh Father, to repeat the prayer; to follow not the example of the world, but Christ's, in doing
whatsoever my hand finds to do with all my might; in
living a good example to those who do not recognize
Thee as Master and Pattern."' 14th.
"'If, then, you be risen with Christ, seek those things
which are above.'
"'He that followeth after me, walketh not in darkness,
saith the Lord.'
" These are the words of Christ, by which we are admonished that we ought to imitate His life and manners,
if ever we would be truly enlightened, and delivered from
all blindness of heart."-ThOMAs  A KEMPIS.
" 15th.
"' Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another,
even as Christ forgave you."'
" 16th.
"'And above all things, put on Charity, which is the
5ond of perfectness.'
"We are all frail: but remember, none more frail




SECOND MARIRIA GE.             153
than thyself. If thou shouldst see another sin openly,
yet oughtest thou not to esteem thyself better than he."
" lAth.
"' Continue in prayer, and watch in the same with
than7ksgiving.' "
"18th.
"'Ye turned to God from idols, to serve the living
God.' The dearest idol I have known."
This little insight into the inner life of Mrs.
Haven needs but a word of explanation.  Mr.
Haven was completely a man of the world, with
no sympathy in the religious life of his wife.
That she began to see the new forms in which
temptations were to come to her, these passages
of Scripture, which were doubtless significant of
each day's experience, plainly show.  She was
at once on her guard against the onsets which;
her faith was to receive, and determined, by;
God's help, to maintain her ground, ".putting
on charity, which is the bond of perfectness."
When they had decided to live in New York,
she became an attendant on Dr. Anthon's ministry, but she did not feel permanently enough
established to enter into any intimate church
relationship. Their home at the St. Denis was,




154          COUSIN ALICE.
Of course, a temporary one. Mr. HIaven made
his arrangements to return to his former business
in Wall street, where he was a member of the
Board of Brokers, and he embarked in it the
capital he had brought with him from California.
Mrs. Haven passed her time in accordance
with tastes which were too firmly supported by
principle to admit of change. She wrote as industriously as ever, each morning, keeping up
the various interests of which she was the chief
sustainer: the household in Seventh street, Philadelphia, went on as usual, till it was broken up
in the spring by Mrs. Neal's removal to the
house of her niece.
Alice made all arrangements in business
affairs as independently as before. Her income
from her books and periodical contributions,
amounting to twelve hundred or fifteen hundred
dollars per annum, remained in her own hands,
subject to her own judgment. It was distributed
as before, with the utmost judiciousness. Thus
at ease, and independent in her charities and
good works, she felt, with gratitude, the rebound
fiom the depression of the past few years.




SECOND.MARRIA GE.           155
There was one thing which was peculiar in
this new ordering of her life. The world had
lost its charm entirely. There was no longer
any attraction in its gaieties or its pleasures. She
rarely went out in the evening, even to a concert. Her sister was now living in New York,
and her husband also had relatives there. These,
with the friends who came naturally into her
circle, made up her social life. A few (as has
already been said) from the old literary cliques,
whose brilliancy had fascinated her years before,
were worthy friends of the worthier woman.
Her standard was raised above the merely intellectual aspirations of those who failed to sympathize with her in her new life, " hid in Christ
with God."
There was peace, content, and with all, a
fear lest prosperity should spoil her. This made
her watchful and prayerful. How her prayers
were heard and answered, will be seen.
In the spring of this year, Mr. Haven met
with one of the reverses so frequent in Wall street.
Outwardly, with no expensive establishment to
be affected, this could not make much difference




156           COUSIN ALICE.
to them. Her tastes were simple, her habits of
self-denial and industry undisturbed by her short
respite from care. It was only in losing this,
and in seeing her husband distressed and perplexed, that she could be affected by a reverse
of fortune. They were looking out for a country home, and decided to spend the summer
months boarding at HIastings, on the Hudson.
In a cottage built upon a cliff, fronting the upper termination of the magnificent palisades,
they established themselves with a content, on
her part, that plainly showed how slight a hold
the pleasures of life had in her affections. There
was an Arcadian simplicity in their home and
their manner of life. Mr. Haven spent the day
in the city, as do most of the residents of thesc
suburban towns; and his wife was glad and
peaceful in her unvarying routine, her mornings
with her pen, her work alternating with rambles
in the picturesque grounds.  The afternoon
brought her husband home to the nest which
held his treasure.
We cannot refrain from copying here a rec
ord so private, that nothing but its deep signifi



SECOND MAIRRIA GE.               157
cance and heartfelt sincerity could adnlit of its
being given even to the world of her friends
Her journal abounds in written prayers, the
deepest feelings of her nature taking spontaneously the form of communion with the "  Heavenly Father." On June 6th she writes:
" It would seem, after all, that my heart and life were
not to be tried with prosperity. I grew daily more selfindulgent, and more dissatisfied with myself. It is good
for us that we have been troubled, even for our worldly
happiness. We are yet more closely united in our misfortunes. We begin to have some definite aim in life,
and here, in the midst of God's beautiful creations, we
think more of Him. Our time with each other passes
pleasantly in our new home; our temptations to waste
time are less. We have learned particularly our dependence on God, who is teaching us faith, patience, and humility, as well as giving us repentance for wasted time
and means in the past, and resolves for better disposition
of both in the future.
"I thank Thee, my Heavenly Father, for so hearing
and so answering my prayer recorded in these leaves,
even though it was made with fear that Thou wouldst
withdraw the ease and comfort then enjoyed. It has been
for the best for us. I do heartily acknowledge, and I
would sorrowfully confess, that I have been guilty of




158              CO USIN ALICE.
murmuring, of faithless doubts of Thy goodness and care
for us, of which I do earnestly repent, seeing even now
Thy loving kindness in all that has befallen us. Grant
that I may never be guilty again, through all my life, of
the same error, but trust Thee in the future in all changes
and chances of this mortal life, by Thy word, and by the
experiences of the past.
" Help me to grow daily in holiness, patience, purity
of heart and life, gentleness, self-denial, industry, and in
every grace of Thy Holy Spirit, which I pray Thee to
give to me abundantly, that I may serve Thee faithfully,
and make happy my dear husband and friends.
"Give a pure nature, as far as is possible, to the unborn child for which we have so often thanked Thee.
Bless it, I pray Thee, with a sound, healthful, and perfect
body, a loving, humble, and obedient disposition; with
as much talent and beauty as may please Thee, and be
best for it in this world and the next. May it always be
a comfort and a blessing to us, and may we have wisdom
and firmness to guide it aright.
" For my dear and only love, my husband' asked of
God,' I crave, above all other blessings, a knowledge
and love of Thee. Show him, I beseech Thee, that there
is more than he yet comprehends in the life of a true
Christian;; teach him  the one essential truth of life
through the death and redemption of our Saviour; and
that after this faith, and in consequence of it, comes the
following of His pure example, not for a vague wish to




SECOND MARRIAGE.                159
be good, or for admiration of the excellence displayed in
it. Help him to seek first the kingdom of Heaven, and
add to this knowledge as much worldly prosperity as is
best for us. Relieve us from the pressing anxiety of the
present as soon as is best for us, and till then give him a
cheerful and courageous heart, for the sake of our Saviour,
Christ. Amen."




CHAPTER II.
NEW EXPERIEXNCES.
N the September of this year Mrs. Haven
went to Philadelphia, to spend the au
tumn with her husband's family.
"There I was welcomed and cared for as in my own
father's house; and, here my little son was born, on the
14th of October, healthy and beautiful."
Renewing some of the old associations,
though quite out of her old sphere, life wearing.
a very different aspect, and bringing new and
contrasted duties, the time passed quickly and
pleasantly in her new experiences. But she returned to health and strength slowly, and to a
resumption of her old habits of writing, with a
consciousness of "baby's protest," which for
some time interfered with her success.




2NEW EXPERIENCES.                  161
She writes:
"I find myself waiting on him  with a pen in rmy
mouth, and get confused about my own identity."
"II feel a little shy in my new relation in the presence
of the family; but sometimes I lock the door, and kiss
my boy to heart's content. I cannot give myself up to
this emotion before others; it is too sacred and absorbing."
Some verses, which will appeal to all who
have had a similar experience, express this feeling. They floated through her mind before she
was able to hold her pen; and though she never
considered them worth publishing, they have
their merit as an expression of the first emotion
of the mother:
"I am thankful they have left me to a hushed and quiet
room;
Its stillness is all holiness, its darkness has no gloom;
For nestling in my bosom, our first-born infant lies,
The seal of peaceful slumber pressed on his drooping eyes.'Two weeks ago, my little one, thy first low wailing cry
Broke in upon a midnight hour of fiercest agony.
Hot tears of joy and thankfulness fell on thy upturned face,
For prayers and sobs were mingled in thy father's close
embrace.




162               COUSIN ALICE.
"That wailing cry, that thankful prayer, are echoed round me
now,
As lovingly I pass my hand across thy cheek and brow;
My heart is full of gratitude, my eyes are full of tears,
To think the dreaded hour is past, with all its hopes and fears.
" God bless thee precious little one, most tenderly I pray,
And guide thee with a father's hand along life's weary way.
Or if His wisdom should recall the life He thus has given,
We then shall know a darling child awaits us both in Heaven."
Mrs. Ihaven returned to New  York about
New Year's, bringing with her a very beautiful
child, whom she might well regard with pride
and delight. In January a little niece was born,
her sister's child; and the family literature had
a curious addition in a correspondence kept up
by the two mothers in the names of little Sam
and Edith.   The former, aged three months,
was supposed to write a very clever baby letter
to the week old "Edith Newcome," which was
soon responded to with so much zest, that the
correspondence continued till the death of the
little girl, when something more than a year old.
This "baby correspondence " was published in
"The Schoolfellow," a juvenile magazine which
had been commenced by Mr. Richards in the
South, and was now flourishing in New York.




NEW EXPERIENCES.              163
Mrs. Haven frequently contributed to this
little magazine, which had now been for several
years a favorite in various households in both
sections of the country. It took the place with
Mrs. Haven of " The Bird's iNest," and conveyed
to children the interest in their young lives and
experiences which she always felt, and to which
she gave such charming expression.
She believed in juvenile, even in baby literature, and the venerable Mother Goose was an
oracle with her. It was not to her "the intolerable trash " which some very sensible people
call it. She said she remembered vividly the
pleasure new rhymes of this infantile sort gave
to her own little childhood, and she often made
jingling contributions to the baby lore of the
day, with the relish said to be shared "' by the
wisest men." Several years after this, when
going to pay her sister a visit, she wrote to her:
" I shall carry a copy of Mother Goose with me, to
help me win a welcome from your children. They are
not well treated by you in this matter, and do not get
half as much wholesome nonsense as they need-certainly as they would relish. I don't think I shall ever
forget my childish satisfaction in the merry jingle, or the




164            COUSIN ALICE.
impulse these old rhymes gave to my wandering wits and
my wide-awake imagination-perhaps, too, to my rhyming propensities. I would as soon withhold a rattle from
a baby."
She kept up nursery fictions with graceful
deference, giving them due place, as she always
recognized the value of mental recreation in later
years. Santa Claus came duly, as he does to all
good children in New York and elsewhere. A
rhyming letter of remonstrance, written by
"' Marie E.," in the name of Santa Claus, tbo the
destructive little nephew, who. was "Aunt Lallish's" pet in Charleston, amused Mrs. IHaven
very much, and was often quoted by her to other
young destructives of the benefactions of the
Christmas Saint. Her own pen was quick and
ready to minister to the wondering children, and
she kept in memory untold amusement conceived by the wit of others.
But, as I have said, this lore was not intruded out of season or order. It was always subordinate to the serious instruction which she never
failed to have fresh and stimulating for the receptive minds of the young. It was to this the
background, as were her gleams of humor and




NEW EXPERIENCES.            165
flashes of wit in her conversation, and it served
to outline more clearly often the earnest truths
which it was her aim to make impressive and
attractive.
Children were a study to'her. This is evident in the individuality of her childish creations.
She never gave toys even indiscriminately, or
without considering their effect; and Mother
Goose was administered with as much discretion
as Maillard's bon-bons. She saw the danger of
inducing mental dyspepsia, by weakening the
tone of the mind in childhood, too plainly to
admit of her being injudicious. She did not
even commit the common mistake of judging
the digestion of others by her own.
In the physical care of her children, she was
on her guard against the errors of inexperience;
and she made faithfulness no less a duty dictated
by conscience, than a pleasure taught by her affection. To no one could the cares of infancy
have come with a greater sense of onerousness.
They broke into an established routine imposed
by a consciousness of obligation; they disturbed
the nights whose refreshing rest seemed so essential to her health of mind and body; they




166           COUSIN ALICE.
interfered with her mental habits, and became,
through all this, disciplinary to her spiritual
nature. But they were welcomed, and, bringing their own compensations, she felt their
value. Life was totally changed since Alice
lNeal had become Mrs. Haven. Every day she
was less and less "of the world" which still environed her.
The winter after the baby's birth they spent
m New York; but in the spring they decided
to go to housekeeping in some of its quiet suburban towns; and, with this purpose in view,
they made inquiries in reply to the advertisements of " country homes." It was already
spring time, when a notice of a cottage residence
in Rye township, near the Mamaroneck station
of the New Haven Railroad, arrested attention.
Mr. Haven could not leave his business to accompany her, so his wife went out of town alone
to see the house, riding the twenty-five miles in
a stormy day. The house was newly built, and
had not yet been occupied; it was pleasantly
situated in a grove of locust trees, a pretty cottage ornee, apparently just the home they were
in search of, and the place was engaged. She




NEW EXPERIENCES.                167
went over to Philadelphia soon after, to spend a
week or two, and on her return was met by
Mr. Haven, and conducted to " Lohust Cottage,"
which, to her most delighted surprise, she found
all furnished and arranged for immediate occupancy by his thoughtful affection.
In this pretty home she made her birthday
record, on the 13th of the next September:
"This first birthday passed in our new home, was
bright at its beginnings, and happy in its close, but made
miserable through the day by my own fretful impatience.
" How much more happily we are situated than we
were last summer at this time. It was then the close of
our stay at Hastings, and we were to be separated for the
autumn, while before me was the great trial of becoming
a mother. There was no prospect of a.settled business
or a home."
She then refers gratefully to her pleasant
visit in Philadelphia, and says:
" The following winter was one of ill health, discouragement, and care. In larch, after many plans for housekeeping, we gave all up, and thought we would return to
Hastings for tile summer. The morning this plan was
found to be impossible was very hard. Weakened by ill
health and anxiety, I did not see what was to become of
us-forgetting that our Heavenly Father had more ways
8




'168             COUSIN ALICE.
of providing for us than we could even think of. Late in
April we saw this house advertised, and I came out alone
to loo'k at it. I found a new, pleasant, home-like cottage.
If it had been built expressly for us, it could not have answered better. It was a home even before it was furnished.
" I prayed God as I came out to direct us in our choice,
and He certainly directed us here. We have had health,
pleasant neighbors, and many comforts which we could
not otherwise have enjoyed. We have had our friends
around us, and so far have always been provided for,
though there have been some anxious days.
"I must not forget to mention my short visit to Philadelphia in the spring, and the care and thoughfulness of
my husband, who took all the burden of the removal
upon himself, and gave me the welcome surprise of a
home waiting to receive us.
" Baby's illness has been the great anxiety of the summer; but this is over now, and he is a great comfort. He
is called very beautiful, and his sweet, patient ways make
him very loveable. I am writing on the 14th, having
passed yesterday, my birthday, in town. The fault of
the day was, perhaps, allowed to me, as a landmark
against the particular temptation and fault of my present
life. Worrying over ways and means, fretfulness and
petulance, God help me to watch against this temptation,
and make me cheerful, patient, and humble."
In every trial that came to her in these new




NEWT EXPERIENCES.          169
experiences of life, as wife, mother, and housekeeper, she saw always beyond the pain and suffering, if such they brought her, the lesson God
was teaching her in sending them. If she was
sometimes rebellious under the pain and disappointment, she was oftener examining herself to
see what good end He had in view, who allows no
faithful soul to be tempted beyond its strength
to bear.
Much of this experience, woven together by
a thread of story, is to be found in a series of
chapters written for the Lady's Book, and afterwards published in book form by the Messrs.
Appleton, and called " The Coopers."
This volume is full of unobtrusive wisdom,
sometimes dearly purchased by its writer, and
therefore the more valuable to all making the
experiment which now occupied her. It is this
which commends it, rather than any special interest which attaches to the story.
Many a young couple has learned, from the
experiences of " The Coopers," to avoid quicksands, to " find the leak," and to sail safely into
smooth water, where the voyage of life can be
made pleasantly and profitably.




CHAPTER III.
IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.
HE books which she was now writing
for the Appletons, bear proverbial
titles, as we have seen, and each
one of them indicates the phase of
life through which she was passing. She had
written " No such Word as Fail," when almost
heart sick with disappointment and discouragement; " Contentment better than Wealth," after
"lying awake at night, planning how to get
money, which was wanted for so many uses;"
" Patient Waiting no Loss," when hope deferred
made her faint with weariness; "All is not Gold
that Glitters," as the illusions of worldly prosperity faded before her; and she could offer
thanks to God who had given, and who hlad
withdrawn HIis gifts.




IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.         171
These stories, save the titles indicating their
spirit, of course did not tell the inward struggle
out of which they had their birth, but the wisdom she was learning in the depth of the struggle; and God has blest their teachings to more
than the young readers to whom they were
addressed.
" All is not Gold that Glitters" shows more
power tharf some of them. It is said to be wondeifully graphic, and true to the California life
it undertakes to portray; and New England is
certainly as well represented. The book has
more scope than some of the others, and was
quite a favorite with its writer.
When, from time to time, those who knew
how much knowledge of life she possessed, and
into how large a mould she could cast her material, and the ideas which grew as she wrought
with it, would remonstrate with her for confining herself to children's books, and urge higher
flights and greater breadth, she would defend
herself with arguments that it was hard to gainsay, since they sprang from that which was
noblest in her nature.




172              COUSIN ALICE.
"A strictly personal ambition often stirs within me,
prompting me to do as you say. Yes, I used to believe
in my power, and picture brilliant futures; but I have
come to have more respect for my little audiences than
you seem to have. I write for the five hundred when
you write for five; and if there is a lesson to be learned,
it is better for the five hundred to be reached; so I aim
at being popular, attractive, and easily understood, instead of doing more artistic work, appealing only to the
few, though I know I do nothing for my reputation by
these little water-color pictures, which, certainly, every
one overlooks in the presence of such fine oil paintings as
your ambition aims at. I have had my temptation to do
as you say, and I have only recently been offered a large
price for satirical society pictures, thus overcoming one
of my scruples, which is, that I must make all the money
that I can use; but I cannot bring myself to the work
now.'"
A friend wrote:
" You could write a very brilliant society novel-no
one could equal you that I know of in this country; and
you do nothing with the wit which you have so plenti
fully at command in conversation."
She replied in much the same strain as above,
adding:
" When I have nothing else to do, I will do as you




IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.              173
say. To tell the truth, I have planned such L. novel long
ago. I have refrained from using some very rich material in my stories for the I-  s, because I am reserving
it for the book which is to come in some idle time, when
no one is tugging at my purse strings, and my conscience
is not pricking a moral lesson into my brain."
Keeping house on a narrow income, as they
were doing at Locust Cottage, maintaining, with
the income from her pen, the dependencies which
she considered sacred, and pondering sometimes
how to prevent the lightening of her home purse,
she wrote " Out of Debt, Out of Danger." She
was very methodical in her business arrangements, and she reduced household expenditure
to a regular system, carrying out the proverb
just named. Her precision and conscientiousness in the appropriation of her money is worthy
of remark.
She one day opened a small drawer in her
escritoire, and showed her sister seven or eight
little purses. They had been speaking of the
advantage of system in every thing, and especially in the use of money, and she illustrated
her practice in this way, remarking:
"These all belong to different objects.  I




174           C 0 USIN ALICE.
never borrow from one to use for another, for
fear that I might sometimes be tempted to be
unjust. When my money comes in, I apportion
it according to its amount, and these various
claims which may be more or less pressing.
iM-1    always gets her check every month. I
do not even see it. It is sent by Mr. GL-   as
it becomes due to her, so I have no trouble about
that. If at any time I have any thing left over,
I put it into what I call my poor purse. Sgives me a regular sum every month for the
household expenditure. Sometimes, when he
has had'a good day,' he gives me something
for my'poor purse.'
1" Once when our fortunes were at their lowest ebb, we chanced to have only ten cents in the
house purse. Of course I do not mean to say
that there was not a great deal between us and
real need; but you know S. was out of business
then, and I tell you of it to show how hard it
was to resist the temptation, for the moment, to
borrow from the other purses. But I waited,
with a sure expectancy that God would provide
from Friday till Tuesday when S. received a most
advantageous business proposition, with a good




IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.              175
income made certain.  My trust, when I feel that
I really exercise trust, is always well repaid."
Years afterwards she wrote of this period:
" I looked after every quart of flour, pound of butter,
and beef bone. I knew just when every thing came home,
what it was, how long it lasted, whether it went further
than the last, etc. I defy any one to keep a more economical table, or to burn more cinders than we did, and
yet we always had enough and kept warm. There was
nothing belittling in this close attention to such details,
for I was serving a large object and carrying out a good
principle. Then, you know, my beloved expense book:
every sixpence was entered, and S. posted it for me every
qutarter.
1" One thing in your letter would trouble me, if I did
not know it was false to yourself. You write:' And so
night comes with the comfortable and sublime consciousness of having "muddled" through another day.' You
know very well that when you have been a good wife to
W., a good friend to C., patient with baby and with the
thousand and one cares of your, to you, very trying life,
checked quick words and undue aspirations, such as'turning yourself into a money bag,' for instance, the day
has had its work accomplished.  Why, this is the sum
of one's mission,' taking the little foxes, and not letting
them spoil the gravpes.'
"Now, see how little we know: if I had married a
rich man, as you said I ought to, where would I have
8*




176              CO USIN ALICE.
been? Of what use to myself or any one else? I dote
on necessity: she has been a better teacher of philosophy
than Dr. Wayland himself. It was rather mortifying.
when I was first married, that I was not loved for being
pretty, or for writing stories or books-only for being
good! It seemed altogether too much to ask of me, with
so much else to balance the scale! But no. If I wanted
respect and love, I had to keep down impatience, and to
cultivate domestic virtues generally. I began with that
for a motive; now I see the higher one to which that
was the stepping stone. So all aspiration ends in doing
to-day's duty, and then'something higher' is put before
us. As Dr. G  - said to me on Friday:' There is no
perhaps with God. He is always ready to advance the
faithful doer.'"
When her oldest child was three years old,
she had three living children. She says in reference to this:
" I used to think I wasted nothing; but I must have
wasted time, and my three children have been sent so
close together to force me to find it out. I know that
well."
What an insight into an earnest, faithful,
self-denying life we find here! What a lesson
to the many who admire such a life of beneficence, and feebly wish that God had given




IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.              17'
to them  means to  do  likewise.   Here  was
means commanded, strength economized and
garnered, time almost created, and opportunity
sought for. Nothing was petty and unimportant, as she says, that led to the accomplishment
of her large purposes. Nor did she say " My
work is done," when any one of these seemed to
be accomplished, and so seek to release herself
from the pressure she had imposed.  There was
always some one in her mind or her heart,
ready to fill up the gap made by a necessity for
influence or care in any direction ceasing to exist.  She wrote to her brother:
" I have been intending to write to you for a week or~more about, especially since poor F-'s death.
has left our hearts and minds comparatively free to think
of one who is quite as near us, and in as great need of
help in some ways. I have felt as if I have neglected
him-not being able to see him, he has passed out of my
mind, and out of my prayers, in some measure. Seeing
this, I have just written to him."
Again, when changing one duty fulfilled for
another, she says:
" This is less pleasant. We encounter stubbornness
for gentleness, indifference (outward, I mean) for the




178              COUSIN ALICE.
affectionate gratitude for every attention he gave us; but
duty is not the less duty, because distasteful. We have
seen the result in one case-the miracle of answered
prayer, and absolute conversion; let us take heart for
this harder task, helping     through the darkness,
and uncertainty, and peril that surround him.
1" You have personal means of contact. You can seek
opportunity. If he avoids you, never mind about'his
place,' and' your rights,' or how little your efforts are
appreciated. If we wait to look after'our rights,' we
shall never accomplish any thing for any one. I don't
mind his misunderstanding me, or even should I get it,
which I never shall-real unkindness and ingratitude.
The Example set before us for our life-work, always received both. We have no right to ask other wages. He
gives them sometimes. He has done so of late, but not
as our reward, only as an encouragement to harder, more
regular tasks, undertaken for His' sake, not from mutual
kind feeling and benevolence."
To the same:
"You have your hands full, without doing any thing
for E  - this winter. Do not let it harass you. I will
give $5 a month toward her rent. It will be a great comfort in the end to think you have been allowed to help
her; it ought to be now to you. Still, I know it is almost impossible to count blessings when trouble is hard
at hand, and you see no way of escape. I know how,




IDEAS OF LIFE WVORR.            179
with my own strong and tried faith, my heart sinks at
such a time; how ungrateful I have been in distrusting
God's power and ability to help me, when man's help
seemed vain. But I so often have had reason to say to
S.,' Man's extremity is God's opportunity.'"
To a remonstrance at the amount of time
she gave to her housekeeping, with so many
other cares on her mind, she replied:
" I have had every thing to learn, and you
know how distasteful such affairs have always
been to me, when I felt at liberty to consult my
tastes, or rather allowed myself to do it. I am
beginning to take a little pride in my housekeeping. Mrs. Haven, pickling and preserving,
is very unlike, I grant, Mrs. Neal, with a pen or
book forever in her hand. I do many things in
the store room and dining room which you were
never willing to do."
Such household duties, with a not very expert cook, and at first a most inefficient nurse,
gave  her much  occupation.  Her failures,
through her inexperience, were very humiliating, and she speaks of coming to appreciate
household virtues for which she did not formerly
have a due respect:




180              COUSIN ALICE,
"I suppose, because people who are faminous house.
keepers are so seldom any thing else, and you know we
grew up with a feeling of deference for mental culture,
and of comparative indifference to these same housekeeping virtues, measuring their value as we measured mental
growth, against the mere physical comforts of life. Do
not imagine I am going over to the other side now; but
I believe in doing every thing well that is worth doing at
all. Bodily comfort and intellectual attainment still hold
their relative position in my respect."
She wrote this to her sister, who was regretting that she was entirely shut out of the literary
world in her country home, and her changed associations; and she adds:
" I needed the enriching which I get in my present
life. I should have run to weeds, I fear, if I had kept on
in the old routine. You do not know how my best life
was sapped by that continual drain, and how soon Imight
have become entirely unproductive. I need the quiet of
the country, the rest of these evenings which would seem
to you so dull, the call to minister where hitherto I have
been ministered to. My faculty for adaptation has its
legitimate uses now; and in return I get a thoughtfulness
and care ever present and so refreshing, after taking care
of myself so many years."
The mutual advantage of their union she




IDEAS OF LIFE WORK.                 181
often remarked, magnifying the blessing to herself. With all humility and a never absent sense
of her own weakness and need of help, she became a religious teacher to one to whom  she
looked up with a wife's deference and devotion.
Her anxiety for his conversion is manifest everywhere; and the fear that her inconsistencies are
his stumnbling blocks, keeps her always " at the
foot of the cross."
In her journal she writes:
"I am learning lessons of resistance to despondency,
but principally that I should pray as earnestly for my
husband's best good, as I do for his worldly success.
Yesterday, when my soul cried out-'Oh Lord, how long!'
the answer came"' Your Heavenly Father knoweth that you have need
of all these things.'
"'  Seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousaess, and all these things shall be added to you.'
"' I never so fully felt this. We can pray for God's
blessing on our worldly affairs, if He pleases to give itif it is best for us.
"But for the rest, we are told to'crave,''seek,'
knock,'  importune,''thirst,' and we shall have, if the
Lord will- if it is best for us. He does will-it is best.




182           CO USIN ALICE.
We know it. We do not need resignation, except to
await His time."
She one day checked an exultant remark
made by a friend, with whom she could take
the liberty, by saying:
" You think, as I once did, so much more of
the top of the ladder, than of the foot of the
cross;" and this remark expressed the wide
difference which existed between the ambition
of her early and her later years. Then she said,
" I am fitted for something higher." Now she
prayed, " My Father, make me worthy to serve
Thee, no matter how humbly, so Thou wilt accept the service." She saw herself formerly in
the light of her gifts and endowments, and
through the medium of the world's praises;
now it was in the light of God's requirements,
and through the medium of His Word. Her
successes are often commented upon in her earlier journals; in the later are recorded her
failures and her fresh resolves.




CHAPTER IV.
THE SPRING IN NASIYIILLE.
IR. HAVEN'S business engage"i         ments took him to Nashville
in the fall of 1855. There was
before them the prospect of a
separation for the winter, and Mrs. Haven suffered very much from depression in view of it.
The day after he left, the Publishers' Festival at
the Crystal Palace took place, and she attended,
with her brother-in-law and her sister, her husband having persuaded her to promise to do so.
She was trying to divert a melancholy which
oppressed her in spite of her trust and confidence
in God, to whom she turned so unfailingly when
clouds lowered about her.
The gaiety of this brilliant evening, where




184           CO USIN ALICE.
were assembled the largest number of authors
and men of letters ever seen together in our
country, probably; where the sparkling banquet
was forgotten in " the feast of reason" which
followed it; where personal animosities were
put aside, and the sneer died on the lip of the
cynic; where Irving, Bryant, and other patriarchs, gave cordial welcome to those who were
to succeed them in the world of letters; and the
young gazed reverentially and lingeringly on
those whose careers they humbly emulated;
where the female writers received their own
share of courtesy, and gave tone and softness to
the scene, some fifty of them  mingling with
their benevolent patrons and exemplars;-all
this, unique and brilliant as it was, made but a
feeble impression on one who was eminently
fitted by nature to shine in such a gathering.
She could not fail to sparkle for the moment;
but her heart was heavy, and only that which
appealed to it was remembered. The record
made by her of the evening is simply" The scene was charmingly gay and bright, but my
chief pleasure lay in meeting some good friends, and in




THE SPRIING IN NASHVILLE.          185
the enjoyment of the two Marys, who would not hlave
been there but for me."
The winter held for her the trial of lingering
ill health. She complains of a cough, sore lungs,
and nervous tremors. It was not her first warning: eight years before she had had an intimation of her fate, though she says of it, with the
flippancy of the age in which she heard the
prophecy:
" When the doctor told me that I was threatened with
curvature of the spine, and that he feared the seeds of
consumption were already implanted, I laughed at it
almost scornfully."
The time was past when such a warning
could be thus received: she was becoming sensible of her want of robustness, and remembered
with dismay her impatience of the wisdom which
so long ago had bidden her "beware of great
fatigues." In no part of her journal does she
speak so humbly of herself, or turn more confidingly to the promise of strength from above.
Now, too, as always when her time seemed
short, the claims of others pressed heavily upon
her. With a friend of like earnest piety she




186             COUSIN ALICE.
made agreement to set aside certain days for
special prayer for some who were very dear to
them  both.  This had been a custom with her
before this, and she continued it as long as she
ived, with great gain, as she believed, securing
visibly often what she called "the miracle of
answered prayer."
During the winter she had great enjoyment
in having with her, at the Cottage, her brother
and his wife, her beloved "Marie E."   Mr.
Haven came on to spend New Year's with
her, and she was especially glad in the unexpected reunion.
A variance existing between some persons
nearly related, and in whose happiness she felt
great interest, she attempted a reconciliation, in
vain, however, and thus she received another
lesson to wait God's will. She says:
" In all things this seemed to meet me:' In returning
and rest shall ye be saved. In quietness and confidence
shall be your strength. In patience possess ye your souls.'
This last I did not understand so well. I know now that,
weak as I was in body, and surrounded as I was by dificulties, my strength was to sit still. But, after all, their
was little need of patience.  My whole visit to P.




THE SPRING IN NASHVILLE.              187
was marked by instant and almost hourly strength and
comfort from above; and incessant battling with almost
visible hourly temptations proved this gain."
At last the fruits of her labor began to appear.
"' All goes right for Alice," said F; " she
wvill begin to think she has what she prays for
more than ever."
Her throat continuing to trouble her, and
making no gain in strength, she decided that
she had better go out to Mr. Haven, in Nashville.
" There is room for faith " (she writes) " in this winter's journey, in my present health, and in the uncertainty
of the future. It is the second time that I have left a
home, and remembered that' the Lord said unto Abraham, " Get thee out of the country, and from thy father's
house into a land that I will show thee."' I find an old
letter in which I went over the same struggle for faith in
giving up my home with mamma Neal: indeed that was
a much greater struggle. But this cottage is so endeared
to us-our first home together, the birth of our little
daughter, the baptism of our children, all that S. has
learned here, and the many lessons and blessings that I
have had, will never be forgotten. How gently the blind
were led by a way they knew not!
" One thing more. Here I have been made to define




188             COUSIN ALICE.
to myself my attachment to the church, and my faith in
its purity; to love and pray for its prosperity, to' lift up
mine eyes unto the hills, and know that the hour cometh
speedily when all nations, and kindred, and people, and
tongues,' shall be blessed in our Saviour's long reign of
peace.
" This leading came in the shape of one of the most
subtle temptations I ever was suffered to fall into, which I
brought upon myself through spiritual pride, growing out
of things which I have put upon record. Like my other
temptations, it has ended in a blessing of strengthened
faith and confirmed hope. The lesson of the last six
months has been humility, outward and inward.
" Some persons are preserved in great temptations,
and often overcome in little daily trials, that they may be
humbled, and learn never to trust themselves in great
things, when they are so weakened by such small things.
Thou knowest not what is before thee in the way, therefore walk humbly."
She decided to go to Nashville by the way
of Savannah, and arranged to sail on the 27th of
February.
" Looking into Bogatsky for a text for the day, I found'Satan hath desired to have thee, that he may sift thee as
wheat; but I have prayed for thee, that thy faith fail
not. I will keep thee in the hour of temptation.' And
the commentary went on to say, that though we were




ITE SPRING IN NASHVILL1E.           189
often convinced that a course of action was right and
best, both by outward appearances and seeming indications of Providence, and by inward faith; yet it might
be only a delusion after all. Nevertheless, God would
ultimately overrule all for the best.
" M[ore than once I had the feeling that, in deciding
to go to Nashville, I was acting merely on my own judgment and wishes, and not following God's direction."
She then draws pictures of what she fancied
might be their life in her new home, in which may
be detected a little weariness with the quiet and
impatience of the seclusion of her life in M -.
It was in such great contrast to all she had ever
imagined in her younger days, to be alone worth
living for; even her sphere of influence seemed
narrowing.  In another place she might find a
fresh form  of social life, where literary tastes
were more exclusively cultivated, and the mind
would receive a new impulse; not that she in
the least undervalued the warm, true, and dearlybeloved friends, whose affection gave her so
much satisfaction at M    -; friends whose loving sympathy followed and surrounded her in
every experience of her after life, and who wept
tears of unfeigned sorrow at her grave; nothing




190            COUSIN ALICE.
she knew could compensate for the loss of such
friends. But the rich, brilliant tone, the fine
esprit, which was characteristic of the social life
she had known in the cities, was necessarily
wanting in a country home, and she felt the
need of it, at least the craving for it, which those
who are brought from high living to a plainer,
though it may be a more wholesome diet, will
sometimes feel for the indulgences of which they
are deprived.
She did not excuse or spare herself as she
came to see the pictures with which she was
feeding the old love, and which were alluring her
from a home whose blessedness she had proved.
She recognizes the " vain glorying " with mortification and distress, and seeks again the true
light she felt safe in following. She was going
to her husband, and their new life promised so
much time together, " time always for morning
prayers," which the necessity of taking the early
train to New York sometimes made impossible
at MI; then her health certainly demanded
an escape from the rigor of a northern spring;
and with these and other sober reasonings, she




TltE SPRING IN NASHVILLE.          191
shut out the vain desires whose very remembrance humiliated her.
But she was far from happy, or at ease in
making the change. Speaking of her voyage,
she says:
" The sickness of my servant, of the children, and of
myself, the confusion and novelty about me, kept me
from the great duties of my life, just as the hurry. and
worry of preparation had done."
Of Sunday in Savannah:
"The heavens are brass; it is scarcely possible to
pray. An impression of some coming punishment, some
fall to my pride, hangs over me. I pray for it, rather than
to go on as I am."
A telegram from her brother reached her;
there was no trouble at the North; he had concluded to keep Locust Cottage for them, which
was a great comfort to her. Still the presentiment continued to deepen, the foreboding of evil
grew stronger. The next day a telegram came
from Mr. Haven, saying that he could not meet
her in Savannah, as had been expected, and this
was followed by a letter giving her explanations.
Without warning or chance of redress, the char9




192              CO USIN ALICE.
ter of the bank in Nashville, with which her
husband was connected, had been repealed on
the 29th, the day before the legislature of Tennessee had adjourned for two years!
" In one hour our plans were all ended. I was glad
this blow had come: that I knew the worst.
"We started for Nashville at five the next morning,
under the care of my cousin Fred. At such a crisis it
was impossible for my husband to leave; but what a
dreary journey was before me!-one that I would scarcely
have had the courage to undertake, had I realized it before I left home. I was barely able to sit up through the
day at home, and now I asked God for courage to live
through the night journey, with the care of the children
coming upon me, for my servant was a very inefficient
woman. At midnight, sick and faint, holding my boy on
my arm, and striving to endure patiently, the cars stopped
to allow the train from Chattanooga to pass. I had not
a single thought of expectation, and I could not speak for
joy and? thankfulness, when, in the dim light of a crowded car, I saw my husband's face bend over me! "
This spring spent at Nashville was any thing
but outwardly comfortable, their stay was to be
so short, and Mr. Haven was occupied only in
winding up the business for which he was agent
for New  York capitalists; but one hope was




THE SPRININ  IN NASHVILLE.           193
realized-their children throve, and her health
improving some, ".was passably good." At this
time she wrote to a relative at the liorth who
was in much trouble:
" We are so apt to forget that God has more ways
and means of providing for us than we can possibly' imagine, it is, therefore, folly to seek to confine Him to our
methods. I am reading Madame Guyon over again, understanding it better than ever before. I want you to
have it when I get home: there are so many things which
correspond with your experience in the past year, and
the'whys' and'wherefores' are made plain. I can understand your Easter experience so well. S. says he
would like to begin life over again, with his new views
and principles. I would not.  I am so thankful that
twenty-nine years are almost gone; not for their worldly
cares, I don't think so much of these now-a-days; but
that' the outward fightings and the inward fears' are so
far accomplished. Sarah and Fanny, the'Faithfuls,' go
upward from the midst of the pilgrimage. But they are
the very ones who are content to live and bear. Even
the self-will of wishing to go must be broken. Do you
know, I think self-will suffers more than any other sin?
The horse and mule must bear the bit and bridle, while
others are guided by His eye. I think that is the reason
of many troubles that would otherwise appear to be incomprehensible."




194           COUSIN ALICE.
Here we find the -unconscious expression of
growing power in her soul. The strength of her
will was great, but her reliance and confidence
in the overruling of God gave her the extraordinary poise which especially marked the latter
part of her life. She was already learning the
" whys and wherefores," which are full of mystery to those who close their eyes to the source
of those influences whose operations disturb the
course of our lives. She taught herself to trace
clearly the hand of her Heavenly Father, dealing with her in love, even though the dealing
came as a chastisement. Disappointment ceased
to distress her; and expectation, crowned with
realization, only filled her heart with thankfulness to God.




CHAPTER V.
RETURN TO TIIE NORTH.
HEY left Nashville in April, intending to visit Niagara on their way
home, instead of coming by the
most direct route.  Mrs. Haven
had never visited the Falls, and she anticipated
it with great pleasure. Her health was such,
however, that she knew if she did not go to
Philadelphia now, she would not be able to do
so for some time to come, and she did not like
the idea of not seeing " Mamma Neal" for so
long a time. Mrs. Neal was very feeble, but
not more so than she had been for years past;
there seemed no special reason why she should
not live years to come. Still, the idea that one
or another might die before a possible visit, as




196             COUSIN ALICE.
sailed Mrs. Haven so persistently, that she p3r.
suaded Mr. H. to give up the contemplated visit
to Niagara. They therefore returned by way
of Philadelphia, and Alice paid the visit which
it was so much in her heart to make. She found
Mrs. Neal appearing quite as well as at any time
during the past three or four years. It was a
great satisfaction to one who regarded her with
a daughter's affection, that the unexpected visit
gave the old lady so much pleasure.
On reaching home Mrs. Haven wrote to her
sister that they had changed their route, because
her desire to see Mrs. Neal was so great that
she felt that, this ungratified, she could not even
have taken any delight in seeing Niagara.
"It was impressed upon my mind that I must go to
Philadelphia, to see mamma; so I said,'the Falls will
keep, friends may die,' and S. kindly, though rather
reluctantly, gave up the plan, and indulged me in my own
way. I enjoyed my visit very much, and shall never
regret having made it."
Mr. Haven brought the letter in which this
paragraph occurs, into New York to post it; and
when it reached its destination, on the outside
was written in his hand writing:




RETURN TO THE NORTH.              197
"A telegram has just came from Philadelphia. Mrs.
Neal has had a paralytic stroke, and is thought to be
dying."
Here seemed to be the key to the presentiment whose expression was so remarkable in the
letter.
Mrs. Haven hastened at once to Philadelphia,
but too late. The visit so insisted upon by her
was the last interview with her kind friend, her
" dear mamma," who had so long been looked
up to with filial reverence. It was a great
shock, and to her, in her state of health, a fearful
one; but in time she could speak of it calmlyand she always reverted to that last meeting as
a special guiding of Providence.
She says of her return home that spring:
"' I think I never was so thankful in my life as on the
night of our arrival at Locust Cottage-our own dear
home-still ours unchanged. We went from room to
room saying,' Oh, this is so nice;' and it was doubly so
after our uncheerful home in Nashville, and the discomforts of travelling. We were amongst friends too! And
I kept constantly saying to myself:'Oh how can words, with equal warmth
My gratitude declare.'
On the Thursday after our return, S. had to go back




198             COUSIN ALICE.
to Nashville for a time. I parted with him with the
most miserable forebodings. At night my brother came
out with a letter and telegram,' Mamma was gone,' and
I not there! "
The summer passed quietly, and but for
another great shock in the news of a fatal
accident on Lake George, which occasioned the
death of Mr. Haven's two sisters, the peace and
repose of their home life would have been very
favorable to Mrs. Haven's health.
On the 13th of September she made the following record in her journal:
"A busy day of household care, of weariness, and
petty disappointment. The 12th had my birthday brightness. There were no visitors for the first time in two
months, and I went to my room'to gather myself together' thankfully. The quiet morning was given to
looking over my papers-burning some, and thinking of
the many things in the past year that were reasons for
thanksgiving.
" My birthday morning was bright and beautiful, but
my nurse was in town, so my household affairs were
delayed; and I was wearied with attending to these and
with the care of the children. This will, perhaps, be the
trouble of the year, though far greater ones may be in
store. Now it seems more than probable that with three




RETURN TO THE NORTH.                 199
little children, the eldest but three years old, such days
will be more and more frequent.
" My text for the day was' In Thee, the fatherless
findeth mercy.' Truly it has been so since twenty-six
years ago to-day my father died. Twenty-three years ago
to-day since I left my own, for an adopted mother; ten
since the great change in my life with which this volume
of my journal began."
" Sept. 14th.
" Yesterday being such a day, I am writing on the
Sunday following. The cottage never looked more beautiful; the sky, the foliage, the autumn flowers, the softly
tempered sunshine falling on the lawn. I have said to S.
so many times: It is a Heavenly day,'So calm, so cool, so bright
The bridal of the earth and sky.'
We read the service at home, S. still declining to go to
church unless I do. The children are very lovely, and
outwardly there seems no wish ungratified. Even the
dark day to which I look forward is brightened by unexpected blessings. There is no flaw in the happiness of
thlis.
" I find the same striving against, and yielding to,
Sabbath weariness, even with so much to make me thankfully obedient; this, and cold, formal wandering prayers,
are my easily besetting sins.
" It is afternoon, my boy and his father are going out
9*




200              CO USIN ALICE.
to walk-from the porch I hear my little daughter's
sweet baby voice, the most loving, the dearest of little
ones, shouting,'Papa, oh, papal'"
A picture of peace and content which might
well satisfy one whose heart was uppermost, and
attuned to a recognition of the mercies that
crowned her lot. There was a deep peace overflowing her life; its fruits were budding out during the summer, in a work of which we find the
first mention in a large volume full of memorabilia, such as she was in the habit of garnering
up to use as material. In much that was left in
this way we see the inception of work afterwards accomplished; but much remains unused in
the life that was only too short for the work her
busy brain had planned.
In the manuscript volume referred to, is the
following:
" In wishing to give a devotional book to the servants,
I have often been at a loss in the selection; most of the
subjects are too advanced in Christian experience, or of
too high a range of topics for their use. It has occurred to me to select a text and write a commentary, or
perhaps a prayer and hymn for every day in the month,
morning and evening-short, because of the numerous calls
upon a dmestic's time, and as simple as may be in ex



RETURN  TO THE  NORTH.              201
pression and illustration. This I propose to call' Higher
Wages,' and to go on with it at intervals, as the business
of otherwise wasted Sunday afternoons, when I am detained from evening service. Whether this plan will
ever be carried out, I cannot say. This, by God's help, is
the beginning.'LocusT COTTAGE, June 15th, 1856."
Following this are instructions as to where
papers in reference to this work will be found
in case of her death.  When she had the book
planned in this way, and for the class of persons
mentioned, with the title of "Higher Wages,"
she selected references for the title page.
"Know ye not that to wLhom ye yield yourselves servants to obey, his servants ye are to whom ye obey; whether
of sin unto death, or of obedience unto righteousness?
"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God
is Eternal Life, through Christ Jesus."
RoMANs, vi. lGth and 23d.
The first two texts selected for comment
were:
" Choose ye this day whom ye will serve."
JoSH., xxiv. 15.
"I will give thee thy wages."
ExoDUS, xxi. 9th.
Thus began a work whose plan and scope




202            COUSIN ALICE.
were very much changed as she proceeded, until
a book, " The Good Report," the last her pen was
ever employed upon, was the result. Instead
of being suited only to the comprehension of
the untrained and ignorant, it expanded into a
summary of the Christian's pilgrimage. There
are forty days representing the forty years' wandering in the wilderness; and for every text
taken from the Old Testament referring to this,
is a corresponding text from the New Testament,
confirmatory, explanatory, and exhibiting the
harmony between the two, which was always a
favorite study with her.
This, in time, became her best beloved work,
and it contains every thing which could make
such a volume valuable, as the product of a life
rich in meditation and spiritual apprehension.
She wrote and re-wrote, and revised with the
greatest care, submitting the results of such
earnest labor, from time to time, to those in
whose exegetical ability and spiritual insight
she had reason to place great confidence.
It is worthy of remark, that this book, containing from two to eight illustrative texts to
each page, was written without the aid of a Con



RETURN TO THE NORTH.             203
cordance, she so literally' searched the Serijp
tures." She said the time this consumed was
well spent, since she found in the search so
many passages that were of use in other places.
Her remarkable memory was of course of great
assistance to her; and her long-continued habit
of reading daily, and of comparing passages, had
led to much patient research and great knowledge. Her use of biblical references is always
beautifully apt, often giving the happiest illustrations of their meaning. She says of this:
" I do not think I was ever a student of any thing but
the Bible. To that I have diligently brought what was
best in my ability."




CHAPTER VI.
INT.RODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL.
N  the spring of 1857 she opened the
large volume which was not quite
completed when she died. The introduction was a brief history of the progress she had been making in her spiritual life,
which every year became richer and deeper.
On the first page she inscribes for a motto:
" God's Providence is my Inheritance;"
the motto of Robert Dutton, Mayor of Chester,
England, who, in 1604, stayed in the city through
the fearful plague, though all besides, whom the
disease allowed to do so, deserted the town; by
this devotion he lost children and servants.
Below the motto is an extract from a poem by
Raleigh:




INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 206
"Give me my Scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of Faith to walk upon,
My script of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation;
My gown of glory, Hope's true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage."
From Thomas a Kempis, the following:
"There is therefore no sanctity if Thou, oh Lord,
withdraw Thy Hand.
i' No wisdom availeth if Thou cease to guide.
"No courage helpeth if Thou leave off to defend.
" No chastity is secure if Thou dost not protect it.
" No custody of our own availeth if Thy sacred watchfulness be not present with us."
There are great numbers of short printed
paragraphs on the leaves usually left blank, very
characteristic selections, some marking particular
trials or events of her life, or special needs of
her nature.- They are evidently the accretion
of the years which follow. Many more of these
selections are lying loose through the volume,
with here and there a memorial flower.  The
paragraphs are almost entirely of a religious character, and evidently were preserved because they
were considered "helpful." She never allowed
any thing to escape which would serve herself




206              COUSIN ALICE.
or others. The letters to her friends frequently
inclosed such extracts, with a short note or
comment doubling the force of the comfort or
lesson conveyed.
" Gathering up the fragments that nothing
should be lost," was a source of riches to her all
the time. The same carefulness whichl prevented waste in her household, and which made her
hold every possession as one who must give
account, was a graft of principle. Nature had
not made a " Martha" of her; grace developed
in her the rarest combination of the two sisters,
the careful M~artha and the devoted Mary, which
the world has known.
Here is one of the extracts which her own
character might have suggested to another:
" Charity is a virtue of all times and all places. It is
not so much an independent grace in itself, as an energy
which gives a last and highest finish to every other, and
resolves them into one common principle."
The setchll of her religious liie may as well
be copied entire:
"'LoccST COTTAGE, April 5th, 1857.
"It is eight years ago to-day, by the church calendar, since the day of my confirmation.  That was Palm




INTROD UCTIONV TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 207
Sunday, April 18th, 1849; and in wishing to get the exact
date, I am reminded how useful my journal has been te
me in many ways. I am glad the habit was fixed at
school.  The teachers made a rule that each of the
scholars should keep a journal. My first was a very childish and trivial record, showing, however, my peculiar
traits of character much more plainly than I thought
then. The next volume, written with occasional intervals
of neglect, at New Hampton, exhibits all these faults of
character deepened and strengthened by time. It ends
with my engagement to Mr. Neal.
" The third was commenced as a record of that, and
of the wonderful future which was opening to me through
it. There are but few entries before his death. After
this, it had a higher object. It became a kind of confessional wherein I accused, and chiefly excused myself in
the folly of these years. Its chief value is the clear
record it is to me of the change in the character witnessed against me in the first volume, and confirmed in that
which gives the history of my girlhood. It is a plan of
the battle I have fought, and I can trace some of the
victories gained. There was no plan then. I struggled
on blindly, with inward and outward faults and adverse
or fortunate circumstances.
" The stand-point of this new life is nowhere written.
It was an afternoon's talk with a simple-hearted, uneducated man who was going out to China as a missionary,
impelled by a strong desire to work there. I do not even
remember his name. For some reason, which also J




208              COUSIN ALICE.
cannot recollect, he called on my mother, who was engaged and sent me to him. I think this was in July, 1846.
I am certain of the year, for it was shortly after the death
of my adopted sister Louisa, which had made me for the
first time very much in earnest.
"'It would seem as if you ought to go instead of me,'
he said, talking of his mission;'you have had every
advantage of education and instruction; I have had none.'
"I remember meeting all his arguments with great
flippancy.:"' Oh show me what this faith means, and I will be as
good a Christian as any of you,' I said.
" I do not remember what his reply was; but whether
from that or a simple inward conviction, I instantly felt
that' Faith was not of ourselves but the gift of God,' to
be had only for the asking. I went into my room, locked
the door, and prayed for a full five minutes that faith
might be given to me. I thought I would begin to read
the Bible again, asking God to help me understand it.
This I did more or less regularly from that time.
" In December of the same year, I came to Philadelphia. Party, opera, theatre, and concert-going followed,
until sickness and death came. The inward struggle
went on with more or less directness.
" The rest is in the volume commenced ten years ago
and just closed. It is true that I find the record of Palm
Sunday, 1849, the day on which I openly devoted myself
to a better life. What have I done in these eight years?
What,ave I learned? How much have I advanced?




INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 209
These are the questions for to-day. In answering these
my journal is of the greatest assistance to me, for it is in
some measure a daguerreotype of the day on which it
was written. I see through all, how my prayers have
been answered, often to the letter-prayers that I scarcely
felt, only knew that I ought to feel at the time. How
all worldly circumstances have proved for the best for
me. How my besetting sins of vanity and self-indulgence
have followed me-how they have been checked here and
lopped off there-how they have sprung up again when
least suspected-what gain I have made over them, and
how they perpetually follow me as' spiritual pride' and
innocent ease.'
" I have been reminded that inconsistency is a special
work of the Tempter, inasmuch as it not only destroys
the good we have sought to do, but hinders us from doing
more, or attempting it-that by this we fetter our own
hands against attempting God's service.
" The chief end of man being to serve and glorify God,
how are we tp do so?
"' Therein is my Father glorified that ye bear much
fruit.'
"' Every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth that it
may bring forth more fruit.'
"Yet I shrink still from the pruner's knife, and the
finer's fire. I never pray' Lord humble me' that I do
not cower and tremble in fear of the stroke, for I know
that He is a faithful hearer and answerer of prayer.
The great wish of my heart now is that my husband may




210              CO USIN ALICE.
be with me in all this desire of service and of increase oi
knowledge. Eight years this has been my prayer,' Teach
him Thy way.''" Last Easter Sunday I felt beaten back.  Still I did
not despair. Looking to-day over the past four years, I
see how great a change is already wrought. It is the'ear,' but let me go on hoping and praying for' the ftll
corn in the ear.' I have commenced a solemn Passion
week, with this in view, and the good of many of our
friends. That I may be watchful, and faithful to my vow,'Lord help me. That which I see not, teach Thou me."'
What can be added to this simple story of
the grace of God working in her soul    The
implicit confidence that her prayers were never
unheeded, has the child-like character which
carries conviction of its source and inspiration.
Her nature was not marked by singleness, nor
her mind by credulity.  On the contrary, when
a girl she was noted for scheming and planning,
and for carrying out her designs with an amount
of tact which was so unusual that a lady, who
was highly accomplished socially, said, after
watching her with much interest:
" She has every quality which would command success
in a Parisian salon. I never saw a woman born out of
Paris, to such an inheritance of tact."




INTRODUCTION TO HER LAST JOURNAL. 211
This trait, so commonly misused in society,
because used to further selfish ends, became one
of her most adroit weapons wherewith to serve
others, and to promote every good end and aim.
She consecrated this as religiously as every
other gift to her Master, whom she lived to
glorify.
That she was not credulous was shown in the
rarity of the cases in which she was ever deceived. She grew every year more and more astute,
as well as more charitable. Her insight was such
that evil seemed unveiled in her presence. IHer
own soul undisguised, compelled, as well as invited, sincerity from those about her. She was
so unflinching in self-investigation, she so reverenced Tr7uth in its every manifestation, that she
" trod down" the old self "with words of sharming," lifting her eyes humbly to the cross from
which she always sought strength and guidance.
Her filial spirit was marked in the manner
in which she received what she considered chastisements from  the hand of a Father whose
wisdom and whose love she never questioned.
She continually confesses to the involuntary
shrinking of the flesh, for her courage was not




212            COUSIN ALICE.
instinctive; but the struggle is soon ended, and
the acknowledgment, "He doeth all tlings well,"
is heard from lips still white with the agony she
had endured.
Her journal is so feeble a showing forth of
the beneficent action of her life, that the temptation is great to withdraw the veil her delicacy
always drew over all the circumstances which
involved the feelings of others. Where was
there trouble or sorrow that her presence, her
voice, her purse, or her pen could give comfort,
that they were not offered with a spontaneity
that showed them to be the offering of a heart in
full sympathy? And in all, was seen the wisdom she had learned at such a cost. Every event
of her eventful life had educated her for her
work. Nature and grace alike fitted her to
counsel and advise, to comfort and sustain; and
she who became in the midst of most pressing
family cares and duties, and in her delicate
health, and dearly-bought leisure, the rod and
staff of many a strong, but despairing nature,
steadying the burden herself till the shoulders
could take it again, was every day growing more
and more "like a little child."




INTROD UCTION TO HER LAST JO URNAL. 213
In a letter to a near relation, where her tenderness and earnestness make her eloquent, she
says of herself:
"I am harsh and arrogant, and dictatorial by nature.
Perhaps you cannot understand what I struggle against
at every step of my own religious enlightenment; how
often I am betrayed into saying, /'Lord, what shall this
man do I' But, dear W., it is Peter's zeal at heart. I
want N. to have the inexpressible relief, the abiding
rest and confidence in every trial, whether it is of God's
sending, or seems to be of man's working, that this reliance
on the love, the tenderness, the infinite friendliness of
Christ has brought to me. No one but my Heavenly Father can know how often, on my knees with prayers and
tears, I have sought this rest, this stronghold for her, when
she seemed to buffet back the ministries of His Providence,
when every thing seemed to be against her. Not that I
thrust myself in to assume the burden of her cares; it
has only been whcn she has talked to me of them, laid
them open as one may to the near and dear, that I have
said,'Oh that she could take all this to Him, who
alone could bear it for her.'"
Herein was the secret of her strength, her
power, to bear, to do. This was the fountain
of the waters of Life, of might and healing,
which she drank from continually; and continually the power of God was manifested in her.




CHAPTER VII
zER SABBA TI.
ERHAPS no person who has had a
religious education was ever free
from the fetters which such teaching sometimes imposes. Reference
has been made to the church connection formed
almost in her childhood; from this she emancipated herself when she found that what should
be considered as a stay and guidance was only
irksome restraint. Whether from this time,
when in her childish way she first sought to fit
herself for a membership with the Church of
Christ, and then as life's allurements opened upon
her felt her resolution die away in the heat of
the sun of worldly pleasure-or whether she was
self-deceived in the foundation of her feelings,




HER SABBATH              215
she certainly does not in her private record of
them go back to that period.
She takes her first intelligent and comprehending impression of her duty to God, as we
see, from a chance conversation years after, and
she goes to the Bible itself to be taught. There
were points in the faith of her childhood which
did not appeal to her when studying out this matter for herself. She gave her confidence to no
one, but blindly struggled through the mists and
clouds which necessarily settled over her path.
As her own strength failed her, she learned that
from God cometh our Salvation. When human wisdom availed not, she went to the source
of all knowledge; and as she read, her heart burned within her, and she knew Christ as revealed
in the Gospel, and followed Him in the way.
One by one, she settled for herself questions of
duty, and her life made it plain that she came
daily into a clearer light and a plainer path.
As years went by, she recognized the meaning of the teachings which had made so feeble
an impression on her early years, and felt their
value. She had became a communicant of the
Episcopal Church, and was always a faithful
10




216            CO USIN ALICE.
adherent to its tenets; but her " true religion
and undefiled " could not long be trammelled by
sectarian influences. When her principles predominated over the tastes which were so much
better satisfied with the service of the Church of
England, her catholicity increased constantly.
She always felt that in the bosom of the church
where she had found repose and shelter, there
was that which no other form of Protestantism
could give to her at least; but she questioned
no one's conscience who differed from  her.
Wherever the followers of Christ met to pray,
there she could pray; informed by His spirit,
she recognized readily the same inspiration in
others. Her love and reverence for her own
church was never less than at first, but her
sympathies grew broader as she came to lay less
stress on externals, and to remember, in all her
judgments, what Its would be who looketh at the
heart and judgeth of the intention, " trying the
rein8s."
She said once that it struck her curiously in
her review of the faith in which she had been
bred, that she had to re-learn so much that she
had heedlessly forgotten, or wilfully unlearned'




HER SABBA TH.            217
"I find out more and more my indebtedness
to my Christian training, to the influence of the
sincere piety of the relations who directed my
childish thoughts. I have had many a weary
step in seeking the old path. I have great comfort in my inheritance offaith."
There was no doctrine peculiar to what is
called orthodoxy, of which she did not make a
study. She would sometimes say, " I have not
yet examined this point, and have no definite
ideas, but I will take it up immediately;" and
forthwith she would apply herself diligently
to a renewed searching of the Scriptures, and
there would be an accumulation of evidence
in her mind as passage after passage was found
and applied, and the question forever settled.
She read very few doctrinal books; after
"The Pilgrim's Progress," which she always
said was next to the Bible to her, her favorite
volumes were devotional.  Thomas a Kempis
was a daily guide. Taylor's' Holy Living and
Dying " was always near her. George Herbert
and IKeble were great sources of comfort, and
many more, Bishop Wilson of the number,
were constant companions.  She had also a




218           COUSIN ALICE.
~singular fondness for religious biography. At
ist her tastes led to a selection of those whose
morbid tendencies were in accordance with her
own; but this yielded, as her mind took a
stronger tone, to the healthier influences of sound
thinkers and active workers. She could not
have much sympathy with the devotee whose
piety revolved about self, who spent her time in
morbid self-questioning, her zeal in prayers in
her own behalf. She daily and hourly illustrated her faith by her works, making the tenor
of her life the most impressive lesson she taught.
She was once asked, " How do you find time
to pray for all the world? I find it takes all
the time and energy I can secure to pray for
myself."
"' If you begin by praying for yourself, it is
very likely you will find time for nothing else;
but if you remember others before yourself, you
will be sure to find the time for' Lord help me,'
and feel your need so keenly, that this short
prayer will comprehend it all."
Her ideas of a proper observance of the
Sabbath, were the result of a close investigation
of the most profitable use to be made of the day.




HER SABBA TH.                219
She interpreted the commandments -as she: did
every thing in the Old Testament, by' a:comn
parison with the teachings of Christ. To those
whose observance was less religious than her
own, she was accustomed to say:
"I cannot judge for you, but I know my
own needs. I know that there are none too
many hours in the day for the rest from worldly
care, and for the devotional service for which it
provides me time and opportunity. I cannot
believe my need greater than that of others; but
I may be mistaken, so I do not judge for any
but myself.   One thing I intend to spare no
pains to accomplish; the day shall never be
irksome to the children."
In her journal she says:
" April 6th.
" The storm is so violent that I do not think there
can be service. It was a great comfort as I woke this
morning to think there would be church days all the
week, that I could carry yesterday with me through it all.
"When not more than seven or eight years old, I
used to wake with such a feeling of relief when Sunday
was over for a whole six days, and I thought Heaven
must be a dreary place when the hymn said:'Where congregations ne'er break up
And Sabbaths have no end.'




220             COUSIN ALICE.
This is a different feeling entirely. I am beginning to
understand the possibility of its being Heaven for that
very reason. We try to make Sunday a happy day for
the children, for the remembrance of our own weariness
which lasted so many years."
And then follows a passage comparing the
way the Sabbaths were now passed by her husband, and his satisfaction in them, with those he
spent when she first knew him"When he did not come down stairs till ten o'clock
in the morning, and drove out to High Bridge with a
sleighing party in the afternoon. Not very hopeful! God
certainly saved me in the rash leap my engagement was.
I often wonder at it now. He led us to each other for our
mutual help and comfort. The necessity of watching my
own conduct and consistency, lest I should put stumbling
blocks in his path, has been of the greatest service to me;
and his firmness has had the best influence over my
waywardness. Yesterday certainly differed very much
from that first Sunday of our acquaintance!
" Certainly the Sabbath is' a sign between God and
man.' They who hallow the Sabbath do win the blessing
in spiritual if not in worldly gain, as was the old promise
to the Jews. Keeping the Sabbath properly was one of
my first strivings and difficulties, and I began to teach
Sunday School only to keep myself employed, and so to
lessen temptation. That first year of our marriage, his




HEIR SABBA THI             221
ways were so different; the whole year I grieved over
unhallowed Sabbaths. Then we made a rule not to talk
of business on Sunday.'Never mind,' I would say,'we
won't talk about that to-day.' How many blue hours it
has turned aside!"
The Sabbath beneath her roof was a peculiarly sweet day. The family arrangements were
made as far as possible with a view to the convenience of the servants as well as their own.
Such claims were never overlooked, nor were
those of the children, although this was Mr.
Haven's only day at home, and his happiness
came before all these considerations.  With
what sweet earnestness and tact did she exert
herself that all should say, "this is the best day
in the week to me."
As her children became old enough to attend
she sent them to the Sabbath School, though she
carefully attended to the preparation of their
lessons. She taught them verses of hymns and
passages of Scripture, explaining every thing to
them  in the simplest manner, and often illustrating with her peculiar aptness and force. In
the evening often, as they grew older, she was
accustomed to gather them about the piano, and




222            COUSIN ArICE.
teach them little songs, leading their voices by
her own; and as the nurse came for them one by
one to put them to bed, her " good night " kiss
had a blessing in it that surely "brought angels
down " in sleep.
[Then, she could. consult her own tastes, perhaps some sacred music, or a chapter or two
from a wise book, some religious poetry, the
Bible, and so ended a day hallowed, and profitable to body and soul. She one evening said
to a guest, whose fine singing of sacred music
was a very great pleasure to her, in his occasional
visits, "' Will you read me my favorite chapters
in Hebrews. You know them. Your reading
of the Bible is a great satisfaction to me. I
enjoy it as much as your singing;" and shading
her eyes with her hand she followed the reader
almost breathlessly, her reverential spirit making its own vivid impression in the sympathy it
awoke in all in the room. So she hallowed the
Sabbath.
She believed in the ministry of fasting to some
extent, and writing of it in her journal she says:
"I have devoted this week to -, in special selfdenial and prayer. Last night I came upon this help and




HER S14BBA TIE.                223
encouragement, if I dare take it to myself:'At the beginning of thy supplication the commandment came
forth.' This is a familiar Bogatsky text, and was in the
morning lesson of yesterday. In looking for it to read it
over I came to this. I have never had any faith in fasting save as an exercise of self-denial.
"'In those days, I, Daniel, was mourning three full
weeks.'
"'I ate no pleasant bread, neither came flesh nor wine
into my mouth.'
"'Fear not, forfrom thefirst day that thou didst set
thine heart to understand, and to chastise thyself, before
thy God, thy words were heard.'
" It certainly has been so, from the time that I began
to desire earnestly Him I had followed so long in darkness, but who had, nevertheless, upheld and led me the
while. Will it not be so now? "
And here we find a hymn written by her
for Palm  Sunday, breathing a spirit of devout
thanksgiving and praise:
Saviour, Thou hast gently led me,
And my heart would grateful be;
Once I heeded not thy guidance,
Now I press more close to Thee!
Then I thought myself sufficient,
Then I thought my wisdom wise,
Knowing not Thy strength upheld me,
Nor the blindness of mine eyes
10*




224                COUSIN ALICE.
Thanks for every hidden danger
Warded off by watchful guide,
Thanks for every block of stumbling
Which Thy hand hath put aside.
That mine eyes at length are open
To my weakness, to Thine aid,
That I heard when night was darkest,
" It is I, be not afraid."
Save me, Master, or I perish,
Darkness, death, are still abroad,
Still uphold me, still direct me,
Let me not forsake the Lord.




CI APTER VIII
COXFIRIZED FAITH..
" EASTER SUNDAY, April, 1857.
66  1-  L-   HIS is not what I have been looking forward to as Easter Sunday. My first
sensations on awaking were physical
pain and a sense of lingering suffering.
" A gray, lowering sky, and an impatient spirit. As I
came to myself as it were, thankful hope, peace at least,
and trust were above all other feelings. It'is the anniversary of the denial I seemed to have last Easter, which
has been present with me all day.  That was the repulse;
the silence I had had before.  Still I was not left to
doubt that the answer would come at last to all I had
so long prayed for.
1" Now it is raining heavily. The day, after all, suits
me better than one of brightness.' Christ has risen indeed.' I am grateful. I desire to be thankful as I have
never been before for His precious death and burial, and




~226              COUSIN ALICE.
His glorious resurrection and ascension. My heart is
keeping the feast, even through my tears. I know in
whom I have believed. I know that my Redeemer liveth.
I desire to be thankful for all He has shown me of Himself and His kingdom, here and hereafter, during the last
week especially. He has rewarded my unfaithful vigil.
It was to be for others, but the prayer hath turned to my
own bosom.'All thy promises are faithfulness and
truth.''H e that goeth forth,weeping shall come agaz:
with joy.' This softly dropping rain shall cause the
green grass and the flowers to spring up when the sun
follows it."
She then puts on record some of the suggestive thoughts of the week:
" Death, the last birth pang, and so to be borne with
fortitude.
"Mothers know most of Christ's sufferings; the apprehension,' how am I straightened till it be accomplished;' the agony, the support in suffering.
" Women not only' last at the cross, and first at the
sepulchre,' but the especial messengers to call men to
( come and see where the Lord lay,' when they are faithful
wives and mothers.
"Zeal and Love set out together: Love outrunneth
Zeal, yet apprehension, a part of love, makes it pause an4
hesitate. Zeal presseth forward and seeth the burial
clothes first, but love first believeth.
" Zeal is appointed to strengthen the brethren under




CONFIRMED FAITH.                 227
worldly temptation and suffering. To love is given the
highest revelation of the life to come, the end of prophecy.
" Flowers a type of the purity of Eden, a pledge of
the beauty and perfection of the new Earth."
[" He that desireth to keep the grace of God, let him
be thankful for grace given, and be patient in the taking
away thereof. Let him pray that it may return; let him be
cautious and humble lest he lose it."-THoMAs'A KEMPIs.]
" April 16th.
"I have several times thought of a group of sonnets,
to be called' The Cradle and the Cross.' This morning I
said to baby,'that grateful little smile!' S. said,'that
reminds me of the chickens in Pilgrim's Progress, how
they look up as they drink.' I thought of this afterwards.
The helpless little thing knows my voice, and whoever
has her, or however she may be carried, turfs her head
and smiles when she hears it.'My sheep know my
voice.' Yesterday this occurred to me. I take away
hurtful, though most attractive playthings, and substitute
those less desirable but safe.
"' This was a comfort in Keble this morning. I have
been so heavy-hearted at times this week: last night S.
said,'It is my turn to be encouraging-Set your affec.
tionl on things above. Isn't that what you tell me?'
"'Revive our dying fires to burn,
High as the anthems soar,
And of our scholars let us learn
Our own forgotten lore.'




228              COUSIN ALICE.
" Then, too, on a sheet of printed matter, which I
was consulting about some business affair, I found that
hymn of Uhland's:
"'Friend, thou must trust in Him
Who trod before
The desolate paths of life.'
"If these things do me so much good, why may not
my thoughts help some one else? It is because there are
such floods of weak, tiresome verses, that I do not write
more; so many self-deceiving, that I do not want to be
one of them."
" April 19th.' The only thought that I have for my book to-night
is not clear. Yet something suggested by the subject of
the week.
"' And beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he
expounded unto them in all the Scriptures the things
concerning himself.'
"The necessity of our acquaintance with the Old
Testament, not only in the way of example and encouragement, but to be able to understand types and
prophecies as regards our Saviour and His work of Redemption.
" Again,' Their eyes were holden till the breaking of
bread.'
"' Often those who have walked with Jesus and learned much from Him, do not realize His presence till the
breaking of bread, especially the Sacrament."




CONFIRMED FAITH.           229
These scattered thoughts, and hints for
thought, reveal what was occupying her mind,
giving it purpose, and leading, in the case of
material gathered for her book, to accomplishpnent. The group of sonnets was never achieved, though in the manuscript volume before
referred to, are many thoughts preserved with
the design of working them up for the sonnets.
She judged, as we all are apt to do, of the
utility of these thoughts and suggestions, by the
service they had done herself.  That which
brought her help or healing she knew could not
fail to benefit another. A  " Common Place
Book " could be easily made of " helpful" passages of prose and poetry copied or referred to
by her. From somne she extracted their sweet
wisdom, and nourished and strengthened those
who turned to her to be fed. With all she enriched herself, and provided for the demands she
constantly received, to which so very few in this
world are at all capable of responding. "Served
herself by every sense of service rendered,"
to live and serve were identical in her mind.
She forgot the endurance which in pain and
weakness she could not but experience. She




230           COUSIN ALICE.
trod beneath her feet the selfish pleasures which
are the sole object in life of so many of her sexof all persons, indeed, both men and women; for
of the two, perhaps the scale would turn more
readily in favor of the self-denial of women; and
all this she seems to do with the singleness and
unconsciousness which guarantee sincerity. She
nowhere dwells upon it; she nowhere exacts it
of herself as one who wrestles with self for the
reward of virtue. It was the spontaneous offspring of the inner life; the natural growth of
principles so deeply implanted, so thoroughly
inwrought, that you saw them  only in their
fruits.
HIer beloved book had gradually changed in
character and now in name. She called it " The
Good Report;" its motto was " A Good Report
through Faith."  She does not often allude to
it in her journal, never except in the vague
manner seen in the quotations already made.
But there is another volume which seemed to be
the treasure house for the wisdom garnered for
her book. " The Good Report " became a record of her inner life, of her hours of meditation,
of the comfort and strength which she drew




CONFIRMED FAITH.          231
from the Scriptures, in which she found the
witness she sought of her Redeemer, and the
promise of Eternal Life.
For years one wish, one hope, was deepest
in her heart, nearest to her lips in the hour of
supplication, uppermost always in her thoughtsthe conversion to the faith and practice which
marked her life, of one most near and dear to
her. Many pages record the struggle, as " hope
deferred " made her faith sometimes waver; and
then follow the assurances which she repeats to
herself, and which nourish her conviction that
C" praying breath is never spent in vain." Others
whom she loved, many for whom she saw her
friends interested, and for whom she prayed,
came from time to time " into the enclosure of
the church," and still she endured the trial of
her faith; her husband, and her beloved, only
brother, had never knelt beside her to receive
the symbolic bread and wine.
" Once," she says, "my hopes died out, and
a great temptation to distrust, and despondency
overwhelmed me.  Indeed, after this I had
many such temptations."
She writes:




232             COUSIN ALICE.
"One Sunday, utterly discouraged by a dinner table
talk, I rose and left the table; taking up my Bible, I remember I came upon the text:
"' We have toiled all night and have taken nothing,
Nevertheless at Thy word I will let down the net.'
" I came up stairs and prayed for help to do my duty
by myself at least, and then began to write a chapter of'The Good Report.' As I finished S. came up stairs
looking for me.
"'Why do you stay up here in the heat?'
"'To keep myself employed, and from breaking the
Sabbath.'"
A  conversation followed, which, she says,
gave her great cheer; and not long after this,
comes a record of a Communion service, too
tender and sacred to give to others' eyes than
those to whom she had opened her anxious,
loving heart.
There seemed really now to have come a
turning point in many things which had occasioned her concern; and she prefaces an account
of some circumstances which made their future
prospects brighter, with these words:
" How often have I said to S.' Seek irst the
Kingdom of HIeaven, and all else shall be added."'
As another Easter approached, she writes:




CONFIRMED FAITH.               233
" This is, in all probability, the date of brother's Confirmation, and my mother writes me that K. will probably be baptized on Easter Sunday. How thankful I am
that I took courage to speak to her last summer, else she
would have been gathered in without my having' part or
lot in the matter,' when she belongs to me so nearly too!
In her letter to me she says,'I had almost resolved to
give up trying, when you spoke to me. I have since
thought that was the word in season.' Yes, and I remember how I delayed'the word in season' day after
day, and went to her at last, with so little courage. I
will have more faith in these impressions for particular
people."
KE. was her young half-sister, the only child
living of her mother's second marriage. Mrs.
Laven had been a particular favorite of her
step-father's, and was at home during much of
the little girlhood of this sister. After her stepfather's death she had charged herself with the
direction and expense of ]K.'s education, out of
love for the child and grateful and affectionate
remembrance for the father.  She constantly
speaks of her as " my sister and adopted child."
Replying to her mother's letter she says:'" I do not think there is the least reason for doubt or
discouragement for her. The settled determination by




234              COUSIN ALICE.
God's help is the thing, and we have no right to doubt
that our sins are forgiven the moment we ask for it in
God's appointed way. Our natures still remain the same,
only the principle of action is changed, a desire to do
right, and a dependence on God's help, taking the place
of indifference and actual wrong doing. Sanctification is
another matter, and people are so inclined to confound
the two. If people who have been ten and twenty years
trying to do right, give way to temper or any besetting
sin, a person just commencing has no reason to be discouraged because overtaken in a fault. They are only to
ask instant pardon, not to let it hang over them as a
discouragement, and ask more grace of watchfulness for
time to come. Praying and watching with all perseverance, and the study of the Bible to know what to do, and
to avoid, are at every stage of life the special duties, and
the warfare with self,' the good fight of faith' goes on
to the last.  Literally a'warfare,' with daily battles,
losses, or victories; but this is all meant for K. herself,
and what I intended writing to her."
" With K.'s letter, came a most discouraging one from
Mr. HI. (This was an old gentleman for whom she had a
tender and great respect, but whom she regarded as in a
fatal religious error.) We have been writing on the subject of the authencity of the Bible, and the Divinity of
Christ, during the whole winter. The correspondence
grew out of this: After poor C.'s death last spring I
wrote him a letter, and remembering my cowardice in
acknowledging the great principle of our faith —Christ




CONFIRMED FAITIL                 235
the only way of Life —I spoke of it indirectly, though
clearly. He replied to me soon after, and taking note of
what I had written, said he had had to unlearn many
things taught him in his childhood, such as the existence
of a state of future punishment, the general deluge, etc.;
in short, defining his religious faith as a simple belief in
the existence of an all-wise, all-powerful creator, the
supreme Good or God, and that for the future every
thing depended on our reverence for Him, and on our
good conduct.
6" This last letter, after I have exhausted every argument in my power, is very, very discouraging. Were it
not that'the things that are impossible with men, are
possible with God,' I should despair of any change; but
I know that the Holy Spirit is all-powerful, and that
prayer will be answered, therefore this fast I keep for
him and especially for Mr. F-.  I hope it is not wrong
to pray as I do for so good a man. It seems the height
of presumption and of arrogance for me to think him in
the wrong; and yet he is, if' all Scripture is given by inspiration of God.' What else can the whole line of
type and prophecy of a Saviour mean? How else can it
be reasonably interpreted?
" Another evidence to me of his error, is the paralyzed
condition of his church: no earnestness, no vitality, no
anxiety for the general distribution of the Bible, no
earnest prayer that all the ends of the earth may have
the Gospel, as well as ourselves. They cannot love
Christ as we do. He is to them but a teacher, a perfect




236               COUSIN ALICE.
and holy example; to us He is' God manijfst in the
flesh,' dying for us, bearing our sins, our sorrows not
His own, our Saviour, our Redeemer the Way, the
Truth, the Life, the new and living Way, the only access
to God the Father,' Who loved and gave Himrselffor us.'
"'Love so amazing so divine
Demands my soul, my life, my all.'
"A teacher cannot inspire this, a simple witness of
the truth, a martyr. They say'Socrates died more
calmly.' How can they thus deny their Lord!
" I pray for Mr. F -. Here again is an impossibility, but for the all-powerful voice that turned Saul's
Jewish zeal into Paul's Clhristian earnestness. I pray for
him, because he has such a weight of influence with his
friends, in his church, in the community. Once fully
aroused, like Paul, he would sway all hearts by his eloquence and weight of argument, by testimony. If I am
wrong in this feeling may God forgive me. If my motives are unholy, purify them. Let me in all things
desire only the glory of God.  Let this be indeed my
chief end and aim, out of a pure heart, fervently. Now
if ever, in the midst of such a general advent call'prepare ye the way of the Lord,' such miracles as these I
seek, may come to pass.
" I scarcely receive an ordinary letter in which conversions are not spoken of. Father B. may be right. I
said to him:' When do you think the good time of the#
thousand years will come, father?'




CONFIRMED FAITH.                 237
"' In October, 1857, before the Indian Conquest, or the
general interest in Africa, through Dr. Livingstone, or yet
the bombardment of Canton; before the panic had fairly
unfolded, or Union prayer-meetings were thought of, I
said: " In not far from sixteen years, those who are living
will see its commencement. I am bound to believe in it
by every rule for the interpretation of prophecy."'
"' And do you think it will be a visible reign of
Christ?'
"' No! My idea is that it will be a general preponderance of Christian principle, and therefore of the best
good of nations throughout the globe.'
"If'the secret of the Lord is with them that fear
Him,' father must be trusted with knowledge beyond
any one I know of.
" At all events this has given me great help and comfort this winter-to look for His appearing.' My soul
woill watch for Him more than they who watch for the
morning."'




CHAPTER IX.
LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE.
OCUST COTTAGE was only separated
by a hedge and a low growth of
L'~ ~ornamental shrubbery from the
grounds of one of the oldest residences in the township of Rye. The house,
which stood upon a knoll elevating it considerably above the cottage it overlooked through the
trees, was very unpretentious, but the grounds
were lovely and threaded by walks, every one
of which would have pleased the eye of the critic
whose " line of grace and beauty" is so famous.
When J. Fennimore Cooper began his career as
a writer, "Closet Hall," as the place was then
called, was his residence, and his first novel,
"Precaution," bears that date. Closet Hall is




LEAVING LOCUST COTTA GE.            239
still its name amongst some of the old county
families.
This pretty place, whose late owners and
occupants had become intimate friends of
Mr. and Mrs. Haven, was very much admired by them.  It was unoccupied now, and
Mrs. Haven often wished they were able to
remove to it. The feeling was appreciated
and shared by her husband, who without her
knowledge began negotiations for its purchase.
She says:
"On New Year's day, 1858, we walked about the
grounds, and S. told me for the first time of his losses
during the fall (alluding to the disastrous "panic " of
1857), and said that the money he lost then would have
purchased thisplace. For awhile' we played at owning it,'
and amused ourselves with planning alterations. But by
and by we came down from the clouds, and home again."
This was written in utter unconsciousness
of her husband's intentions.
Before spring, however, the secret came to
light, and she was delighted with the prospect of
so pleasant a home of " their very own." She
wrote to her sister:
"In the winter it will be sunny and ccsy; in the
11




240             COUSIN ALICE.
summer with its trees, and its deep verandas, we can live
out of doors in the shade. The low French windows in
front open on a deep piazza, which is overgrown with
roses. This was one of the improvements made by Mr. S.,
whose taste has done so much for the grounds, and whose
ownership has very much improved the place, I am told.
Apart from the satisfaction of having a home of our
own-associations go a great ways with me, you know.
Do you remember one moonlight walk through the
grounds in the summer evening when the air was heavy
with the perfume of the flowers, especially the tube roses,
with which we came home laden? A few such remembrances will cure me of the spell the moonlight has held
over me ever since those nights of agony during that
first dreadful spring in Seventh street. I shall take nature
back to my heart in our new home, and open to her every
influence."
On the lawn each side of the house were
clumps of fine old Willows. These now give
name to the place; and after this spring we find
her dating from " The Willows." There are
few records in her journal which refer to the
change. In her little business diary, a small
book kept with more regularity than the journal,
she writes:
"Feb. 6th.
" I gathered up the loose ends of business, and quieted
my mind for Sunday."




LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE.             241
"?th.
"Found it hard to keep from talking and thinking of
the new home, but tried not to."
"8th.
"Concluded to take it, but I find it will be difficult to
give up the Cottage."
In her journal she writes:
"April 8d, EASTER EvrE.
"I am sitting by the open window in the delicious
hush of a balmy atmosphere. A true Easter Even, hushed, watchful, but not sad.
"I have enjoyed my practice hour very much, and I
begin to feel that I have more control of the instrument
again. It is a great and fresh pleasure, and grew out of
my determination to give half an hour at least of every
day through Lent, to the practice of church music on the
piano. I think so much of my improvement because of
our Sunday evenings at home, and the more as the children grow older."
"April 4ta, EASTER SUNDAY.
"To show how thankless our hearts are, I have
absolutely to drive myself to make a record of the anniversary when my faith was so sorely tried, and which
also saw it most abundantly confirmed. I looked forward
to it only to find the morning distracted, first by a selfdiscussion about wearing a new bonnet, and when in
church by the singing of the amateur choir, after all our
week of practice. I record the evil as I would the good,




242              COUSIN ALICE.
nor is it a new thing to say how strange that the mind
should be so distracted by trifles after the most earnest
thoughts. These frivolous thoughts died away at last,
and I prayed at least to be grateful for my husband's
presence beside me. For K. and T., the first communion
of each.' Surely my cup runneth over.' I had no time
to write that day, and this seems so cold a record, so unthankful; my desires so much less earnest, my life so
selfish, my aims so wandering!
" This may be the last entry I shall make in Locust
Cottage. Four years ago I came out here looking for a
home. What a home it has been, my journal bears
record. Then we had one child, no settled prospects.
Here we have gone through manifold chastenings and
corrections, but all in love. Every day's journey in the
wilderness has had its pillar of guidance, and its food
from Heaven.
"In my reading during the whole week before S. was
reelected to the Board, I came upon many promises that
the Israelites should enjoy abundance and plenty in the
good land they had gained. Sometimes it crossed my
mind that God was going to give us a worldly prosperity
as well as spiritual gain; but I did not dwell upon it at
all, though I remember especially noticing the cessation of manna,' and on that day they did eat of the corn
of the land.' So it has been with us, since we have eaten
of the corn, God's gift, as well as the manna.
"So far we have been fully justified in our decision'n regard to our change of homes.' The Willows' has




LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE.              243
been thoroughly repaired, and put in the nicest order,
and is now nearly ready for us. Next Sunday will prob.
ably be our last here.' If Thy presence go not with us,
carry us not up hence,' we have prayed from the first."
" 25th.
"The last Sunday in Locust Cottage, where we have
been so happy, and blessed so far beyond our expectations. I have seldom prayed for worldly prosperity, only
for freedom from actual pressing care, never for a place
of our own.'" Here I have learned most of what I know of God's
goodness and love to us, all of Christ that I now comprehend. Here prejudice and indifference has been overcome in S., and we have commenced family prayers and
dedicated all our children to God's service. Two of them
were born here; all are in health; truly for ourselves we
seem to have nothing to ask!
" Four years ago this month since I came out here,
looking for a little sheltering home; how blessed it has
been! I remember praying in the cars that God would
direct my choice. I do not doubt that the prayer was
answered. I knew nothing of the way, offirst causes, or
second causes, or the'suspension of natural laws' of
which people argue. I have no other argument than
that of the blind man in the Gospel,' This one thing 1
know, that whereas I was blind, now I see," and that I did
trust with implicit faith in God's guiding Providence, and
every event of our lives proves that we have been led in
precisely the way that was best for us.




244              COUSIN ALICE.
" It seems scarcely possible that I am to pass through
such heavy trials again in the future; these past few
months have been such'a rest round about from our
enemies, outwardly in the body, and inwardly in the soul,'
that I shrink from the necessity of preparing for further
conflicts. Yet I know such must be before me.
"I think sometimes that God has given us this new
home as a trial of our submission to His will, when He
sees fit to take it away again; or perhaps I may lose my
husband, or-.  But I thank God that it is all in His
hands;'I desire to be content to do Thy will, oh God.'
I rest in the knowledge that'with Him there is no
variableness, neither shadow of turning;' that He has said,
I will not leave thee nor forsake thee;' that there is no
loss in Him. The actual truth of God's watch care, and
Christ's faithfulness, is like' the shadow of a great rock in
a weary land.'
"' Not that I should be sure of being so submissive and
patient if the trial come. I know from my last week's
experience that I am only good when guarded from temptation, cheerful because of prosperity, amiable when I
can control circumstances. I am glad of the lesson, and
of this morning's lesson, that I must learn to be content,
to be counted least, and even to have failed when I am
really trying to do my best. I see my temptations to
self-indulgence in habit, and in spiritual self-denial. I
plan much, but trifles seem to come between me and
the accomplishment. I am silent when I might make
an opportunity to speak for the good of others, and break




LEA VING LOCUST COTTAGE.           245
down by my careless example where I have been trying
to build up. These are some of the things I see, yet 1
believe"In doing is the knowledge won
Of seeing what remains undone;
Let this our pride repress,
And give us grace, a growing store,
That day by day we may do more
And may esteem it less."
She speaks here of sometimes allowing opportunities to converse with others on their best interests to pass unimproved. This was certainly
a self-condemnation, like many others which she
makes, which only a very sensitive conscience
could have suggested. She employed many
ways of approaching those about her, and every
thing became an occasion for a good word. If
she was in town and had business at her publishers, their testimony is that she seldom went
away without turning to account some chance
to utter a word in season. "~ She seldom went
away without my feeling that I was the gainer
by her visit," said one; and another remarked:
"When she closed the door the sun seemed to
have gone under a cloud."
In her home, if a servant spoke impertinent



246           COUSIN ALICE.
ly, or gave way to ill-temper, she was accustomed to. say:
"I cannot talk to you now, when you are
angry; go and say your prayers and then we will
talk this matter over."
And said one who bore this witness to the
grace of her beloved mistress after many years
of service:
" I used to be angry very often, ma'am, for I
have a quick temper, but Mrs. Haven never lost
her own temper; and I would come back so
ashamed after saying my prayers, that she found
me quite ready to listen to her, and it did seem
she might be growing proud-like that I was
getting humble at last, and more patient."
If no occasion should come for a serious
word which it might be on her mind to say to a
guest, during a visit, the visitor would find on
departing a note slipped into the hand with the
" good-bye" clasp, or the same would take place
when exchanging greetings on leaving church,
as is the habit with country families. These expressions were not the result of sudden impulses,
but of earnest and prayerful interest, accumulating for days, and months even, during which her




LEAVING LOCUST COTTAGE.              247
anxiety for her friend would sometimes keep her
wakeful and prayerful during the night watches.
She once wrote to a very intimate friend:
" I do not know how I should bear the almost painful
interest which I feel in   if I could not carry the
whole matter to God, and leave it with humble trust in
His hands. It is such an inexpressible relief to feel, in
my own helplessness, that there is One, who is allpowerful, and who has promised to hear and answer
prayer. I think if I could not feel this with all the
assurance which the promises bring me, I should sink
under the solicitude I cannot put out of my mind. Now
I can do a little in my small way, but I have such a confidence that God can do all else that is needed."
11*








PART III.
READY  FOR  REST.








PART III.
READY FOR REST.
CHAPTER I.
TE WILL 0 WS.
HE beautiful spring-time found theim
in their new home, the last and
most beloved home on earth of
Alice Haven. The strong attachment which she always felt for the " sheltering
roof," and the abode of peace and comfort,
sprung up at once in " the heavenly place," as
she sometimes called it, which was now their
own. In thick shoes, and a broad garden hat,
she spent as much time as she could command
on the lawn, under the old trees, training the




25i0             COUSIN ALICE.
vines and trimming the shrubbery, or in the
recess of the grove enclosed by the carriage
drive. To watch the light figure flitting about,
the bright eyes, and still blooming cheeks, eyes
lustrous now with the happiness of her daily
life; it was scarcely possible to anticipate the
actual future. But to her eyes there was a
cloud, not yet larger than a man's hand, in the
distance. Her perfect happiness was too much
without alloy to last in such a world as ours.
On the Tuesday of Whitsun week she writes:
"'We have been here just a month, and are now
thoroughly established. Every thing is bright and beautiful around us; the house, the lawn, the garden, are all
in perfect order. I had made up my mind to have no
carriage yet, but that too has come; so every thing happens to me-just as soon as I am ready to do without it,
it seems to be given me. I am afraid of all this. It does
not seem right to have no trials. I dread a sudden thunder cloud in my serene sky. So many better people toil
a lifetime for nothing, spending their days in trouble and
difficulty. Still a trial of my faith. I only see it in that
light. Whether our hearts will be lifted up to forget
that God gave it to us, and to neglect the increase of
service to others which He will require at our hands, or
whether we should be content to part with it at His
recall.




THE WrILLOWS.                 251
"'In all times of our prosperity
Good Lord deliver us.'
And the closing verse of my morning lesson comes to me
with a special significance,'Little children keep yourselves from idols.'"
She then draws a contrast between her life
and that of a much-tried friend who had been
bereft, within a short period, of family, fortune,
almost of a home, and asks why her lot was so
much more blessed, and how she could best
make " grateful attestation " for God's goodness.
Of her friend she says:
"She has honored her Heavenly Father, and proved
that He is faithful who promised, by glorifying God in
the fires.'" I say to myself, shall these things come upon me 
I often picture myself alone, struggling on with ill-health;
and I have exhausted imagination in plans to rear the
children, and to provide for them. But I have the same
premises, the same assurances that she had, and her example to recall, together with my own mother's more
cheerful trust, more active charities, and more undoubting faith.
"'No change of time shall ever shake
My firm dependence, Lord, on Thee.'
"It so often rises up in my mind, my Rock, my




252              CO USIN ALICE.
Fortress, my Defence, my Stronghold, to which I continually have resort. I like all this so much.
" I have had some special hindrances since I came to
this house, growing out of the disorderly condition of
affairs, and the difficulty of making new arrangements
about the distribution of work, etc. The children took
heavy colds and were all sick together; my time has been
crowded and broken in upon, my prayer time stolen
away, but God has been very good to me, and I am not
left to the long-continued spiritual depression which I
so much dread since my Nashville experience, and which
arises from just such temptations, ill health, and in the
commencement, over-confidence in myself.
" All seems prosperous now. We have all that heart
could desire.' Confidence toward God,' dependence on
our Saviour. Very little do we know of either, but we
desire to know more.  My eyesight (she was fearing
gradually losing her eyesight), and the constitutional
tendency to consumption, which S. has, are the only
shadows on our path. So David must have felt when he
wrote,' The Lord is my Shepherd.' How beautiful, how
very beautiful that is! It is the only language which
will now express my thoughts.
" Yet our present position is only a moderate competency; and there are many who would smile if they could
see what I have written, and seeing my daily life might
wonder perhaps how I could be happy, situated just as I
am. I try to remember this when I am inclined to pity
people in very humble life. I know a new piece of fur




THE WILLOWS.                 253
niture, or a coveted carpet makes them as happy as our
new home does us; and' a whole floor to themselves' is
quite as much as our house to us, long desired, as little
expected, and as greatly rejoiced in.
"I did not intend to spend my morning this way, but
in arranging'The Coopers' for publication. It is my
week's work, and I have not touched it yet. I felt that I
ought to make this record. I shall be glad one of these
days to have it, I know.
I am reading' Cecil's Remains,' and am delighted
with it. Two thoughts especially please me thus far:
Duties are ours, events are God's.
"W' What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt
know hereafter,' is the universal language of God in His
providence. He will have credit at every step. He will
not assign reasons. He will exercise faith.
"And if this should be my closing'credit' to my
Heavenly Father, let it be that' Goodness and mercy have
followed me all the days of my l7ife,' especially in the
losses and prosperity of my husband."
When we remember that MIrs. Haven was
the mother of three children when the eldest
was but three years old, that she was always
constitutionally delicate to fragility, and when
we consider the constant demand made upon
her strength, we can realize in some measure the
amount of principle and of determination which




254           COUSIN ALICE.
was needed to sustain her in a life onerous
enough without any of the business engagements which she so faithfully fulfilled.
When she was married she had little knowledge, as she confesses, of housekeeping, carried
on with that attention to details which an experienced housekeeper bestows involuntarily.
There had never been an opportunity for her to
acquire this experience, and the work had no
special attraction for her. In her Philadelphia
home, order, neatness, and regularity prevailed.
Her own large sleeping-room, her study, and the
drawing-room were all arranged with feminine
taste, and the daintiness instinctive to ladyhood
But housekeeping with very young children,
and a limited number of servants, taught her
that to secure that pretty ordering of her surroundings in which she delighted, she must give
a personal attention to which she was unaccustomed, and for which it was not easy to find
time.
Order and regularity in the kitchen and
dining-room, and the economy at first desirable
in itself and always in its results, which made
part of her -vstem, could only be made certain




THE WILLOWS.                 25t
by the careful oversight of the mistress of the
house.  All that went to the perfecting of home
in its best and broadest sense, became her ambition.  Immediately  after breakfast her own
hands washed the china and silver, and arranged
the china-closet and store-room. Then followed the ordering of dinner, and the arranging of
work for the day; after which she gave some
time to her children until the nurse was at liberty to attend to them.
And now came the hours devoted to what
was exclusively her own work. She was accustomed to close the door of her room and spend
a half hour in prayer and reading. She often
said that she gained so much by this preparation
that she made time by it. She says:
" If I have guests I excuse myself for the two or three
or more hours necessary to do what belongs to the day,
as imperatively as if I were teaching, and had pupils
waiting for me. When I have guests whom it is desirable to treat with more formality, I try to arrange to
have little or no writing to do during their brief stay; but
generally my friends appreciate my engagements, and are
good-natured enough to occupy themselves during the
interval."
Her habit and position in writing have been




256           COUSIN ALICE.
spoken of; but one more peculiarity may be
noticed. Her inkstand stood upon a little tray,
on a chair beside her, if she were seated as usual
on a low seat; she every morning put a fresh
pen of a particular make into the heavy gold
handle, worn smooth with its years of service.
Her broad mark and full flow of ink did not
reveal the fact that she kept only ink enough
to moisten the nib of the pen, thus making
necessary constant journeys to the inkstand.
She explained this by saying she did her thinking during the time spent in refilling her pen.
" Then with my thought clothed in words, I
have no time to lose; so you see the rapid, business like erasure I make with a single line of my
pen, impatient of the ill-arranged thought or
inapt phrase."
Her writing hours rarely ended without great
weariness and exhaustion, an aching head, and
cheeks flushed to purple. She would sometimes
talke rest before, but oftener after the nursery
dinner, when she made her own lunch. In the
afternoon she drove, paid visits, if well enough,
or paid attention to the seamstress, for whom
she often cut out work. If she took this time




THE WILLOWS.               25.7
for lying down, it would frequently be with a
book in one hand and her watch in the other,
lest she should forget the time, and not be ready
to receive Mr. H. on his return from the city.
For this she always made a careful toilet, and
then the children, fresh from theirs, were brought
to kiss mamma, and to show her that they were
dressed with the neatness which would please
papa. In all the years spent in the country, she
never failed, unless prevented by illness, in this
loving preparation for her husband's return.
If the weather was fine, she met him on the
piazza, if not, in the hall, with an unclouded
brow, and a cheerful, loving greeting.
It is so often made a reproach to literary
women that their houses are ill ordered, their
children neglected, and their husband's comfort
unconsidered, that too much stress cannot be
laid on this trait in M[rs. Haven's character. A
lady well known in the world of letters, who
had been her intimate friend in Philadelphia,
and who visited her in her country home, wrote
to-her sister:
"Alice, as you well know, was a remarkable woman.
T never knew any one with so much literary talent who




258             COUSIN ALICE.
was so methodical and practical as a business manager
and as a housewife. She would have put to flight as a
false notion, the stigma cast upon literary women, that
they are all poor housekeepers, and not very exemplary
wives and mothers: in all these relations she was a
beautiful model."
Never was a mistress more truly the friend
and counsellor of her servants, studying their
welfare with unfailing interest, and considering
their happiness as well. The cook who began
with her in her first housekeeping experiment
at the cottage, held the same office in the household as long as her beloved mistress lived. She
required the servants whose duties brought them
near her or the children, to be well dressed and
perfectly neat, and gave them means and opportunity to be so. She took great satisfaction in
the services of one who was above her station in
breeding and in education, whose pretty ways
and delicate appearance were always a pleasure
to her.
The same seamstress worked in the family
year after year. She was always paid from Mrs.
Haven's own purse, with the feeling that the
wife of a man not over rich should either do her
own sewing or provide for its remuneration.




THE rIILLOWS.              259
She had a very decided feeling about the
division of labor in a family, having little sympathy with the mistress who takes upon herself
unnecessarily, duties that another can discharge
as well or better, that she may thereby sewe
money to be hoarded, or to be spent in the purchase of luxuries. For this reason there was
always, after they were able to command it, a
liberal amount of service, of the best kind, in the
family, and this was amply remunerated.
The parsimony which denies this in a household able to furnish it, made no part of the economy which was, as we have seen, a virtue of
the first magnitude in the eyes of Mirs. Haven.
Care in the minutest particular consistent always
with her general breadth of interests, a personal
supervision of the most faithful kind, but never
interfering with the discharge of other duties yet
more sacred, and the closest economy that would
admit of the largest amount of happiness and
comfort, entered into the perfect system of her
home.




CHAPTER II.
JO URNAL AND LETTERS.
" June 1st, 1858.
HO U visitest hinm suddenly in the morn.
ing and provest him.'
"In reading' Cecil' shortly after I
made my last entry, I came upon this:
"'The Christian prays for fuller manifestations of
Christ's power and glory, and love to Him, but he is often
not aware that this is in truth praying to be brought into
the furnace.'
" I have frequently felt this when I pray to be humble. I dread the answer to the prayer! I have felt that
it was not best that all should be prosperous, without a
blemish on our earthly happiness; and I have prayed that
we might not be left to grow worldly, unspiritual, absorbed in the business and the pleasures of life."
IIer health was again more than ordinarily
delicate, a time of trial, and always great suffer



JO URNAL A.ND LETTERS.             261
ing to her was in the future, and she records with
much abasement of spirit, the depression, and
sometimes impatience, with which it affects her.
Against this she constantly struggles, and prays
God to help her. She writes in her journal:
"I am especially ungrateful, because a year since I
prayed that if it were God's will, I might have a year of
health and leisure to work;'just one year' I asked, and
now because it has been granted me, I presume on more!
This, then, is the cloud, the chastening I dreaded and yet
asked for, and it is sent in the most gentle and loving
way, so full of compassion as almost to take away the
trial. As to the responsibility and uncertainty of the
future,' duties are ours, events are God's' let me remind
myself. I have the same trust and promise for four that
I have for three children.
"I know I always learn more in the seclusion I can
now command, and I ask for knowledge daily. I have
dreaded in my new home the threatened loss of the retirement I covet and enjoy; here it is, all arranged for me;
my lessons are to go on, my time is provided, yet I hold
back. Yesterday I was fretful and rebellious, to-day the
sky is lightened, if not clear, and I write down this new
lesson in self-knowledge, lest I should forget it and
presume.
"I used to think I had real faith; I have thought I
excelled in thankfulness
12




262              COUSrN ALICE.
" There is another thing:' Little children keep your.
selves from idols.' My chief idol is bodily ease and comfort. Should I cry out because it is to be destroyed? I
must learn to suffer and endure hardness; but I am so
tired, I have had so many hard lessons! I am so tired of
this perpetual struggle with fortune or with self. I dread
lest the former should begin again, and for others. I am
weary of striving toward well-doing; all that I have
ever done seems so useless, and faulty, and worthless. I
want to lay my head down upon a stone anywhere, and
rest and forget, at least for a while.
"I deserve'to be cast out again, stripped and beaten,'
and left to myself to take my own choice again, but I can
only desire and pray,' Cast me not away from Thy presence, and take not Thy Holy Spirit from me.'"
Poor human heart! Poor, feeble, weary
body!  How  pathetically the plaint, is poured
forth when the burden of life grew so heavy, and
the hands so ever busy hung down, devoid of
strength I! The weariness which she had resisted
so long, which cnever took the form of complaint
to earthly friends, even when their tender sympathy might have drawn it forth, must find vent
somewhere.  Who that saw  what she accomplished, and how  apparently unfalteringly she
walked along the roughest path, could know




JO URNAL AND LETTERS.         263
"what was resisted"? She sometimes says: "I
have not much patience," or " I have little natural courage," but when in the life that was
visible to others did either seem to fail her 
To those who were anxious for her health under
the pressure of such exacting duties and engagements, she would always write in the most
cheerful manner, finding out every possible alleviation, and sometimes making the whole aspect of her life so bright and cheery, with such
a golden glimpse down the vista of a possible
future, pictured by her sweet hopefulness and
trust, that fears for her would involuntarily subside, and the gloom that came with the vision
of the feeble and worn worker in the vineyard,
would be dispelled by the sunshine which was
making ready the vintage.
Her power of consolation was very great,
and it drew mourners to her as irresistibly as the
fresh springs draw the thirsty. The consolations
of Scripture promises were always ready; the
possibilities which the merciful providences of
God place in our lives were never wanting, or
absent from her mind; and all that others had
found helpful would come to her memory as she




264              COUSIN ALICE.
comforted and strengthened the mourning and
the feeble.
To one dear friend she writes:
" I am sure from your letter that the worst of the conflict is over, and the hands of ministering angels are
already bringing you'the leaves of healing from the tree
of life' for the deadly wounds you have received.
"Christian was faint and spent, you know, after that
terrible fight; and where would be the victory without
such battles?' To him that overcometh' the promise has
been given; I often think of it of late, and of this-when
I have passed through my hottest fights —' The nearer to
heaven, the higher the mountains; the deeper the vallies,
the sharper the conflicts.' I am sure it is and will be so.
When we settle. it with ourselves, and look for it, we are
in a measure prepared for them."
And then follows a page of instruction and
comfort from her beloved Bogatsky.
To another friend, whose long-continued illness had led to a peculiar and very distressing
spiritual depression, she wrote:
"It seemed very hard to me that so faithful a soldier
and servant of God should be left to feel, even for a time,
forsaken of Him; but, dear C —, you can perhaps real
ize more nearly than any of us the external agony of our
Saviour's suffering when the light was hid from Him.
If it is thought a privilege to know something of His




JOURNAL AND LETTERS.               265
lesser bodily pain, how much nearer your approach, and'if we suffer, we shall also reign with Him.' I am working away at a book of daily readings, called'The Good
Report,' its motto,' A Good Report through Faith,' and
the text for to-day, just written down. is,'For He hath
said, I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.'
"I do pray, my dear friend, that you may be able'above all to take the shield offaith, wherewith you shall
be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked,' for
unbelieving thoughts are fiery darts indeed, and we know
from whom they are sent. Do you remember Christian
in the Valley, unable to distinguish his own thoughts
from the wicked whispers of the Evil One, and so blaming himself bitterly for that sin of which he had not been
guilty? I often think of it when the fiery darts are
launched against me.
"When Christian had travelled in this disconsolate
condition for some time, he thought he heard the voice of
a man, as going before him saying,'Though I walk
through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear
no evil, for Thou art with me.'
" Then he was glad for these reasons: First, because
he gathered from thence that some who feared God were
in this valley as well as himself. Secondly, he perceived
that God was with them, though in that dark and dismal
state. And by and by, the day broke. Then said Christian,' He hath turned the shadow of death into the morn.
ing.'
"May this be your experience, my dear C. Surely




266             COUSIN ALICE.
I, if any one, am bound to pray for it, when I owe to you
the confirmation of my own faith, and the direction of
my spiritual life; and I know that I am but one of many
who owe their coming to the' wicket gate' to you.
" I have read to-day, in an English paper, that Bunyan
is really to have a monument, and in England, where he
was a despised vagrant. I should like to give my mite
towards it, for his book has been next to the Bible to
me."
From her journal:
" Said S., as he gave me my month's allowance for the
housekeeping expenses,'Make good use of it. I have
lost money to-day.'
"' I hope you will until you learn to thank God as the
giver of every thing you have; to depend only on His
blessing for success, and to give Him a part of His own
again. He has given you a great deal this year. What
have you given Him?'
"' Oh, no preaching! I don't care about hearing any
thing more,' but very kindly, though I know he does not
believe my doctrine. It is a great trouble to me that we
cannot agree to lay aside a fixed part of our income' as
the Lord has prospered us,' and yet I dare say and know
that my greatest failures are not in almsgiving, but
in gentleness, meekness, and charity; more than likely
worse failings in His sight than the lack of some others
in giving to the poor and ignorant."




JO URNAL AND LETTERS.                267
"Augo. 1st.
"To-day has been brilliantly lovely; nothing wanting
in sky or heart. It seemed like a birthday festival.
When I knelt at the communion service, with S. one side
and T. the other, I said,'Here I am, and my sheaves
with me.'
"When I asked myself, as I did continually through
the morning,' What is expected of me, for so much given?'
it seemed to be,' that ye bear much fruit,' that I should
strive to grow more Christ-like myself, and pray and
work more steadily and abundantly for others whom I
do not especially love, where the motive is more unselfish,'to break a narrow will, and narrow prayers,' Lord,
break them both, and give us all a new, deep, vigorous
spiritual life.
"Yet the morning had its blemish in self-indulgence,
in late rising and its consequences. The afternoon was
marked by remissness in duty to the children, giving up
teaching and instructing them because of their restlessness.
"Two lessons for remembrance,
" I am very thankful for the day, and for its happiness,'a feast of good things,' prepared and given to me without
my planning or anticipation. This morning I could take
to heart Jacob's prayer in my chapter for the day:
"'I am not worthy of the least of all Thy mercies,
and of all Thy truth which Thou hast shown unto Thy
servant, for with my staff I passed over this Jordan, and
now I am become two bands.'
"I found myself saying a few nights since,'Oh, 1




268              COUSIN ALICE.
read nothing now-a-days but books of devotion and a
few novels!' I smiled, and so did S., at the connection;
but it was true. When I read in my own room, I read
to'grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord.'
When I take up a book down stairs, it is for recreation.
I have not had a thought of study or advancement for
a long time, apart from my own pursuits. But I have
asked myself, does not this demand of me other reading,
am I not wasting a talent I should employ, and which I
might fashion to the Master's service? Am I too old for
study? I have never been a student in any thing but the
Bible and its belongings; is it too late to begin now? "
Making reference to her social life in Philadelphia, her frivolity and gaiety, and her enjoyment in her successes, the remembrance of which
frequently humiliated her, as it contrasted with
the nobler aims and higher purposes of her present life, she says:
"I hope the fact that some know of it, here where,
God helping me, I have taken such a different standpoint in conversation and action, will make me more
humble and lowly before them. When I am tempted to
think what advances I have made, may I never forget
this!
"Last evening I began to read Bayne's'Christian
Life,' the introductory chapter, and then went on to his
sketch of John Foster. This I noted as especially my




JO URNAL AND LETTERS.                269
own case:' At intervals I feel devotion and benevolence,
and a surprising ardor, but when these are turned towards substantial, laborious operations, they fly, and
leave me spiritless amid the iron labor. Still I do confide in the efficacy of persistent prayer, and I do hope
that the spirit of the Lord will yet come mightily upon
me, and carry me through toils, and suffering, and death,
to stand in Mount Zion amongst the followers of the
Lamb.'' And again his biographer says:
"'But he has made progress. A general belief in
Christianity has become an earnest personal straining of
the eye toward Jesuis. Though all the earth fail him,
and though his own heart harbors traitors, yet is there
an ever-living Spirit of the Lord, and this can be reached
by a mortal through persistent prayer.
"'Not as though I had already attained, either were
already perfect. I count not myself to have apprehended,
but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are
behind and reaching forth unto those things which are
before, Ipress towards the marki for the prize of the high
calling of God in Christ Jesus.'"
"Sept. 13th.
"In my reading and at prayers to-day I looked for a
text for the year, for this is my birthday, and this seemed
to be the answer:
"' And He said unto mne, Jly grace is sufficient for
thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.'
"It was not what I wanted to hear, for there is a fore12*




270              COUSIN ALICE.
shadowing of trial, and suffering, and endurance, rather
than prosperity and joyfulness. Still I accept it. I believe in being directed to special helps in this way.
"Here is the text for the year:'Be careful for
nothing.' If I had read Bogatsky this morning I should
have stood by this, but I was hurried in the morning, and
too weary at night. The next day I found what I had
missed, this text, and what follows:'  Always trusting that He will as certainly carry me
through the difficulties to come, as He has done through
the difficulties I have already met, so that I may even
give Him thanks for it beforehand.'
"Many might think this a foolish superstition, but
surely I may take the message thus doubly sent, and lay
down all my care."




alHAP TER III.
RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859.
EFERENCE  has been made to a
superior young person who was in
service in Mrs. Haven's family.
She was one of two sisters, both
of whom had been educated in a nunnery, in
Ireland. Unhappy circumstances in their home,
occurring after they left school, determined them
to come to this country and support themselves.
After various vicissitudes, one found a home at
s" The Willows," till she was followed to this
country by an old suitor, who persuaded her, to
become a mistress in a home of her own, which
he provided for her in Virginia; the: other,
Delia, went into a large embroidery establish —
ment in New York.




2'72          CO USIN ALICE.
Having occasion, when going to the city.one
day, to take a message from her maid to her
sister, Mrs. Haven was much shocked to find
that a great change indicating failing health
had taken place in poor Delia since she had
seen her. This was in the summer of 1858.
Reared in comfort, well educated, daintily
cared for as the girls had been, neither was
fitted fo' hard service or close confinement. It
was plain that consumption had marked Delia
for a victim, and Mrs. Haven determined instantly that all that care and comfort could do
should be at once given to the sufferer, with
some hope of prolonging her life in a country
home, and with the best medical advice; so she
insisted on her coming at once to " The Willows," to pass the remainder of the summer
with Annie. It was too late; the disease was
firmly seated, and progressed rapidly toward a
fatal termination.
The touching story of the sisters' devotion to
each other, and of the closing hours of Delia's
life, is told in the journal. For many weeks the
two were together in this lovely home, where
all ministered to the invalid; and both sisters, in




RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859.          273
their love, and their ignorance of the disease,
were happy and hopeful. At last from Mrs.
iHaven's lips they learned the fatal truth, that
hope must end, that death would soon terminate
the sufferings they could not now remove, or
even alleviate, and that only in God was there
comfort to be found. To her, their best friend, it
fell to comfort Annie in her great grief, while
she pointed Delia to her Saviour. Both sisters
clung to her as their only earthly friend.
" Delia, we will do all we can to relieve you;
but, my poor girl, there is no help but in God.
Try to think of your Saviour, ask mim  for
patience and strength; God will not let you
suffer more than you can bear." And so the
last hours passed away, and the death sentence
took effect.
"Sept. 29th.
"This is a marked day with me. The shadow of
death was prophetic. I have taken my first great lesson
as to the absolute certainty of the sentence passed on all
living, on my own unavoidable end."
Singularly prophetic indeed, was this entry!
On this day a letter came from a friend
and relation, who had fixed on' the next,




274              COUSIN ALICE.
the 30th, for a long-promised visit.  Mrs. I.
says:
"She was a person who would be particularly nervous,
I thought, at the idea of death in the house. Yet it
would be cruel to hurry the poor girls out of it, There
was but one thing that I could do, and S. consented that
I should go to town at half-past five in the morning, and
make the necessary arrangements for them. It was gray
daylight when I started, and scarcely more when I stood
in the undertaker's shop surrounded by ghastly coffins,
for any age and condition.
" The undertaker was very kind when I explained the
case, and so was every one to whom I had occasion to go."
At ten in the forenoon she reached home,
having travelled fifty miles, and spent two or
three hours in the city occupied with arrangements for Delia's funeral, which took place at
four o'clock in the afternoon, an hour before her
friend was expected. The lady who was coming
was one for whom  Mrs. H. had a very great
respect and affection; she was a perfect housekeeper, and this was her first visit to "The
Willows."  There could not but be a little feeling of pride, but there was far more regard to
the proper respect due to her guest, and to her
comfort, in the exertion made by the young




RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859.       275
mistress of " The Willows " during this hour for
the reception of her friend, when, from the nature of the circumstances, the chief labor came
upon her of arranging the house and restoring
the habitual air of grace and comfort.
"At the end of the hour," she says, " I met
the travellers on the piazza, with every thing
outwardly quiet and calm; but what a day had
this been since its early dawn!"
How illustrative is this incident of her active
benevolence, her untiring energy and unfailing
efficiency, and the regard paid to every virtue
and grace which adorns life, by Mrs. Haven, a
delicate, even feeble woman, whose life was
already crowded with duties and cares. Prominence is given to this, one only of many stories
of a similar import, because a curiously prophetic spirit, identifying the case with her own life
unconsciously, made her keep, in this one instance, a full account in her journal of all the
circumstances.
During the winter that followed her fourth
child was born. Her health made it necessary
that she should give up its immediate care, which
was the source of great concern to her who




276           COUSIN ALICE.
placed so high an estimate on the privileges of
maternity. Some interesting circumstances at.
tended the christening of the child, to whom was
given the name of one of her best and most
faithful friends; but his infancy was marked by
a much more than ordinary anxiety, as he had a
singular tendency, shared partially by her oldest
child, to hemorrhages-the slightest cut or rupture of the skin producing a fearful bleeding,
which would last for days, and the child's life
would seem to bang upon a thread. Mrs. Haven
inherited from her father a nervous horror of the
sight of blood. Yet it seemed to be peculiarly
her lot to have to exert herself against this weakness, and "to charge her soul to hold her body
strengthened" in circumstances when many
women and even men with this tendency lose all
control, and demand instead of paying service.
No one not similarly affected could understand
what she withstood in the case of this child, and
in many more instances which were fated to
increase in the latter part of her life. " Duty "
seemed to give her iron nerves, and bridge over
with these the " impossible" to others. No call
of duty, not the faintest impression of it, was




RECORD  OF' 1858 AND  1859.          271
overlooked by her. Its shadowings were enough
to arrest her attention and fix her purpose. And
this was she who in her girlhood declared her revolt from the imperious rule of obligation! In
her journal appears this entry, on April 8th, 1859:
"Sometimes the mind is impressed very strongly with
a certain duty, as praying or working for the conversion
of a person perhaps older, or in other respects wiser than
ourselves, who has resisted years and opportunities heretofore.
"'Does God send us' is the doubt thrown in as check.
God is patient with the doubt, and brings before us such
providential occasions or circumstances as ought to convince us that it is our work. In the first place we are to
purify ourselves, and attack Baal boldly in his high
places: we may ask others for help; as Gideon sent for
the other tribes, so are we to seek the prayers and influences of those likely to be interested with the promise'that where two or three are agreed as touching one
thing,' to fortify other promises of success.
"Prayers are sometimes answered, and apparently
denied because'there are too many with us.''Lest
Israel vaunt themselves against me, saying mine own
hand hath saved me,' and we are tried again and again,
till our intention is purified, and all possibilities of selfconceit destroyed."
" 9th.
"One of two things hinders our advance when we are




278              CO USIN ALICE.
really in earnest and mean to give battle; a sense of our
own inefficiency, resulting from real humility, or a discouragement thrown in by the enemy.
" God is patient with true humility: He encourages
it.' If thou fear to go down, though I have given them
all into thy hands, if my cword is not suzficient to give
thee courage,' we shall have even a new testimony,'some news from the camp,' some occasion in conversation, or something that God makes use of to prove
that we are indeed directed to work, and shall accomplish it. As to our insufficiency, see in Gideon's conquest,
that He can make use of what He pleases, even the
most trivial means apparently;'the cake of bread
overthrows the tent,' lamps and pitchers are swords
and bows. It is Himself that does the work, puts confidence into the army, and we are to follow this up to
victory. There are princes among the enemy. Oreb
and Zeeb are taken from this humble beginning, or
by this leader'the least of his father's house.' It is
not even strength, or skill, or courage that is to win,
only deep convictions of duty, singleness of intention,
and a simple trust in God's help."
Thus does she follow the leadings of duty,
and fortify herself for her work.
In May, 1859, she had a visit from her uncle,
Dr. Brown, whom she had called father since
her adoption by him in her childhood. As she




RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859.          279
advanced in Christian life, a singular spiritual
affinity and resemblance grew up between these
two, each having such peculiarities of faith and
practice, differing of course from differences of
temperament and circumstance, as showed that
their kinship was spiritual. A special sympathy
and mutual appreciation had sprung up between
them, as she came nearer him in religious
growth; and his rare visits were times of extraordinary interest to her.
There is a record many pages long of their
conversation on what is commonly called the
second coming of Christ. How he interpreted
the millenial period has already been mentioned,
and how with her face turned toward this time
of peace and joy for all the earth, and brightened by the radiance of the dawning she thought
she discerned, she hoped and prayed for its
speedy approach. She says:
"I am almost frightened when I notice how strong a
hold this has taken in my mind. I seem to think of little
else. I observe that as soon as I have read, thought, or
watched much, these impressions of the nearness of the
reign of Christ come. In the winter of 1856 this was
especially so. But that was followed by such spiritual
pride, and then such painful humiliation, that it makes




280              COUSIN ALICE.
me dread it now. And yet, as I have said before,' The
secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him,' and who
lives so near of all I know as father? There were Simeon
and Anna who recognized his first advent at once while
all the rest were looking for it in the future. He was
thirty years in the woorld before His ministry was felt.
I must believe that He is now at the threshold.
"' And what good is this knowledge or this hope? It
stimulates and cheers, or ought to; renews our energies
more and more to gather our clusters of the grapes of
the world's harvest, our'sheaf of the wheat.''And when
these things begin to come to pass, then look up and lift
uqp your hands, for your redemption draweth near. Know
ye that the Kingdom of God is at hand.' "'
In a memorandum of a letter to one of those
persons with whom she was corresponding, on
the reality of a work of grace in the heart, she
makes her point, in its influence in the transformation of the individual character, and in our experience in the change in ourselves. She says:
" A simple faith is absolutely necessary, for Jesus has
certainly said that unless we have the trust of a little
child, who raises no cavils, and asks not'why' or'how,'
but believes because his father spoke, we cannot enter
into the Kingdom of Heaven. How can a child's feeble
powers comprehend the motives of our restrictive governiment? Do we stop to explain to him? Can our limited




RECORD OF 1858 AND 1859.            281
intelligence fathom the Infinite wisdom? How are we to
approach God? Only through obedience and belief. It
is the work of Eternity to grow nearer to Him in apprehension."
In July of this year Mrs. HIaven went up to
Hudson to visit her own mother.  While there
she accompanied her mother to call on a very
aged and infirm woman, a distant relative of her
grandmother, who was now eighty-four years
old. The visit made a'striking impression upon
Mrs. H.  The old lady's life had been one of
singular misfortune, toil, and isolation from her
relatives; besides she had suffered for fifty years
from a tumor on her arm.
"When she first came to our house, many years ago,
I was almost a child. She was then a very old woman,
wrinkled and feeble. My mother says she wanted to
kiss me, and hesitated, fearing I would object; and then
when I found it out I said,' Why, kiss me, Auntie B.;'
and that she had always loved me very much ever since
that visit.
"I talked with her about her removal to'The Old
Ladies Home in Brooklyn,' as her home in Hudson was
not a pleasant one. She told me the story of her long,
hard life, of her trust in God, and her peace in that trust."
This long story was written out by Mrs.




28  CO USIN ALICE.
Haven, and printed in a religious newspaper.
The journal proceeds:
"After we were interrupted I went home with my
heart full. I could hardly help crying in the street; but
I had an engagement to meet K.'s music teacher, so I
could not relieve my full heart even when I reached
home. As I took my bonnet off I said to myself:' Why
have I youth, and health, and personal attractiveness and
independence, when this good, humble, Christian woman,
is so stripped and so desolate? Her little, loving child
who seemed to sit beside her as she talked, and to look
up into her face with wistful tenderness, even he was
taken away from her; she does not know when, she has
not heard from him for forty years, to know whether he
is living or dead.' I felt choked with sobs during all the
business conversation that followed.
"Once, a few days before I left home, when very
weary and discouraged, I sat on the piazza, and leaned
my head back in my chair.' When I am dead,' I said to
myself,'I cannot suffer any more, either pain or care,
and it is not worth while to live.'
"I did not say that I wished I was dead, but I
thought death seemed very inviting.
"' There is one sifn that God has mercifully kept me
from,' said Aunt B. this morning,'I have never been
allowed to ask to die. I have always been willing to
live if it was His will. I have never prayed to die, and I
am thankful that I have been mercifully kept from it.'




RECORD  OF 1858 AND 1859.           283'" The self-reproachful remembrance of my thoughts
that night, went through me like an arrow. I had a beautiful home, the kindest of husbands, loving little children
and friends. She, worn out with years of labor and pain,
with constant physical suffering, a burden to her nearest
friends, and now to be sent away from them, to die amongst
strangers; certain that death, when it did come, would be
an entrance upon an affluence of life, and strength, and
fulness of blessing, yet'qwilling to woait.' Oh, my God!
what Qa reproach to my selfish, my ungrateful heart!
What a lesson for the future!
"I prayed that I might never forget it. I prayed,
standing up in my room, choking with those unshed tears,
that God would so impress it upon my mind that I might
never forget it, whatever I was called upon to pass
through. I pray so now.'I remember,' said the old lady,'once when your
grandfather had been trying to reason with me, when I
was in a great deal of trouble, how impossible it seemed
to me to comprehend and to believe what he said. I suppose he went home and prayed for me afterwards, for
that night I seemed to reach the light and Jesus, who
had stood so far away from me with such thick darkness between us.'"
And now this fifty years afterwards this
blessing is returned upon his children's children!
Surely the generations of the righteous are blessed, and this blessing is a wonderful inheritance:




284           CO USIN  ALICE.
and how cheering to think that the efforts we
make now for the comfort and conversion of
others may come home to our own children yet
unborn! So does every ripple of the pool of
healing spread and spread until it dies upon the
shore of Time.




CHAPTER IV.
WVrNTERS IN FLORIDA AiN1D SANTA CR UZ.
" Oct. Ath, 1859.
T is a bright, sunny, crisp October day, a cloudless sky, a low wind wandering through
the still green foliage, soft shadows swaying over my window and on the green
grass beneath. No frost yet, cool as the season has been,
and geraniums, dahlias, and heliotropes are still flowering
in the borders.
" A hard day for a death sentence. Yet death and
loneliness hang over me. When I hear S-'s racking
cough, shaking him from head to foot, a horrible dread
comes over me, and my fears grow stronger and stronger."
The illness of Mr. Haven continued to increase till he was entirely prostrated by a severe
hemorrhage, which made even his physicians
give up hope of his'recovery. A warm climate
was advised, and they went first to Charleston,
13




286             COUSIN ALICE.
thence to Florida, where they remained till
spring. The short record of this journey in her
journal is made after her return. She says:
"I can hardly realize the deep waters of last midwinter, the fiery trial we passed through together, the
hardest of my life. Our only hope was a warm climate,
and some of our friends tried to dissuade us from that.
We gave up Santa Cruz because the yellow fever was
there, and took the advice of Major Leslie, about Palatka,
in Florida. On the 4th of February we left home in the
steamer Columbia, for Charleston."
The separation from her little children, especially her baby, not quite a year old, was very
trying; but they were left in careful hands, and
with kind and faithful servants, she feeling it
her duty to accompany her husband, whose life
seemed almost to depend upon her faithful care.
Her own health needed the change almost as
much, but of this she did not seem conscious,
though others saw it plainly enough. She says
of their stay in Charleston:
" We had a delightful time, but my winter's work
began to tell upon me. I took a heavy cold and began
to cough, and wag quite ill. I talked with poor Carrie C.
About dying, little thinking that she was to go first."




WINTERS INV FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 287
They were obliged to decline many of the
courtesies so abundantly and cordially extended
to them by her old friends and admirers, who
would gladly have made her visit a complete
ovation, as indeed was the case in many places
where they stopped, and met friends or presented
letters. Everywhere her name as a writer, and
her fame especially amongst children and young
persons, had preceded her, and prepared a royal
welcome for her. An extract from a letter.
written to her mother from Florida, will give
some idea of this.  It is dated at:
" We brought letters to Mr. Fairbanks, the historian
of Florida, a man of wealth and liberal views, and Mr.
Miller, the rector of the church; but before they were
delivered two beautiful baskets of flowers were sent to me
with a card' For Cousin Alice;' and when Mr. Fairbanks
took me into the schoolroom, the children crowded up,
and it was really touching to see how interested they
were to see me. Mr. F. drove us out to his home, and
the flowers poured in, so that by evening my vases and
bouquets covered the piano in the drawing-room at the
hotel.
"The negro waiter said,' Some more of your little
cousins here to see you, Misse Haben; lots of relations
here, haven't you.' And the other guests at the hotel
began to wonder at my fame."




288             CO USIN ALICF.
At Jacksonville, Fa., she renewed her cold.
On the 19th, she says, "We had our most trying
day, when it seemed as if we both should be
taken away from the children." They reached
Palatka on the 23d, and here began to improve.
They afterwards went to Orange Springs, twentyfive miles in the interior.
Feeling much benefited by the journey, they
left Florida in April, intending to return slowly
overland. Ill news reached them at Washington.
It was feared that Louy, the baby, who showed
symptoms of lameness, was going to have a
" white swelling."  Her expression of trust in
God's providence, of reliance on the "firm
foundation" of His promises in her distress at
this intelligence, is very touching. She writes:
" Reached home with hearts too thankful for words.
Found the children good, and much improved. The place
looking so pleasant, and but for baby's lameness there
would not be a drawback. He is still delicate, and in
arms, but has begun to recover."
That summer she commenced a juvenile,
"Where There's a Will There's a Way," in
which she makes use of her winter's experience,
rnd her Florida material. Business perplexities




WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 289
brought a fearful strain upon her husband's
health, which alarmed her very much; but she
writes:
"Except that one despairing evening in July, I have
nothing with which to reproach myself, so good was God
in the extremity, saving me from the temptation to despond and repine, by the simple assurance that He was
pledged to help and support us as His children.
"No ray of light, but still helped to rely on that
miraculous providence which God is sometimes pleased
to exert in our greatest extemity."
" th.
" The peril is averted. I have been happy all day
with the thought of God's goodness to us.
"'Fear not I am with thee, oh, be not dismayed,
I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid;
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand,
Upheld by my righteous, omnipotent hand."'
" 17th.
" Finished my book. I scarcely realized before in what
a month of struggle and despondency it was written."
Brave little heart! Living her philosophy
and her religion alike, and so facing unblanched
"the lions in the way."
Her fears for her husband were so everpresent, and so absorbing, that she did not be



290            COUSIN ALICE.
come conscious of her own peril.  Her life
proceeded as before; her domestic cares, her
writing —for during the previous winter she
had relinquished none of her engagements; her
anxieties and exertions for others remained unabated. She went into the city quite frequently,
and would often spend a whole day in attending
to matters of business for herself or others,
returning at night so utterly overcome with
fatigue that it was impossible not to feel alarmed
for her. But to remonstrances she would reply:
"It is only fatigue; I can always sleep it
off; I would not do it if there were not always
so many things to be done which I can't help
feeling that I can do better than any one else;
that these tiresome journeys are necessary."
In the autumn, she and her sister made
arrangements for their young sister K. to spend
a year or two at a boarding-school in Charleston,
S. C. K.'s health, and the peculiar advantages
of the school, made the place sure to be an admirable one, and " secession " had not yet taken
shape, awaiting the result of the presidential
election. When the day came for K. to sail, a
furious storm was raging, so furious that the




WINT.'ERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 291
ladies of the family in town were questioning
whether it would be best to attempt to accompany K. to the ship, which could not possibly
sail while the storm lasted, though it might at
any moment of its abatement. In the midst of
the gale Mrs. Haven made her appearance, having come into town and crossed over to Brooklyn
in the height of its fury. "It was impossible to
let Katie go without giving her bon voyage;"
Of course she accompanied her to the ship,
and saw her made comfortable there, and then
she returned to her country home; but the exposure at every change from house to carriage
was so great, that she was literally drenched.
The gale was so terrible that the house itself
seemed to rock, the rain burst into it at various
places; her dressing closet did not escape, and
she even had difficulty in getting dry clothing
from any source. One of the noble trees that
gave name to the place fell prostrate on the lawn,
almost striking the house in its descent; the
crash in the gathering darkness of the storm, and
the coming of night, frightened the servants and.hildren, and added to the effect the exhaustion
and drenching of the day had produced. But




292             CO USIN ALICE.
Mrs. Haven's feeling and fears were not the
consequences of such fatigues in herself. She
writes:
" The violence of this awful storm kept me wakeful,
wearied and overtaxed as I was; so I lay on my bed
sleepless till nearly morning, praying that God would
take care of my poor child on ship-board; toward morning, quite comforted by an inward assurance that all was
well with her, I fell asleep."
At another time during that fall, she made
her appearance in town so early, that it was
evident she had risen before dawn. She said
to the person on whom she called:
"I am  going over to Philadelphia at two
o'clock; but meanwhile I have some little business matters to arrange, will you drive with
me for an hour or two a "
When in the carriage the lady was informed
that she was to accompany Mrs. Haven to a
publishing house, where the former had engaged
to have a book published.
"You never do business in a proper way,"
said Mrs. H., "and though I have every confidence in the gentlemanly publishers, I always
make contracts myself, and I am too much inter



WIVTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 293
ested in this book to allow any informality in
the business transaction."
"I never can go upon the supposition that
my books are going to be profitable, and that
it is worth while to have so much formality."
"I have asked God's blessing upon your
work literally, not only that it' may prosper in
the thing whereunto it is sent,' and be a fountain
of good, as it must be, but that it may be successful in a pecuniary point of view, which also
we have a right to ask."
" I detest business interviews and arrangements."
"What a foolish thing for a sensible woman to say. I enjoy them, especially when I
can have things my own way! I like to unravel a tangle or open a clear skein; it is as
fine as getting out a problem in Algebra, and
much more in my line I I like to use what little
knowledge of business I have, and exercise my
tact if necessary-and I have always very pleasant business interviews.  I wrote to Mr. H.
the other day that I would go down with you
to-day, agreeing to be there at eleven o'clock,
and I asked him to have a contract for this
13*




294            COUSIN ALICO.
book drawn up and ready to sign. It is simply
wise and just to do things in this way; a great
deal of trouble is prevented, and when that is
the case, it is not a question of likes and dislikes."
The contract was signed, and the lady was
then requested to make another call with Mrs.
Haven. She, Mrs. H., had some years before
edited the writings of a deceased friend, and for
that, and for writing a preface to the book, had
received a sum of money which she had invested
for the friend's child, to be used when it should
be most needed, " for situated as the little Alice
is, there is no knowing how soon the need may
come." She had begun to fear that the invest,
ment was not a wise one, and her business now
was to make some inquiries about it, and to
withdraw the money if this seemed best. Thus
the morning was spent, as were many others of
this singularly useful life.
On New  Year's night, 1861, Mrs. Haven
writes:'Alone for the first time on my wedding-day. I cannot let it pass without a record of the unlooked for experience I am passing through.




WINTERS IN FLORIDA ANtD SANTA CRUZ. 295
"S. coughing badly decides to try Santa Cruz for the
winter. I had not the least idea of going with him,- for
badly as he coughs, and nervously shattered as he is, he
is far more comfortable than he was last year at this
time. But on my return from Philadelphia, where I had
gone for a week, he asked me to get ready to go away
with him at Christmas. There were all kinds of arrangements to be made, in the midst of which, becoming uneasy about himself, he went off via Havana, by steamer,
leaving me to follow in a sailing vessel. The friends
upon whom he depended to accompany me are not going,
so I expect to start alone on the 5th, in a brig bound for
St. Thomas. Alone to-day too-I rest upon the promise,'In quietness and confidence shall be your strength;' but
sometimes I shrink from the loneliness, the parting with
the children, the dangers of the sea, so peculiarly dreaded
by me, and above all lest I have been rash or self-willed
in my ideas of duty.
"I have abundant blessings to be thankful for in the
year past. When I remember how extremely ill S. was
a year ago to-day, his wonderful restoration, my owna
comparative health, the improvement in Louy, the health
of the others, and all other known, and many more
unknown mercies, I heartily bless and thank God."
"Alone" she went on, in the little taiing
vessel, the " Addy Swift;" and after a voyage in
which she suffered much less than she expected,
she reached St. Thomas, when she felt fully




296           COUSIN ALICE.
compensated for all her anxieties and alarms by
finding her husband, from whom she had not
heard since his leaving for Havana, in the little
boat which pulled out to meet them, as they
dropped anchor in the beautiful bay.
They passed a little while at this island, and
then went on to St. Croix, where they soon
found themselves comfortably established in a
fine house at the West End, or Frederickstadt.
Theodore Parker had boarded at this same house
the year before, and in his recently-published
memoir, are graphic descriptions of this beautiful
island, and of the family where the Havens now
found a resting-place.
On presenting letters to the rector of the
English church, the Rev. Mr. Dubois, Mrs.
Haven's name was instantly recognized, and she
was told that her little books were in the Sunday
School library, and very much esteemed, so that
even here in this remote place her good name
had gone before her, and prepared a welcome for
her.
She enjoyed her sojourn at Frederickstadt
very much, especially their rambles on the beach,
and their horseback rides over the island. Her




WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 297
graphic letters to her friends were delightful.
She wrote much, and even exerted herself, when
not fit to malke such exertion, to write an article for
Mr. Godey. An attack of ophthalmia, the result,
she says, of the unmitigated sunshine, interrupted
this writing; but she resumed it as soon as possible, and esteemed herself fortunate in an opportunity to send off the manuscript and a package
of letters, by a vessel bound directly to the
United States, which had touched at the island.
This package, prepared with so much pains,
never reached its destination, the vessel being
wrecked at sea.
Another disappointment which she felt very
much, might as well be mentioned here. The
history of the island interested her extremely.
She took every opportunity to procure information about certain interesting epochs in its history, especially all that related to the emancipation of the negroes, and its effect socially, and
on the commercial prosperity of the island.
The preparation of this sketch for publication was the last important piece of writing
which she did, and was made when she was so
feeble that the labor was probably the finishing




298           COUSIN ALICE.
stroke, being the immediate cause of her fearful illness in the following winter. The paper
required illustrations, which had been prepared
for it by an artist who was at Santa Cruz with
them. A disagreement between this gentleman and the publishers caused the delay of
its publication, and finally prevented it altogether.  This added to the peculiar fatality
which seemed to attend all her literary labor at
the island.
After some weeks, during which they had
had no news from home, the travellers returned to
this country. In the interval the most startling
events had occurred, and they landed in New
York just as the people were in the ferment
following the fall of Sumter, and in the midst
of the preparations for the war which now devastates our land.
Mrs. Haven says the contrast to the land
and life they had left cannot be described. At
first she could not comprehend or appreciate
the excitement she encountered, but before a
week had elapsed she writes:
"I watched our fine Seventh Regiment passing down
Broadway, on its way to Washington, with feelings so




WINTERS IN FLORIDA AND SANTA CRUZ. 299
keenly alive to'the situation,' that I fairly would have
felt it a relief to join in the expressions of enthusiasm to
which the immense crowd constantly gave voice in
cheers and hurrahs.  I find myself quite a patriotic
American again, and am glad to be in my own land."




CHAPTER V.
TrE STAfMER OPF 181.
S the war cloud gathered blackness,
the intense interest of Mrs. Haven
in the condition of the country
was manifested in every way.
No one was more active than she in those movements in which a woman could engage; and
when her hands could do no more, her heart was
always brimming with the fulness of emotion
aroused by the suffering on the battle-field, and
in the desolate households to which ill-tidings
came from time to time.
When the battle of Bull Run was being
fought, she was moved as only those of fine and
unnaturally quickened spiritual apprehensions
are, while a great event is pulling the heart




TIIE SUMMER OF 1861.            301
strings of a nation. The news which reached
them on Sunday was hopeful, but during Monday, before the knowledge of the fatal result
could reach her, she says:
" I was possessed by such a spirit of restlessness, that
it was entirely impossible for me to remain quiet, or to
occupy myself with anything sufficiently absorbing to keep
my thoughts away from the battle-field. I spent hours
praying for the dying and the bereaved; and whether in
the house, or walking about the grounds, or sitting on
the piazza with closed eyes, my heart went up continually in petition to the God of battles and to the Father of
Mercies."
As the afternooon trains from the city began
to arrive, she walked down the carriage road to
the gate that she might get the intelligence she
craved. A person who saw her standing there
at the foot of the avenue was struck by her
appearance, and described her as one who seemed consumed by a fever-a purple flame in her
cheeks and a glittering fire in her eyes, which
were softened by tears as the story of the disaster was told.
When she knew all that was to be related of
that pitiful fight and sorry flight, she returned




302                COUSIN ALICE.
quickly to the house and shut herself up in her
room, where she alternately prayed and wrote.
The feeling that found utterance in such circumstances was a poem called " Bull Run," which
appeared in many of the leading papers of the
day, but may have escaped some eyes; the heart
that conceived it throbs in every line:
BULL RUN, SUNDAY, JULY 21ST.
BY ALICE B. HAVEN.
We —walking so slowly adown the green lane,
With sabbath-bells chiming, and birds singing psalms,
He-eager with haste, pressing on o'er the slain,'Mlid the trampling of steeds and the drum-beat to arms;
In that cool dewy morning.
We-waiting with faces all reverent and still,
The organ's voice vibrant with praise unto God.
His face set like flint with the impress of will,
To press back the foe, or to die on the sodMy fair, brave young brother'
We-kneeling to hear benedictions of love,
Our hearts all at peace with the message from Heaven!
He-stretched on the field, gasping, wounded to prove
If mercy were found where such courage had thriven,
In the midst of the slaughter.
Oh, God!-can I live with the horrible truth!
Stabbed through as he lay, with their glittering steel,
Could they look in that face, like a woman's for youth,
And crush out its beauty with musket and heel,
Like hounds, or like demons!




THE SUMMER  OF 1861.                  303
That brow I have blessed in my dead mother's place,
Each morning and eve since she went unto rest;
Smoothing down the fair cheek, as my own baby's face,
Those eyes with her look, where my kisses were prest,
For I saw hers-so tender!
Curses spring to my lips! Oh, my God, send the hail
Of swift, ready vengeance- for deeds such as this!
Forego all Thy mercy, if judgment must fail!
Forgive my wild heart if it prayeth amissHis blood crieth upward.
" Amiss! "-and the strife of my clamorous grief
Is hushed into stillness,-what grief like to thine!
If my poor human heart with its passions so brief
Is tortured with pangs can we guess the Divine,
With depths past all searching?
I know eyes more tender looked upward to Thee,
That visage so marred by the torturing crownThose smooth, noble limbs racked with anguish I see;
The side where the blood and the water gushed down
From stroke fierce and brutal.
Help lips white with anguish take up his prayer;
Help hearts that are bursting to stifle their cries,
The shout of the populace, too, has been there,
To drown pleas for justice, to clothe truth in liesTo enrage and to madden.
They knew not we loved them; they knew not we prayed
For their weal as our own: "we are brethren," we plead —
Unceasing those prayers to our Father were made:
When they flung down the palm for palmetto we said,
" Let us still hope to win them."




304              COUSIN ALICE.
"God so loved that Ile gave! " We are giving to these
The lives that were dearer to us than our ownLet us add prayer for blow, trusting God to appease
Our hearts' craving pain, when He hears on His throne
" Oh, Father, forgive them! "
There are few records of importance during
this summer. IHer health was not very good,
and, provided with a pretty set of garden tools,
she spent much time out of doors. She wrote
less also, but she was not willing to confess to
invalidism, nor was her daily routine essentially
changed.  She was always "a little tired," and
always looking forward to some time when she
should feel rested again. Alas! for the poor
weary body. When could rest come to it,
while the warm, loving heart beat, and the
eager, unselfish spirit stirred within it!
In one letter she says:
"I. lie down and rise up with the desolation of the
widow and the childless encompassing me. I pray
always that God will give wisdom to our rulers, and
bring peace to this poor land."
In another, to her sister, "Mary E.":
"Ky work is done. I have this morning finished'The Good Report,' and I come to you to be congratulated. I have left it to you to revise in case I should not




THE SUMMER  OF'1861. -              305
live to do it. There is little to be done but to copy and
to transpose some paragraphs which are marked. You
know how long I have been at it, ever since the Cottage
days-four years at least; and if it never sees print, I
feel fully repaid for the work, by all it has taught me.
Perhaps this is all it ever will accomplish."
On September 13th, in her journal:
" I have a birthday blessing to ask for S., that he may
be delivered from all' blindness of heart;' the same for myself; but above all that I may conquer sloth, my present
besetting sin, the sin of the year, my sin of prosperity.
"This is the answer to my prayer in my regular
reading:
"' For thou shalt drive out the Canaanites though
they have iron chariots, and be strong.'
" Here are besetting sins described:
"' Yet the children of Manasseh could not drive out
the inhabitants of those cities, but the Canaanites would
dwell in the land.'
"' Yet it came to pass when the children of Israel were
waxen stroag, that they put the Canaanites to tribute,
but did not utterly drive them out.'
"So we rest content with putting limits on our own
faults, but do not utterly conquer them.' The slothful
soul must tarry there longer.' Lord grant me grace to
discover, to avoid, to resist, and to cast out whatever
is evil within me. And here is the prayer for help for




306               COUSIN ALICE.
daily renewed assistance in the lesson of my morning
reading on my birthday:
"' Give me a blessing, for thou iast given me a south
land' (a desire to do right and a knowledge of my duty).'Give me also springs of water.'"
After an enumeration of all the blessings of
the year, she closes with:
" Then, too, I am relieved from my nervous headaches, from which I have suffered, with little respite, for
fifteen years. Last winter appears to have cured them
entirely. Altogether this has been one of the happiest
summers of my life, in my own family and home, and
never were happiness and prosperity more undeserved."
As Thanksgiving Day of 1861 drew near, her
heart, in its wide identification with the stricken
and the suffering, poured itself out in a poem,
which she called
"IN THE FIRES." *
THANKSGIVING DAY, 1861.
Husband and child are not, we turn and falter,
To-day our hearts with anguished memories swell;
How can we bring thanks-offerings to Thine altar,
Who scarce have learned to say, " My God'tis well"?
Thanks we were chosen? Marked for cruel scourging.
Thanks for the pangs that wring us yet? The pain
Of parting, prayers unheard for all their urging,
The awful dread-their names told with the dead!
*" Wherefore glorify ye the Lord in the fires."




THE SUMMER  OF  1861.                 801
Last year we counted them by tender kisses,
Thanked Thee with tears for each dear loving face;
That Thou hast answered even voiceless wishes,
And now-an empty-echoing, household place!
One year, but one, and all this desolation!
Bidden a song from out its depths to raise!
Sackcloth and ashes gird a stricken nation,
We cannot cast them off for hymns of praise.
The widowed wife, the yearning, childless mother,
How can they kneel, and say, "I thank Thee Lord"?
Leave them, pass by them, ask it of some other
Who counts untouched to-day, the heart's fond hoard.
But faith takes up and stills such wild desires,
And God be thanked for those who yet can stand
To glorify Him even in the fires,
The martyr fires that light and try the land.
Another poem must find place here which
she never gave to the public.  When the news
came of the burning  of Charleston, her heart
remembered the dear friends whose beautiful
homes had opened hospitably to her, and her
young sister still abiding in the fated city; but
the significance of the terrible judgment could
not be put aside by tender memories, and she
wrote:




308                COUSIN ALICE.
OUR ALAS!
God is not slack concerning words of promise,
As men count slackness-His "I will repay,"
Though spoken low, so low we failed to hear it,
We find fulfilled before our eyes to-day.
Oh sister city! lifting thy tall spires,
Unconscious of the strange avenging fate!
Brought from this height to sit in dust and ashes,
In one short hour cast down and desolate!
How quickly had we come thy need to succor,
Quickly unfurled the white wings of our sails,
Freighted them with our best, our chiefest treasure,
And prayed the while for fair and favoring gales.
But thine own will repelled and cast us from thee,
Severed the bonds that linked our lives with thine,
Bared thy proud head to storms that might assault thee,
Defied all law, the human, the Divine.
Compelled, we "stand afar to watch thy burning,"
With our alas! alas! for thy disdain,
Raising our useless, helpless hands to Heaven,
While God sets on thy brow the brand of Cain.
With her usual earnest interest in every
thing she could help or forward, Mrs. Haven
had urged her sister to complete a book which
had been begun some years before, and thrown
aside in consequence of the ill-health of the
writer. Having procured a few of the chapters




THE SUMMER OF 1861.              309
without letting her purpose be known, she had
carried them to a publisher, and obtained from
him a proposition to publish the work. She
then told her sister what was done, and left her
no course to pursue but to finish the writing
and have it ready in season. So much had been
done by Mrs. Haven, and it was so entirely
owing to her that the last impulse as well as the
first inspiration had been given, that her sister
desired to dedicate it to her, and asked permission to do so, accompanying the request with a
copy of the dedication she wished to use. It
was in these words; and to the sister who had
so long, so anxiously, and at last so admiringly
watched the course and growth in character of
Alice Haven, nothing less seemed just:
"MY DEAR SISTER:
" I owe it to your example and sympathy that I have
found courage, under the burden of feeble health and
exacting home cares, to finish this little book.
"You have been the best example to'me of the
lessons I strive to teach; and you have best shown me
how certainly, by the grace of God, the victory is given
to such as struggle in humble patience, and in selfabnegation, with the infirmities of our nature.
"May I not then dedicate to you these pages, in which
14




310             COUSIN ALICE.
I would point others to the heights all may reach, who
lay down self to serve God and bless the world?
"I am sure you will add to mine, your prayers that
the blessing of God, which you have never sought in
vain upon your work, may rest on mine.
" With respect and love born of our tender relationship, and nourished to maturity by this mutual service,
" I am always your loving sister,'C. H. B. R."
This answer was returned:
"And now I must say how much your dedication
surprised and touched me; but, dear sister, if I suffer
myself to listen to the' well done' here, I shall miss it
hereafter. You know it is my greatest temptation. I
cannot think that it is right to let it go out. S. will like
it from you, but whether he will like to have it printed I
cannot tell. I think not."
To a long plea for its publication, made by
her sister in her next letter, she replied:
"I do not undervalue commendation, far from it.
Sometimes you have written words of appreciation that
have cheered, and comforted, and helped me, as nothing
else could. We all like to know that some one we trust
appreciates us; it helps us to put up with the indifference
and undervaluation of every-day people. Sometimes
when I have felt myself misunderstood and unappreciated by some connected with me, by those around me,




THE SU[IMIFR OF 1861.             311
when this has pressed heavily, I have felt that there was
One who did know my struggle to help and uphold those
to whom I refer, and who have seemed ready'to turn
again and rend me'-how I have borne with them, and
tried to make them happy. It has taught me'to do it
as unto the Lord,' and to leave all my doings unto' my
Father which seeth in secret' for reward, not even seeking, or rather not depending upon a recognition of effort
by those for whom it was made. One does look for it
unconsciously, but it does not hurt me as it used to, when
I don't find it; and again, when I do, from you especially,
I feel'God sends it,' and so it is doubly sweet.
"You say you praise me because I have overcome
faults. I never work against faults of character. I
strive against sins, that is the overcoming with me. I
learned to get up in season that we might have prayers
before S. went to town, because I knew it was wrong to
neglect them. I tried to check a tendency to exaggeration, not because it was a blemish, but an untruth; so of
irritability and all the rest of the train.
" Don't think your dedication did not touch and
please me. It only seemed so much toothigh praise; and
of course if written by a sister I must know of it, and
sanction it; while if a friend had done it, people could not
say'how egotistical,' or'mutual admiration,' or any of
those things which they like to charge against literary
people; and I could not bear to have any thing meant
so truly and tenderly, subjected to ill-natured remarks.
You must understand me just as I mean, that I strive so




312              COUSIN ALICE.
hard for humility, and not to think of myself more highly
than I ought to think, that this seems to set me, as we
once said,'at the top of the ladder, instead of the foot of
the Cross.'
"You know if people compliment you on certain
things that you set no value on, you are not in the least
moved if the praise is ever so glowing; but if they touch
certain other points, things you do aspire to, it reaches
you. So it is with me; all my ambition and endeavour
being set this way, to be called'good' is more to me
than all that could be said in any other form of praise.
Therefore I am afraid of it.
"I don't believe now, that I have made you comprehend me. I am afraid you will think me cold, when you
have paid me the highest and tenderest tribute one
mother's child could pay another; but you asked me to
talk about it, and pen and ink are so slow and blundering."
The dedication was used notwithstanding
this protest, though after the publication of the
book, Mrs. Haven felt it even more than she
thought, and never loaned or gave away a copy
of " Springs of Action," without an apology for
the personality.
In the success of this work, and all others
that her sister had written, and especially in the
literary success of her young sister-in-law, Mary
E. Bradley, whose ventures as an authoress




THE SUbMMER OF 1861.            313
appeared from  time to time, Mrs. Haven was
keenly interested.  Her suggestions were wise
in regard to the execution of a book, and its
publication. Even to her brother-in-law, after
his long intimacy with the book-world, her suggestions were often valuable.
She kept herself informed of the condition
of the book market, understood and used her
tact for the benefit of all in whom she was
interested, which was all wlhom she could serve.
Not infrequently foreign books were submitted to her judgment by publishers who were
not certain of their value for republication. In
her quiet country home there was always a
fresh book atmosphere, a consciousness to the
guest that intellectual needs could be satisfied,
and stimulus found. She says of an occasional
visitor, who was peculiarly able to minister to
this attraction of " The Willows ":
" It is delightful to get a fresh breeze from the literary
world, as I always do with M. I cannot take much of it,
because I find it exciting and stimulating beyond what I
am able to bear now. His short visits, with his good
music, and his rich, fresh nature and knowledge, bring me
great pleasure. At first, I grew restless sometimes when




314             COUSIN ALICE.
it forced upon me the contrast between my old life and
this, so dull to the superficial observer; but I soon return
to a healthful appreciation of the blessedness of my lot.
I know you always wonder at my content so'far from
the spot in the lake where the stone drops in,' as Mrs. S.
says. You do not realize what this life has done for me,
how it has been God's greatest blessing, for which I
never can be thankful enough."
There are some who dread, and who complain of stagnation in slow currents, or the
quiet pool. Stagnation was impossible to one
in whose soul living waters were pouring out
their sweetness; to one whose great, warm heart
was always ready to nourish a brain too active
and creative to suffer from depletion in the
keenest excitement, or stagnation in the dullest
routine.




CHAPTER VI.
HER FIRS6T ILLNESS.
HE delicate health of Mrs. Haven
saw no improvement during 1861.
At first, as we have seen, she struggled against her weariness, considering it simply a disinclination to exertion, now
that the pressure of past years was taken off.
She had seen some whom she had been educating
become self-supporting, and many whom she
had assisted pecuniarily, placed in more favorable circumstances. Mr. Haven was prosperous
in business, and new channels did not open
before her as formerly; she could not but feel
that God was requiring less of her.
A peculiar disposition of her leisure now
occurred to her.  She wrote letters to all in




316           CO USIN ALICE.
whom she was especially interested, to every
person for whose welfare she had ever had a
feeling of responsibility. She did not speak of
this at the time, but it came to light in various
ways before a twelve-month had passed. After
she had become too ill to attend to her letters,
and even after she had left the country, some of
these letters found their way back which had
been sent by her to her old Sunday School
pupils in Philadelphia, from the " Dead Letter"
office. Children, who had now become men and
women, were startled by a word from their
former teacher, or through their change of residence failed to receive the affectionate appeals
she sent to them. She wrote to, or sought out
every person who had ever been in her employ,
or whom she had befriended, and could still
reach. Once afterwards, she said of this impulse:
" I do not know what impelled me; partly,
perhaps, an unacknowledged consciousness that
my life was drawing to a close; partly that
having more leisure I went back to the old
channels."
It must be remarked that these were not the




HER FIRST ILLNESS.          317
first letters written to her old Sunday School
pupils. Amongst her papers were found many
letters written to her year after year, in reply to
hers addressed to them; what these had been
the letters in reply bore witness to.  There
were also letters from many others who looked
to her as their guide in spiritual things. Some
wrote regularly once a year, frequently at Christmas times, bringing their offering of grateful
affection, their unfailing acknowledgment of
her tender care and faithfulness. Neither time,
nor distance, nor change of circumstance, ever
sufficed to efface her interest in these, or to
relieve her of her sense of responsibility for
influence, or the means to aid others.
In one case a lad who had been led to Christ
by the reading of one of her Sunday School
books, encouraged by her, devoted himself to the
Christian ministry. She took the most affectionate interest in her'godson,' as she used to
style him, and his Christmas offering was always
welcomed with more than common thankfulness by her. As a clergyman of the Episcopal
Church, he is now bringing in the sheaves from
her sowing, as do many others in other callings,
14*




318            CO USIN ALICE.
who have been taught by her to sanctify their
gifts to the service of the Master.
During the autumn of 1861 one cold followed another; she had restless, feverish days and
nights, and finally plueritic symptoms.  The
idea of danger to herself had now to be sometimes admitted; but then she still seemed to have
so much to do, and her life-work had been
so blessed in its doing, that she was most reluctant to believe it could be closing. Her references in her letters to her health were always
such as could relieve the fears of her friends, and
encourage them to believe that she suffered
little. She spoke of it seldom, and slightly, and
often in a vein of humor, as if she was magnifying the ill; but those who knew her, even those
who read her cheerful letters, were not deceived.
The hollow cheek with its bright hectic, the
languid eye, and drooping lid, and bent shoulders were unerring indications of her condition.
To " Mary E." she wrote in January,
L862:
"I thank you very much for your note, which I canaot pretend to answer. I am afraid of my pen, but I
mean to live to take my revenge on it for getting me into




HER FIRST ILLNESS.              319
so much trouble. I have been preparing for this cold for
a long time, and only fear I was too well prepared for it!
I think it is breaking up for good. The pleuritic pain,
which was the worst of all, is gone. I told mother to tell
you that I did not think any one fully appreciated my
danger but you. When you are determined on being'dangerous' if any body tells you'you don't look ill,
Mrs. H,' or' not half as ill as I expected,' it's very irritating indeed, and a great relief to have one sympathetic
friend think there's something in it. S. won't let me
stir out, or write a line if he knows it; and only think of
S. P. and the G.'s, and everybody else in town, who won't
came again for a year! I have been babyish enough to
feel the disappointment.
" Only think of the selfish happiness of thinking people would miss you if you really did die! It was quite
a new idea, and I hugged it! I really looked for your
note. I knew you'd be sorry."
At last news came to those who loved her,
that Alice iaven was prostrated by a fearful
hemorrhage; and to all who knew of her devoted
life, and especially to the few who had come to
know the care with which she seemed to be settling all those affairs to which she had given such
anxious thought, this illness was thought to be
death's harbinger indeed. But she can best tell
the story. She lived through the peril of the




320              COUSIN ALICE.
attack, and on the 13th of September, 1862, we
find another birthday record:
"My thirty-fifth birthday!'Half way home,' even at
the longest, and, as it would seem, much nearer in reality.
"I have a record of watchful care and kindness to
make. The sloth which I grieved over a year ago to-day,
was in some respects not a fault, as I look back upon it;
and though cheerful and joyful even, all the autumn and
during the early part of the winter, I was tired and very
feverish, with a constant slight cough, rattling respiration,
and a slight sore throat.
"' Dr. P. made light of it, and I paid little attention
to it myself till after Christmas. Louy was very ill from
Christmas till New Year's Day. I took a heavy cold
about the same time, and had a cough and hectic fever
every night. Up to January Ist I wrote regularly (besides often assisting in some household duties), to finish
up in advance six months of my work on the Lady's
Book, little thinking it was my last! I intended then
to commence rewriting'The Good Report,' which I
had finished in August. The first two weeks of the
New Year, I hurried to prepare an a rticle for' Harper,'
on St. Croix, which after all they have not used, though
it was the last stroke in bringing on my illness. In fact
it was all written in pain and exhaustion."
" Jan. 29th.
"I had a severe attack of pleurisy, and suffered much,
my cough growing deeper and deeper. I began to make




HER FIRST ILLNESS.              321
arrangements for going to town for change of air and
scene. S. proposed that I should visit a friend in Thirtyninth Street instead of going to a hotel, as was our first
intention.
" I consulted Dr. G. first, who told me that I was
threatened with'old-fashioned consumption,' and must
use great care, that my left lung was already affected.
On February 13th, after having made unusual exertion to
talk the evening before to a gentleman who was partially
deaf, I sat reading my morning lesson, when the words:' This sickness is not unto death,' came into my mind.
For a time I did not associate any idea with them, but
they returned so persistently that I turned to chapter and
verse and read them. A moment or two after I found
that I was raising blood for the first time. Alarmed at
first, the text was at once a promise and comfort that
never left me."
The day before this occurred Mrs. IHaven
had driven out, and knowing that a friend was
in deep sorrow, had paid her a visit. She was
asked up-stairs to the lady's own room. She
said, for a moment, she thought it impossible to
go up those two flights of stairs, but the hope
of being able to say a comforting word was so
strong, that she toiled up to the third story,
though almost too much exhausted to speak
when she entered the room.




822              COUSIN ALICE.
The journal goes on:
"I had risen and dressed on Saturday, and was making
my way to the library, for I remembered some writing
which must be done, indeed I had been occupied part of
the week in getting material for the expected article. I
managed to supply the opening pages, when a hemorrhage
came on, and I laid down my pen for a napkin, which
a servant brought me. I had done my last work of that
kind!
"The hemorrhage lasted from twelve till five, with
intervals of rest. S. came in just at the last and helped
me to bed. He said as he opened the hall door he heard
me cough, and knew by the gurgling sound accompanying it what was going on. My friend was exceedingly
kind, doing all that a sister could have done. I regretted
extremely the unforeseen care and exertion that thus came
upon her. During the night I made up my mind that it
was a violent attack of pneumonia, relieved by the
hemorrhage, and that I should get perfectly well again;
but Dr. Parker said distinctly the next day that there
were tubercles on the right lung, and that I must think
of, and care for myself as an invalid.
" The prospect of death in that extreme exhaustion
would not have been so hard to bear, as this doom to tho
weary, care-worn life of an invalid, wandering about for
health; pitied, discussed as such, shut out from active
employment. It was what I had never looked forward
to for myself, and for a time my courage and faith entire



HER FIRST ILLNESS.            823
ly failed me. I knew I had deserved this. I had even
talked lightly of the possibility of my death with Mr. H.
and others. I knew being allowed to give way thus, was
a punishment."
A few days after she said to her sister, who
had come to her as soon as she heard of her
illness:
" I think I was punished for another thing.
I really think I had done one of the most faithless deeds of my life. I was growing covetous,
grasping, and was unmindful of the promises I
have leaned on so many years, which have never
failed me."
Then after an interval, indeed all this was
said very slowly, and almost in a whisper:
"I had begun to think that perhaps God
was giving its now what he meant us to
put aside, as you know I have never done for
the children or myself, something for the future.
S. has his capital in his business. Some day it
might be lost again, as before. So this winter I
began my saving, putting into bank three hundred dollars, a beginning toward a sum to be
expended in the education of the children. As
soon as I did this, God took my work out of my




324             COUSIN ALICE.
hands. It was not the way he wished me to
use what I have always felt to be money entrusted to me for His service; and you know, sister,
till this temptation came it has been spent so
unreservedly, and thus I was shown my error.
If I can ever work again, how faithfully will I do
itis work; and I may, for I know'this sickness
is not unto death.'"
The listener to these broken and faintlyuttered words, looked at the fragile being before
her, and at the transparent little hand that for
so many years had wrought so nobly in His
service, and felt that this condemnation of self
could not be merited, would never have come'to
a mind and conscience less tender and true, and
full of love of the service which had occupied
the best years of her life, and many, manv
hours of pain and weakness.
Her journal continues:
"While I lay there so helpless, and wishing they
would'let me go down,' and not make me struggle for
life, S. was called from the room. They were afraid to
tell me that Katie had come from Charleston; but I
knew it must be so, and that great anxiety was at an end.
She had been brought safely through the horrors of war,




HER FIRST ILLNESS.              325
under the last flag of truce that was allowed for many
months. She was here to remain at' The Willows' with
our mother and the children, in case we went away
again, as was possible if I recovered enough to go.
" The way was thus open to me, and my path was
made clear. I felt as I had never done before, that I
should never again doubt God's guidance and tenderness.
But I shall, a thousand times, if I live long enough!
"~ I was so weak at first that I could not rise in bed.
Every one was very kind and attentive. By Wednesday
sister came, and the next Saturday I saw mother and
the children; poor little things, they little' knew what
threatened them!
"' The plans for our going away ended in our taking
passage for Nassau, in the steamer of March 1st. I
gained steadily and rapidly, and was able to be carried
out home for a day or two. On the 1st I was brought in
town to stay at a hotel till the steamer sailed.' Goodness
and mercy followed me' from first to last. Sister was
with me, and many friends called."
An incident may be mentioned showing the
care and attention to her comfort and her wishes
which awaited her all the time, and causes such
grateful acknowledgments. The friend whose
visits to "The Willows," and whose singing of
sacred music gave her such especial pleasure, was
living at this hotel. She had said, speaking of




326          COUSIN ALICE.
her loneliness on the previous Sunday evening'
" How much I wished as I was lying up-stairs
in my room, that M. would come and play and
sing for me. The music of' Oh cast thy burden
on the Lord,' with its sweeter meaning, floated
through my mind all the evening."
This was mentioned to the gentleman.
When he found that a room had been engaged
at the hotel for Mrs. Haven, he made an effort
at once to get a larger and more quiet room
than could be had at the time of the engagement. Into this he placed a piano; and when
she was brought in and saw the ample room
with its glowing fire, luxurious couch and easy
chairs, all the result of his thoughtfulness, fresh
flowers, new books and open piano, she said,
looking about in astonishment, "What Prima
Donna has just gone away? "
During the three or four days which they
had to wait for the sailing of the Karnak, which
was waiting for European mails, her health continued to improve. She was able to see her
friends, and to enjoy their conversation, though
she could not take much part in it. She was
refreshed with the music she had coveted when



HER FIRST ILLNESS.             32X
ever she was able to listen to it, and she never
wearied of the sweet "sentence" which had
comforted her that Sunday evening. The tears
trickled through her thin fingers as she lay on
the couch, in her usual attitude, with her hand
over her eyes; but her heart was filled and
satisfied with the consciousness that "goodness
and mercy followed her from first to last."
" What a precious Sabbath!" she said, as the
music ceased, and she had listened to the reading of a favorite chapter, " I have worshipped,'giving thanks' all day long."
She was supported from her room to the
carriage, and so to the ship, but she was already
making rapid strides toward a recovery.
In her Jfrst letter from Nassau, to her sister,
she writes:
" I have walked a mile, and can do any number of
stairs. When you recall me as you saw me last, this will
seem incredible; but the voyage and the climate have
done wonders. I have yet reached no greater weight
than eighty-four pounds."
At Nassau she wrote the verses recently
published for the first time, written for a friend
there, for they found the place full of invalids:




328                COUSIN ALICE.
IN THE VALLEY.
Gently sloped the rugged pathway
To her fainting, failing tread,
Downward to the dreary valley
By her Saviour gently led.
Day by day she neared the darkness,
Leaning on that steadfast arm.;
As a child who fears no danger,
Shrinks not from approaching harm;
Till she walked within the shadow,
Little dreaming where she trod,
Knowing not, the " staff" sustaining,
That she passed beneath the "rod;"
Knowing not how short the distance
To the home she longed to see;
Thinking in the far-off future
There were terrors yet to be.
For the love in which she trusted,
Upward drew her waiting eyes;
Till we saw them change and brighten
With a smile of glad surprise.
She had guessed not of the darkness,
Till she saw the breaking day,
Caught no glimpse of death's dark shadows
Till they changed and fled away.
Gentle life, with gentlest closing,
Could we wish for aught more blest,
Could we ask more sweet transition
To the promised land of rest?
As the editor of the Lady's Book says: "It




HER FIRST ILLNESS.          329
depicts so truthfully her own future, that it
seems like a whispering from the angels of her
own' transition to the land of rest."'
Their time at Nassau passed very pleasantly,
except the drawback of a little depression in
consequence of the suffering, in some cases so
helpless which they saw about them. Some of
their letters to residents of the island had been
sent them by an aged lady, the widow of a
former official there. She paid Mrs. Haven the
graceful compliment of sending to each person
to whom she gave her a letter, a copy of one of
her own books!
They expected to return in the Karnak; but
while watching her enter the harbor, on her
way back from Havana, the steamer struck on
a rock, and went down in their sight. They
therefore were compelled, she says, " to set sail
in a crowded vessel,'The Alma,' and had a
dull, comfortless voyage of ten days; but I
returned so well, without even a lingering cough.
I continued so up to this month (September),
wonderfully well, and able to accomplish all'
usual social and domestic duties."




CHAPTER VII.
AN INTERVAL. OF HEALTHL
N  the summer of 1862 Mrs. Haven
seemed to regain something of the
old poise.  She was careful of overexertion, after the serious warning of
the year before, and she never returned to her
old habits of writing. Only after long intervals,
and then for a short period, would she venture to
use her pen. Of this enforced state of things,
the consequence of severe compulsion and sense
of duty, she says:
" The hardest trial growing out of my illness has
been to obey the advice of my physicians, both Dr. Grey
and Dr. Parker, and lay aside my pen. After sixteen
years of constant professional occupation, it was a struggle no human friend can appreciate to give up my business engagements.




AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH.              331
"With regard to being relieved from the long drudgery of my work, this was from the first constantly in my
mind, for I saw God's own hand in the clear signature of
the release,'I eased his shoulders from the burden, and
his hands were delivered from making the pots."'
Some disappointments attended what had
been natural expectations, when she gave up her
engagements, one of which particularly gave her
great pain. She writes:
"I depend too much upon appreciation. This was to
show me that I must remain satisfied with waiting for
the'well done' hereafter. It was a blessing in disguise,
that the choice of a return to my work was not given to
me, as I never should have thought it right to give up the
occupation at all, from the belief that all that I could earn
(when spent conscientiously for others, as I had opportunity) was a duty. Therefore, it was clearly taken out of
my hands. As I should have hesitated about taking it
up again, no choice was allowed me.
"Yet at the time this was most painful; the uncertainty about the future of some very dear to me, the
finding other channels for employment, and being thrown
so entirely from the old activity.
"S. would say,'Why do you grieve over it? You
have long worried because you wanted more time for
your children, or your studies, or social duties. Now it
is given, why do you fret?'




332              COUSIN ALICE.
"In one of these depressed hours I came upon this,
which was at the moment, and has been since, the greatest
comfort:' Waste not your time in fears and thoughts of
the future, in this world. To you the future may be
short.  The things you most fear will probably never
disturb you. If evils come, they will probably be such
as no foresight of man can anticipate.'Trust in the
Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and
verily thou shall beyfed. Delight thyself also in the Lord,
and H7e shall give thee the desire of thy heart.'"
In the August of this summer she was persuaded to accompany her brother-in-law, and
some other friends, to Niagara: "I have so
many uses for money, there are so many who
need what it would cost to take a pleasure trip,
that I never have a sense of ease and enjoyment
in spending it on myself," had been one of her
objections to the journey; another was her unwillingness to be absent from home over Sunday,
the day when her husband was at leisure, and
she knew she had it in her power to contribute
much to his happiness. This, during all her
married life, had been a constantly-urged objection to her making long visits or journeys
when he did not accompany her.  Her visits to
Philadelphia, to her mother or sister, had always




AN INTERVAL OF IHEALTHI.          333
been within a week's limit, if possible, for this
reason: "You don't realize how  much I am
needed on Sundays. I could not be happy myself, knowing how  he was missing me," she
would say.
All objections overcome through the urgency
of those who wished her to have the pleasure,
once so singularly, and since then, so indefinitely
deferred, she went up to Hudson, where she
spent a few days, leaving her oldest child and
her oldest nephew, who was spending the summer vacation with her, in the care of some relations, and then proceeded to join the party, who
were en route at Albany.  Her enjoyment of
the journey was extreme and perfect. All were
surprised at the exertion she was able to make
in their excursions at the Falls, walking and
even climbing almost as well as the best. She
wrote to her sister:
"It was an unclouded visit. The weather, health,
and I think everybody's temper and spirits were all we
could wish. I have not seen W. so buoyant, so like his
old self for many a day. That alone would have been
enjoyment for me. It made me think of our old childish
Claverack Falls' trips. Can you remember so long ago?
l.i




834              COUSIN ALWICI'.
"As for Niagara, it was lovelier and grander than
ever I had imagined or expected. I am only sorry that
I can never see it again for the frst time. Every point
was finer than the last. The two grandest views to me
were from under the cliff on the Canada side, and from
the tower on the American. I can easily understand
your awe on seeing it as you did at midnight, and with
rising clouds at intervals obscuring the moonlight, while
a storm wind raged around the tower, for in the broad
day light, and familiar with the scene, I was really a
coward, standing on that balcony. The force and persistence of the steady fall impressed me most, and the ages
in which that chasm had been forming, sawn back into
the solid rock.
"You see I have not much to say. I had nothing to
say then."
To a friend who was with them, she said
a few days before her death, "It was the
most perfect pleasure  trip  I  ever took;"
indeed her enjoyment was as complete as
every pulse throbbing with delight could
make it.
There was one period of her life when
pleasure seemed to pall on her taste, when she
turned with indifference, if not disgust, from
every thing which did not offer the zestful
favor of a duty performed or a service render



AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH.          335
ed. Her satisfaction in this journey, and indeed
in all the recreation she allowed herself in these
later years, was as hearty and complete as in
the childish days to which she refers.  Her
confidence in the Divine guidance, so invariably sought by her, gave her the simple perfect
happiness of a child, trusting still in the leading
of a Father's hand:
It was during this summer that she occupied
herself in the hospital work, out of which grew
a story for Harper, which made a great impression at the time of its publication.  Many a
tender and brave heart was stirred up by it "to
go and do likewise," and scores of soldiers wrote
to her and to the publishers thanking them for
it, and invoking blessings on the hand that penned it. Nothing that she ever wrote brought
her a richer and quicker reward of the sort
which best repaid her for her exertion. The
sketch was called " One Day," and was published in the October Harper, 1862. She was so
liberally paid for this story by the courteous
publishers, that she found herself able from the
proceeds to publish a little tract which she wrote,
called "In  the Hospitals," a simple, sweet




b36           COUSIN ALICE.
appeal, written as she talked, which has gono
home to many a soldier's heart, carrying conviction and comfort alike.
A hospital had been erected on David's
Island, near New Rochelle, and about five miles
from Mrs. Haven's home. To this place she
went twice a week in company with some other
benevolent ladies, each carrying a basket stored
with delicate viands for the sick and wounded,
and she bearing to all, such " words in season" as
were never wanting from her lips. The long
drive, and the exertion during the heat of summer, became after some two months too much.
for her delicate health, and she had to relinquish
the personal service; but she continued to prepare her baskets of delicacies, and when her lips
could no longer speak to them, she employed
her pen as we have seen.
Of this, and of every good word and work
with which her life was crowded, there is no
record in her journal.  The knowledge has
come to us by the testimony of those who shared
this service with her, and from the many served
during all her life of love and labor; but this
testimony has been abundant, so much so that




AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH.        337
were the limits of this record enlarged, and were
not many of the tributes from those she benefited too delicate and personal in their character for publication, a second volume could
be prepared. with its history of "this deedful
life."
In only one letter can there be found a reference to what she had done. This was called out
by a remark which seemed to attribute selfishness to her in seeking to withdraw from interference in a matter painfully agitated between
some whom she loved. Her sympathy only had
been sought in the case, but she could never give
that alone when she saw any thing else that she
could do; and this active sympathy was too
much for her strength. It was no selfish feeling,
however, that had prompted the wise counsel
she here repeats with its reference to her own
experience and practice. That it might possibly, even by those who knew and loved her most
tenderly, be attributed to such a trait, for she saw
less unselfishness in herself than others could
possibly allow in their estimate of her; or that
it might be traced to selfish influence which she
was conscious of having often to resist in the




338              CO USIN ALICE.
advice of others, hurt her, even in her humility,
and she writes:
" I make a distinction of late wherein I claim sympathy or counsel of earthly love or wisdom. In God-sent
trials, or present troubles, I am as ready to claim it as
any one, where I think my friend is ready to give it without adding too heavily to her own heavy cares or trials.
I do not give voice to the mood of the moment often; to
its weariness, its pain, its dread, even when I know hours
of agony are before me, because I may be speaking or
writing to some one who will share it too keenly with
less strength perhaps than myself, or again when I know
all the time that it is a transient evil, and by the time my
cloud oppresses them it will have passed from me. Then
there are some subjects which I can take to God alone;
domestic grievances, should any such arise, injustice,
things which human sympathy could not reach, or when
it would worong another to claim it. This I have learned
by bitter experience, by having to strive for years, too often
vainly, to rekindle the dead love of one person for another,
destroyed at the first by my eager demand for justice,
simple justice only to myself. I could forgive, I did do
that, but -   never forgives. I kindled a fire I could
not put out. Do you see? I might have borne all
these things in silence. No, you cannot see. You have
never had this terrible experience; but it has been one
of the pangs of mylife, and since then I have been shown
a more excellent way.' I have found all the rest and sym



AN INTERVAL OF IEALTH.              339
pathy, and justification of self that I could have needed, on
my knees, often with bitter floods of tears, between me
and God alone. He has taught me that it is no figure of
speech,' Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy
laden.'
"Do not think that I set myself up to do without huIhan love and interest, or that I in the least undervalue
it. You know that I have much more than most wives
from my husband. You know, too, or if you don't I wish
you did, how precious and helpful yours, and my mother's,
and that of many others has been to me in my dark days;
how at times I hunger and thirst after yours particularly,
how gratefully it always comes to me. I almost despair
of making you understand what I do mean. But you
know how ready I am to give it. Could one of my
mother's children be otherwise! Do I not strive' to fulJil the law of Christ in the burden bearing of others,' not
only for those I love, but for every person, where I have
even little or no personal interest. You have seen my
life and its effort. You can tell."
There were circumstances which made it
desirable that the coming winter should be passed in the country, but " The Willows " with its
distance from the city and its proximity to the
sea would be a trial to the health of both Mr.
and Mrs. Haven, and they concluded to spend
the winter in the city. They therefore came in




340            COUSIN ALICE.
town for the winter months with-their children,
fixing their residence in Sixteenth Street, in the
neighborhood of St. George's Church. During
the winter Mrs. Haven attended service there,
whenever it was possible for her to go out.  The
force and fervor of Dr. Tyng's sermons, and the
vigorous and wholesome activity of his life, inspired her with respect and affection. Hier own practice for years had been an illustration of what he
taught, and his earnest appeals to his congregation to the leading of a life energized by Christian love, stirred her as the sound of a trumpet
quickens the blood in the veins of the spent
soldier. In her letters to her friends she repeated these appeals, praying for blessings and long
life for this preacher of righteousness.
On the 1st of December, 1862, she makes
the following peculiar record. There are many
of a similar character, showing how her faith
and trust were continually rewarded till she had
indeed "come to believe that she had all that
she prayed for ":
" While it is still fresh in my mind, let me put on
record one of the sweetest tokens of God's goodness that
I have ever received.




AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH.              341' When I began to work a little in the past summer,
I hesitated as to whether I should work wholly on'The
Good Report,' which I was anxious to copy entirely myself, or write as I had at first intended, some magazine
stories; for it was strange to me, and not quite comfortable, always to have no money of my own to fall back
upon. I could do so little every day, only one hour's
work, that I could accomplish but one of these things,
and to help my decision came back the promise,' Trust
in the Lord and do good, and verily thou shalt be fed.'
"So I trusted to Him, and, save the hospital story
called' One Day,' and a story for the Weekly, on the
same subject, both of which grew naturally out of my
hospital work —I wrote only on' The Good Report.' But
I was so well paid for my story, and S. has been so much
prospered, that I have had abundantly all the money I
could wish for myself and others.
" When I returned from Philadelphia last month, and
fairly settled down for the winter, the same question
came up for my Christmas money, for which I have
always done some special writing, for I have been in the
habit of making the most expensive purchases myself,
besides what we did together. Our expenditure has been
very great this year; extraordinary demands have been
made upon our purses, and besides this I had my own
special objects which S. might not think necessary.
"But then, if I wrote my stories, it would be after
New Year's before I could get at my book, and I might
be sick again, or die with it unaccomplished. As an
15*




.842            COUSIN ALICE.
answer again came,' Trust in the Lord and be doing good,
trust also in Him and He shall bring it to pass.' I hoped
and believed that in writing this book, I was doing good;
whether it ever came to any thing or not my motive was
pure. So I trusted. I took up my book on the 13th
day with great and renewed interest. I worked ten days.
On Friday, the evening of the 21st, so soon!-S. said
to me:
"'See, I have appropriated this to your Christmas
expenses,' and he counted out nearly forty dollars into
my hand.
"I received it with a mingling of pleasure and disappointment-pleasure because the means had been provided, disappointment because it would accomplish so
small a part of what I intended. So I took it and thanked
him, and said to myself,' Well, if God does not send me
any more, it is not right that I should do these things,
though it seemed so.'
" S. watched my face for a few moments:' You are
disappointed. You are not obliged to me?'
"'Yes, dear, I am very much. I had no right to
expect any thing.'
"' Why are you disappointed, then?'
"'Because it will not do all I wanted to do.'
"''What did you want to do?'
"'Oh, it does not matter since I cannot do it.'
"'But I want to hear,' and he took out a pencil and
made me tell him the principal items. They came to over
sixty dollars.




AN INTERVAL OF HEALTH.               343
"' Well, I will not tease you any longer,' and he put
another bill into my hands.'I meant this for you too.'
"It was a bill for one hundred dollars. I gave one
glance, and began to cry as usual. The revulsion overcame me, the seal of my rewarded trust was so wonderful.
"'What brings the tears?'
"It was a long time before I could tell him all, how,
in the first place, I had trusted for the money, and left it
all to Him. The signal answer to my faith, was as
wonderful as if He had spoken directly to me from
Heaven. Then there was the pleasure before me of
accomplishing my wishes, but that was the very least.
He owned my work as it were. He had sent me my
wages, and if He accepted my book, He would bless it
and make it useful as I have so long hoped and prayed.
"But it was also a pledge for the future. If He was
faithful in that which was least, He would provide for my
needs in greater things."
She goes on with a review of certain things
which tried her faith very sorely, and had been
making her heart very heavy, and she says:
"This was all natural, and very human, but here was
a pledge to drive away my latest, most unspoken fears,
and how could I but accept it, and be tearfully thankful,
when my heart had for so many days carried and strugg ed with such a burden?
"So I put it on record as a help in some dark, dis



344             COUSIN ALICE.
trustful day in the future, but chiefly to remember God's
great and unmerited goodness,' giving more than we can
ask or think.'"
And she quotes, after this triumph of her
faith, the beautiful metrical version of the 145th
Psalm, "which brings back to me," she says, " so
many happy Sunday afternoons in the dear
little church at Mamaroneck."




CHAPTER VIII.
HER LAST JO URNAL
" Feb. 16th, 1863.
66  C -T is a year ago to-day by the day of the
month, since I lay so helpless and suffering
at Mrs. F.'s. A year by the day of the
week, since that Sunday noon, on which
Dr. Parker told me that my life was in danger from
seated disease of the lungs. I promised myself and my
God if He would spare me a little longer to recover
strength, that I would use every moment of the added
time as a precious gift, and in His service. Especially to
be more faithful in instructing and in praying for my
children, and in helping others out of darkness into His
light.
" In looking back on the year, in which not only has
my life been spared so wonderfully, but my health in a
great measure restored, and abundant, and heretofore unknown leisure secured to me, by the advice of my physicians, the record is one of unfaithfulness and shortcoming;




346              COUSIN ALICE.
and of yielding too often to covert temptations to selfindulgence to which my position has peculiarly exposed
me. I could not but be thankful for the abounding, and
unlooked for blessings of the year, particularly for the
health and strength of the present; and I desire in God's
help to renew the vow of incessant faithfulness, especially in the care of my time, my health, and my duty to my
children. I pray for a rich blessing'of the best things
upon the friends whose roof protected me, whose thoughtful and unwearied attentions did so much for my restoration when I had so slight a claim on them.' The blessing of the right and the left be upon them.'
"I arose this morning burdened with the many cares
and anxieties coming from the proposed changes in our
life, Sunday as it was! The inevitable cares and perhaps
straightness of income, growing out of retirement from
active business, vex and disturb me. Yet from the first
we have tried to seek God's guidance, to say,'if Thy
presence go not with us carry us not up hence,' and I know
these distracting thoughts are mere human impatience,
and the temptations to evil, to hinder me in present duty.
It has been peculiarly so this morning, but I try to banish
them by prayer, by recollections of the past, and its very
manifest Divine guidances, some of them so wonderfully
clear and plain.
"'Brought safely by His hand so far,
Why wilt thou now give place to fear?
How canst thou want if He provide,
Or lose thy way with such a guide?'




HER LLAST JOURNAL.                347
"Perhaps, too, the decision is not my affair after all.
I have been so accustomed to take responsibility, that I
may be thrusting myself forward in the place of S. now.
I am called away, clearly called away, to other and absorbing interests. It may be all decided for me when I
return. There is great comfort in believing that S.
really does'seek counsel' as well as myself, and this
transaction may be wholly between his own soul and
God.
"I have been greatly'helped and strengthened,' as
Mr. Gurney himself would have said, by my morning
reading in the' Life of J. J. Gurney.' The longer I live,
the more I am persuaded that the Lord's children, unworthy as they are, are the objects not only of His
spiritual grace, but of His especial Providence; that they
are of more value in His sight than' many sparrows,' and
that' the very hairs of our heads are numbered.' If this
belief is well founded, if it is proved both by Scripture
and experience, what a repose we may feel in the various
turns and changes of our mortal pilgrimage. Truly' all
things shall work together for good to those that love God.'
"' In his after experience he thus depended upon the
Divine guidance. When he became impressed with the
belief that it was his duty to enter parliament, to bear
Christian testimony before the English nation, he sought
for every outward assistance to his judgment; yet was
left clearly, by the advice of friends, and the power of
circumstances, to follow his own choice. He feared lest't should be only a temptation to draw him away from




848              COUSIN ALICE.
duties already accepted. Yet, on the other hand, if it
were God's call to a new field of wider usefulness, he
wished to accept it.
"'Deep has been my conflict,' he writes,'in the fear
of the enemy's snares. Idesire to be preserved in patience
and simple dependence, resting assured that the Lord will
not leave me without a light to follow; that He will
make an opening in His Providence for whatever is truly
His own will concerning me. Or that, on the other hand,
he will condescend to close every door through which the
spirit forbids an entrance.'
"' I have had many anxious thoughts as to my future
lot, and proceedings, and even conflicts between opposite
views of duty; but I wholly believe that the Lord is
graciously disposed to deal gently with me and permit
me time to try the flame wet or dry, to go before me, and
be my rearward.
"'We are on the wing this morning for Bayswater,
trusting that a time of quietness of mind, and it may besome enjoyment in the Lord's service, awaits me. In the
meanwhile, I leave events to work in that way which a
good Providence may see fit to direct, being clear that
my own course must at present be purely passive,
and humbly trusting that my Divine and Holy Master
will not leave His unworthy servant without. help and
guidance.'"
"I was never," says Mrs. Haven, "more
fully persuaded of being sent on a message than




HER LAST JOURNAL.          349
in this visit to Boston. I go with a cheerful and
tranquil mind now, leaving all in God's hands."
This visit to Boston was a matter of great
moment to many persons. Her sister was there
then, and with her two young persons, in whose
care and welfare they were mutually interested.
There was much to be talked about and decided
upon, and the week spent there seemed all too
short for its engagements. She also saw some
old acquaintances, and made a few new ones.
To all she bore the same impression. Her quick
interest in every one, her sound judgment, her
keen enjoyment, her words of counsel and comfort, added a new zest to every life with which
hers came into contact. Going to a suburban
town to dine with a connection, the drive on a
wet day gave her some cold. She was a little
hoarse on her return, and complained of her
throat in the evening, but seemed very bright
and almost gay, and would not admit that she
was ill.
Speaking of singing-her favorite song was
asked for, the last evening she was in Boston.
She replied that she had no voice whatever, but
"if they could endure the dismal croak which




850               COUSIN ALICE.
any attempt on her part at singing must be, she
would try it." She went to the piano and sung
the song of R. H. Stoddard's, which has been
referred to, entitled
"THE TWO BRIDES.
"I saw two maids at kirk
And both were fair and sweet,
One in her wedding robe,
And one in her winding sheet.
"The chorister sung the hymn,
The sacred rites were read,
And one to Life for Life,
And one to Death, was wed.
"They were borne to their bridal beds,
In loveliness and bloom,
One in a merry castle,
The other a solemn tomb.
"One on the morrow awoke
To a world of sin and pain,
But the other was happier fa;
And never woke again."
Alas! the music was gone from  that voice
forever on earth. The hoarseness never left her,
and sometimes for days and weeks after this she
could only speak in a whisper. Her letters, on
her return to New York, were often prefaced in
this way:




HER LAST JOURNAL.                351
"I am forlorn to-day, with a new cold and quite
hoarse, which I regret on  -'s account."  " My throat
prevents my going to see Mrs. C. about Mrs. E., as I
hoped to." "Dr. S. says it is all climate; that I ought not
to be here in March." " You will find lots of preaching
in this envelope; but several things have done me so
much good, that I could not help sharing the comfort
with you."  "I said to S. a night or two ago:
"' How often we are kept up and quieted by plans that
seem the best things, but which are not the ones Providence is preparing for us or designs us to have. How
one plan which never was adopted, stood between me
and despair for a month or two.' When I heard that
your wishes in regard to sending B. away were frustrated, I felt at once that it was because some better
purpose still for him existed in God's providence, to be
known in good time; to be asked for in faith perhaps,
and to be depended upon, since all our earthly wisdom
seemed to be wrapped up in that one plan. My throat is
hateful again. I don't know but I must stay in the
house till we are done with snow."
In regard to their arrangements for the
future, which had disturbed her so, she writes in
her journal:
"March 22d.
"For the present, at least, we are to return to' The
Willows.' I found it decided for me on my return from
Boston, so I had nothing to do but'to sit still."'




352              COU.SIN ALICE.
After enumerating the advantages of keeping
" The Willows" for their summer residence, she
says:
"The change in the winter brings change of scene,
prevents morbid forecasting, and gives opportunity for
daily exercise in the open air. When I incline to be restless and impatient about the final issue, I see the message
still,' in quietness and confidence shall be your strength.' "
During Lent of this year her mind and heart
were full of concern for the beloved little church
in Mamaroneck where she had so long worshipped, for its pastor, for whom her respect and
affection were very sincere, as the whole of her
life as a parishioner, and as.many references in
her letters and journal testify, and for the people
with and for whom she had so long prayed.
She prays now that " after a long drouth, the
spirit of God may be plentifully poured. out
upon them."
"I have found two helpful things in my morning
reading, both marked long ago.
"' They helped every one, his neighbor and every one
said to his brother, be of good courage.'
"' So the carpenter encouraged the goldsmith, and he
that smote owith the hammer, him that smote with the
anvil, saying,' etc.




HER LAST JOURNAL.                 353
"' Fear not for I am zwith thee; fear not, be not dismayed, for I am thy God. I will strengthen thee, yea, I
will help thee, yea, I will yuphold thee.'
"' When the poor and needy seek water, and there is
none, and their tongue failethfor thirst, I, the Lord, woill
hear them; I the God of Israel will not forsake them.'
"' I will open rivers in high places, and fountains in
the mizdst of the valley; I will make the wilderness a pool
of water, and the dry land springs of water.'
" I was obliged to leave church this morning from
faintness, to my great disappointment, but I was repaid,
in the little time that I was there, for the effort of going,
by this additional helpful, and very familiar text in the
morning lesson: Haggai ii. 4. Perhaps the first part of
the chapter gives the reason for this long drouth, and my
repeated disappointments. Selfish prayers for husband,
wife, child, or friend, are refused and rebuked by failure
and disappointment, because we have not the interest of
God's church, His house, at heart until we have less' narrow prayers,' take up His cause heartily, and receive
all at once."
She records at some length another instance
of remarkable answer to prayer in her own experience, and then says:
" Answered again'in that which is least,' let me see
in it a pledge'of that which is greatest.'
"I have had a nice morning, though quite ill, finding




354              COUSIN ALICE.
so much encouragement for the country's peace and the
whole world's conversion from rebellion against God's
laws. How wonderful that this should come also! "
"April 4d, EASTER EvE.
"Lent going out in a heavy storm of rain, sleet, and
snow. I proposed to myself at its commencement several
distinct subjects for prayer. I have kept as usual an unfaithful watch. Yet God may even now grant ine my
heart's desire, undeserved as it is. It is never of our
deserving, but of His mercy. Therefore I hope that
F — may be led into the way of true peace; that S.
may grow in grace and in the knowledge of our Lord
Jesus Christ; that N- may be strengthened and confirmed, and brought nearer to the Heavenly Father,
by His loving kindness; that B  -  may receive the
baptism of a deep repentence and a true conversion; that
our land may be restored to peace and prosperity, and
we be made, by our trials, a God-fearing and honoring
nation; that His kingdom may come in all the world;
also I pray anxiously for my beloved church and pastor.
" I have had the fifty-fifth chapter of Isaiah for my
evening lesson, full of promises for all these things, espe
cially the last two verses.
" I leave all in God's hands, all for His own good time
and way. I find this is not my first watch for F —.
God has granted me all else-why not this?
" The sleety storm goes on. Before the verses I have
quoted is this, most appropriate for the day:'For as the
rain cometh down, and the snow from Heaven, and re



HER LAST JOURNAL.               -i 55
turneth not thither, but watereth the earth and maketh
it bring fortn and bud, that it may give seed to the sower
and bread to the eater.'
"' So shall my uword be that goeth jorth out of my
mouth. It shall not return unto me void, but it shall
accomplish that which Iplease, and it shall prosper in the
thing whereto I sent it.'
"God's word is the means of accomplishing the
change we desire in the hearts and lives of men; but as
the snow and the rain sink into the ground, and become
forgotten influences, though not the less vital and sure;
bringing the thing to pass in proper, or ordered time and
season; so with this fertilizing, nourishing, transforming
power.
"1 We give the credit to the sunshine of providential
circumstances, which brings the bud to blossom, the fruit
to maturity."
Except her letters, she wrote nothing more.
How full her heart was for others! How broad
and all-embracing her Christian love and charity, this last record shows. What was left of
life and strength was given as freely as her
prayers.
In spite of the remonstrances of her friends
she had charged herself with the preparation of
the spring wardrobes of two young relations, in
addition to all that her own family required.




366           CO USIN ALICE.
She was unable to walk, but she drove out day
after day to attend to these things; sometimes
spending a whole morning in the carriage, and
interesting herself in all the minutiae of the work.
Her extraordinary energy constantly sought fresh
objects on which to expend itself, and never
seemed to fail till she was laid upon her couch.
She consulted with writers and publishers
about new editions of favorite books, wrote
many letters connected with such business, recommended plans which seemed to her to promise success, hurried some who would possibly
be late in getting a book ready for the press in
time for the fall issue; and thus interested and
occupied herself when able to be off her couch,
till the time came for them to return to " The
Willows."
To those who watched her during the latter
years of her life, when heart and brain were
always busy with the interests of others, who
saw her use her pen till it fell from fingers
too weak to hold it longer, who heard her plead
the cause of others while she had a voice to
speak, who saw lips move in inarticulate prayer
when the low voice had almost left her, who




HER LAST JOURNAL.                   35i
counted every effort by which she thus exhausted her ebbing life with the breathless anxiety of agonized love-to all such there is a
thought of consolation in lines recently written
of her by one who was reading tearfully her last
published volume:
" I know she sees how many hearts
Have thrilled to purer thought,
Touched by the holy sympathies
Her blessed life has taught.
" I know that every gentle word
Traced amid care and pain,
Wrought into jewels, shines upon
Her angel robes again;
That in the New Jerusalem
No whiter soul is there,
Than hers who fashioned life with faith,
And ended it with prayer."
16




CHAPTER IX.
LAST LETTERS.
IHE letters to her friends at this time,
all expressing the most lively interest in their affairs, which were
instinctively confided to her, seem
wonders of wisdom in the counsel she gave, and
almost inspired benedictions. To one who was
in great trouble, she writes:
" Some time ago we took for our year's motto,'Be
careful of nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication, woith thanksgiving, let your requests be made
known unto God.' I, at least, realized the promise following,' and the peace of God which passeth all understanding shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ
JTesus.'
" It has been a time, however, of comparative personal
rest. I often wonder how I shall bend to the stream of




LAST LETTERS.                 359
trouble when it rises again, loss of home, or children, or
husband, or means to do for others, or especially the sufferings of those I love. I should despair of being brave
but for the promise,' God is faithful.' Perhaps I shall
be unfaithful, and take myself out of His hands; that is
all I dread.
"May you, dear N,'increasing in the knowledge
of God, be strengthened with all might according to His
glorious power, unto all patience, and long suffering, with
joyfulness.' What more can I say? I often think of the
disciples at the Transfiguration,'and they feared as they
entered into the cloud.' But' there came a voice out of
the cloud saying: This is my beloved Son, hear Him.' I
have always found that I learn more of the Beloved Son
when the cloud overshadows me, much as I dread to
enter it, and that I listen more willingly to His voice. I
have some verses half planned, with that thought. Do
you like it? Does it give you comfort? I may have
seen it somewhere before.
" This letter, so far, might be called'Scripture readings,' but I don't know how else to attempt to meet the
throng of adversities that seem to hem you in; and you
will understand, I know."
Just before they left for the country she
wrote to a dear friend in the city who was also
an invalid:
" I did not think, my dear C-a., that so many days
would have passed before I acknowledged your little




360              COUSINM ALICE.
basket of'immortelles,' a surprise and a pleasure to
receive. I believe it is the only material keepsake I have
from you save your picture. But I shall never need a
remembrance, glad as I am to have this. You were continually in my mind during Lent, and more particularly
in Passion week. I started on Good Friday afternoon to
go over to see you, but the wind was uncommonly cold,
and my throat very raw; besides, I had elected all along
to go over on Easter Even, in memoriam of the walk we
took to St. Peter's together, in the evening, so many years
ago; so I turned back, and the next day was stormy, and
then weakness, and illness, and so on-and on-till now.
" How much I thought of you then, always suffering,
always having suffered'in the flesh,' aye, and in spirit
too! May God give you patience as He has done, and
trust in the wisdom and love that cannot err, though
doubt and weariness rise up to deny it!
" I had two or three dreadful nights, and in one I
remember with what a flash of comfort came the thought,'Who spared not His own Son;' and what must sin be, or
rather what must it not be, when such an expiation is
required!
" May God be with you day and night on your bed of
suffering. May Christ and the Comforter abide with you
always; may angel's care minister to you until you shall
come where the inhabitants shall no more say,'I am
8ick, neither shall there be any more pain.'
"I Will you thank your husband for the Report, which
[ have read with much interest, and for his note, and his




LAST LETTERS.                 361
trouble regarding the tract. Tell him to take no further
trouble. If he thinks it might be useful, I will have
another edition printed at my own expense, and send it
to the Commission; but I feel so uncertain of its value.
I suppose I ought to act on faith, and the remembrance
of the cup of cold water."
In May they left their city home, but their
own home, which had been for some time undergoing repairs, was not yet ready for them, and
they stayed a short time at a house in the neighborhood, where Mir. H. could superintend the
last preparations for the reentrance to "The
Willows." From this place she writes:," I dare say you will think I am lost, but I have been
used up for several days, suffering from such repeated
and prolonged attacks of faintness that-I dared not go
out. Some days these continue all day, in others they
pass off in the morning; they are accompanied by-spasins,
from indigestion I suppose."
And then follow several pages of business
matters, chiefly planning for the comfort of
others. Again:
" With S., who cannot bear to see me exerting myself,
out of the way, and my morning agony over, I will try
to say two -words or so. I tried to write all last week,
but was very sick with rush of blood from the heart to




362              COUSIN ALICE.
the head, alternating with faintness, partly produced by'starvation.' Meat and bread are all that agree with me,
and these I cannot eat; my throat is in such a state that
soft boiled eggs and cream are all I can swallow, and these
I cannot digest.
" To-day I must really say,'Thank God I am much
more comfortable.',My voice is quite audible, which is
encouraging, as it is damp, and an easterly wind.
" I had no idea I had so little patience and endurance
for bodily pain. I thought I could be very heroic, but I
believe more than ever that we never know ourselves.
This illness has taught me several lessons; but oh! I forget so fast! I thought last year if I could only be spared
for the children I would be so faithful, but I was not. I
do not suppose I shall be now, but I mean to be,'sick
bed' resolution as it is. All this about myself, my favorite topic of late."
Again:
" I don't know whether I ought to write to you today after all. This long storm has depressed me, and the
lack of fresh air and exercise has added to my discomfort,
that when I have said that the dampness has made my
throat worse, I have said the worst of myself. I was
getting on nicely when this storm set in, with the change
of air, scene, and food, and hope to do so again in the
sunshine. I suppose mother has told you what a serious
attack I have had; I felt so very ill as I finished my last
letter to you, that but for croaking, I should have said




LAST LETTERS.                363
that I believed I ewas going out weith the tide. I know I
meant it as I wrote that last sentence, and in all the
bodily suffering I ever endured, nothing ever went beyond it. My heart seemed to have been paralyzed, but
its action is somewhat restored.
"I am just as far as possible from your sisterly idea
of' doing my best for everybody.' I do nothing for anybody. I do not even care for myself, but lie hours together on the bed or sofa, in the most utter do-nothingness that I ever arrived at. I can scarcely believe it, or
understand how so short an illness could so use up my
strength."
They had now reentered " The Willows,"
which had been enlarged and repaired. The
grounds were in most perfect order, and the
winter in town had prepared Mrs. Haven for
the keenest enjoyment of home comforts. As
a surprise for her, her husband had very elegantly, and with especial regard to her peculiar
tastes, refurnished her own room. She said
characteristically:
"The night before we went into our own home I
was very sleepless, so I lay awake, planning the changes
in the ordering of the furniture necessary from increased room. The first night I spent there I lay awake
thinking sadly how much the money spent in that luxuri



364             COUSIN ALICE.
ous furnishing would have done for so many who were
needing help."
She could not be insensible or ungrateful
to the love which had surrounded her now, by
the grace and beauty which she had so long
denied to the tastes which always craved such
things. She writes:
" All my life long I have loved beautiful and dainty
things, and have never had the opportunity to indulge
my taste; indeed I had entirely given up the thought, or
longing I might call it, till this summer every one colispires to indulge me. The house outside and in, my
lovely room, the out-of-door beauty everywhere. I cannot tell you what delight and enjoyment I take in them
all."
As the weather became suitable she ventured
out a few times about the grounds, her sweet
face protected by a dainty hood, and a fleecy
Shetland shawl wrapped about-her wasted figure.
Once she took courage and went into town,
partly to see her physician and partly to carry
out one of her favorite projects; for despite her
protest she was still planning the comfort and
welfare of others. She had been very anxious
for a friend to have a sewing machine, and had




LAST LETTERS.             365
arranged that it should be a gift to her. She
made an appointment to meet her at the establishment of Wheeler & Wilson, that she might
witness the pleasure and surprise the gift would
bring, as she received one of their most beautifully-finished and elegantly-cased instruments.
A ruling passion indeed, strong to the last, was
this of serving others! But the ride to town,
and the excitement attending her visit, were too
much for her strength. In the suffering that
followed she confessed to this.
It was here, and of this last visit, that a gentleman said on her leaving the place, " The sun
seems to go under a cloud as she goes out."
With the kind smile on her lip, and the light in
her eye kindled by her genial interest in every
thing, in every person, even in the transaction
of business, she did indeed bring sunshine with
her. She awoke a true feeling of friendship in
hearts that too often closed in their countingrooms to every thing but business and its selfish
engrossments.
" Toward the latter part of her life," said a
gentleman with whom she had only business relations, " she seemed to me as I talked with her
16*




366              COUSIN ALICE.
to have a halo about her, as the old saints are
painted."
Then her sympathies with others, and hei
interest in them, was so infectious. She appeared
to take it for granted that all felt as kindly, and
were as glad of the opportunity to do good as
she was; and very shame not infrequently broke
through the crust of selfishness, and dissipated
churlishness, bringing out a man's heart and better
feeling as she appealed in behalf of any cherished interest she was trying to promote. She had
the tact in which many who are generous themselves are quite deficient. She could appeal so
effectually, that she really taught the pleasure of
service rendered, to some, the centre and circumference of whose life was self.
The " good in every thing " was ever apparent to her spiritual vision.  One of her latest
letters to her sister was in this wise:
"You and W. will find the use of these years of discipline through the perverseness and ungenerousness of
others, and the combination of cares and trials.' Fit for
the Master's use,' and now He appoints the service. It isJ
strange as my days of active service end, that yours comn
mence. Your true sphere will be found and widen be



LAST LETTERS.                361
fore you as mine closes. I am content. I could not once
have said this, to be laid aside and see others allowed to do
what my hands no longer may."
In despite of pain and weariness, of days of
intense suffering which no human love was
powerful to soothe, these last weeks held much
joy and peace mn them. Her heart was always
full of thankfulness for the slightest alleviation
to her pain. Her enjoyment often far outbalanced her suffering; her very last letter to
her sister began, " This is a heavenly day in a
heavenly place."




CHAPTER X.
LAST IHOURS.
HESE cannot be better depicted than
by her beloved " Marie E.," whose
privilege it was to be beside her in
those sacred moments, and to minister to her last earthly needs.
"On the 21st of July her baby-girl was born; and
after that it was hoped that her disease would be arrested,
and health restored. But the fair little child throve and
grew strong while the mother drooped and failed. There
was a brief rallying, the last flashing upward of the wasting flame when the baby was a few weeks old. But the
false hope was too quickly dashed, and a few weeks
more found the little new-comer motherless, the household desolate, and life robbed of what seemed its sole
treasure to one who' Will miss her, and go mourning
All his solitary days.'




LAST HOURS.                  369
"On Wednesday, August 19th, she had been lifted
froin the bed to a large easy-chair in which she was
accustomed to sit for a little while every day. Resting
among the soft pillows, wrapped in a Shetland shawl,
and her exquisite hands folded across her prayer-book,
open at the Litany, she never looked lovelier, it seemed
to those who lingered beside her. Her eyes were full of
tender light, her cheeks flushed with the hectic that
brings such fatal beauty, and the rich masses of her hair
shading her wasted temples, all combined to make up a
picture of such exceeding loveliness as will never fade
from the memories of those who gazed upon it.
" Its sweet repose lasted but for a very brief space.
A fit of coughing, or rather an attempt to cough,
resulted in a suffocating spasm of the throat; and for a
time which none measured, its duration seemed ages
rather than moments, the very pangs of death were
suffered in their sharpest form. Wasted and weakened
by her long suffering, the physical agony seemed almost
to overpower even her faith; and the despairing cry,'I am dying! oh, pray that it may be short.  Oh, my
God, let it be short,' was too full of anguish to be remembered calmly.
"Thank God the prayers were heard; relief was
granted, and for a little while she was given back to the
love that clung to her so desperately.  Through the
night following she lay awake much of the time murmuring repeatedly words of prayer and grateful acknowledgment for the deliverance that had been sent her.




370              COUSIT ALICE.
"'It was all needed,' she said once,'every pang.
But I was so weak, I thought I could not bear it. God
was better than I deserved; He has spared my life.'
" At another time she asked, in a half wandering way,
waking from a brief sleep:
"'Do you believe there is really a God who is
our Father? who loves us, and cares about us always?'
"'I do not believe, I know,' was the reply.'And
so do you, Alice. No one knows it so well as you.'
"'Oh yes, surely I' she exclaimed with a lovely
smile, consciousness and memory flashing back.'Tho
everlasting arms, they are bearing me upward now.'
" Bending over her at another time in the darkness,
one who watched her heard her whisper:
"' I thank Thee, oh my Heavenly Father, for all Thy
dear love. I thank Thee for my precious husband and
dear children. I thank Thee for all my agonizing suffering.'
" Three days more were all that remained of life, or
suffering to her, and of the latter it pleased God to spare
her much. She slept or was unconscious a great deal of
the time, mind and body growing weaker together as her
feet drew nearer the brink of the Dark River. On
Saturday, toward nightfall, the Death Angel made his
presence felt in the shadowy room. IBut he came gently,
not with pain or terror. The anguish of that extreme
hour was all for those who watched the failing breath
and fading eyes, not for her in whom the awful change
was taking place in such serene silence. No further




LAST HOURS.                  371
agony of the wasted form and weary spirit was allowed;
and hour after hour stole softly by while the calm sweetness of her rest was undisturbed by any passing pain.
The murmured words that dropped from lips half unconscious, told only of love and happiness; and while the
solemn shadow of that unseen Mystery brooded above,
the heavenly light of' the peace that passeth all understanding,' made her face' as it were the face of an angel.'
"None of those who stood by that death-bed will
ever forget its holy serenity, least of all the ineffable
beauty of that supreme moment which marked'The passing of the sweetest soul
That ever looked with human eyes.'
"No words could picture the sudden rapture that
illuminated the whole countenance, flashed out from eyes
we had thought closed in slumber, gleamed across lips
that seemed sealed from smiling for ever more. It was
as though the realization of whlat' eye hath not seen, nor
ear heard, nor hath it entered into the heart of man to
conceive' was revealed in one unutterable vision. The
tear-blinded eyes fixed upon hers might not behold what
she beheld, but they saw its glory reflected for one brief
moment, never to be forgotten till the veil of this mortality is withdrawn, and we also behold'The King in
His beauty.'"
How better can we picture the desolation
that followed than in these lines, written years




372                 COOUSIN ALICE.
before by her who had'calmly gone unto her
rest,' with stricken hearts throbbing about her;
a prophetic picture of her own home on this
lovely Sunday morning, August 23d, 1863:
"Shut out the sunlight from the room,
I cannot bear its splendor,
While tears for one so young so true,
A mournful tribute render.
"I'm thinking of that silent hour
When last she smiled a blessing
To the young children at her side,
Who came with sweet caressing.
"When eyes of love beheld in her
The sum of earthly treasure,
And a manly heart thanked God who gave
Such gladness in such measure.
"Ah me, how dark that pleasant room
Where now her form is lying!
The laughter has to wailing changed,
The smiles give place to sighing.
"The little ones with linked hands,
And voices low with weeping,
Come softly to the narrow couch
To see their mother sleeping.'They wonder at the rigid form,
Death's icy touch revealing,
And ask why still the heavy lids
Her soft eyes are concealing.




LAST HOURS.                     873
"No pressure answers from the lips
That, in their childish error,
They fondly kiss, then shrink away
With new and nameless terror.
"Her hands are folded on her breast,
Yet in their silent clasping,
There seems a prayer for those she leaves,
Comfort and guidance asking.
"Accept the token while ye weep,
And stricken hearts are throbbing;
She goeth calmly unto rest,
The grave of terror robbing.
"To her the dusky gate of death
Is now no fearful portal,
Earth's keenest pangs are all forgot
In joys of life immortal."
The same hand that gave us the record of
the death-bed scene, has described that which
was witnessed in the church where she had long
worshipped "in the beauty of holiness."
" One word more we must claim for a passing glimpse
at the funeral services, rendered with rare beauty and
harmony. In the simple village church, before the altar
where she had knelt so many years, they placed the
casket that held all that remained of a jewel too precious
for our keeping. Rare flowers, only less exquisite than
the face they encircled, the hands in which they were
clasped, were heaped about her in lavish loveliness;




3'74              COUSIN ALICE.
for friends and neighbors had vied with each other to
adorn her death, even as they had done to gladden her
life, with these sweet tokens of their reverent love. One
fair hand held sprigs of heliotrope and violets placed
there by the little fingers of her children, their usual
morning tribute, and now their last; but the other
clasped, lying upon her breast a cross of snow white,
fragrant flowers. All her life long she had clung'simply to Thy cross;" it was fitting that she should hold the
pale emblem in death, as all felt when that sweetest of
hymns'Rock of ages, cleft for me,' swelled in its soft
minors through the church.
" Seldom at any funeral have been gathered so many
brought together by one sincere impulse of love and
sympathy. In the throng of earnest faces not one careless, or indifferent gazer, could be seen; young and old,
rich and poor, met together in common sorrow, for all in
the parish counted her as a friend. And the tears that
rained from so many eyes, and the sobs that shook even
manly breasts, as they drew near for one last look at
that placid face, bore witness to the universal love and
reverence she had inspired. But one emotion prevailed
in all that multitude; they wept together as a bereaved
household mourning its dearest ornament and joy.
"The pastor who had baptized her children, one after
another, and' broken the bread of life' to her kneeling by
these chancel rails where now her coffin stood, read the
solemn and beautiful burial service above her head.
And the friend of her childhood, the brother. in-law whose




LAST ItOURS.                 375
love had followed her in every event of her whole life,
and who had thus a still nearer and dearer right to share
in this sacred office, spoke the fitting and expressive
eulogy which will be remembered long by all who were
present, for its eloquence and indescribable tenderness, as
well as its deep truthfulness to her character.
" We are fain to linger over this closing scene, beautiful beyond any idea that our poor words have given;
inasmuch as it was in perfect harmony with a life whose
beauty has rarely been equalled."
When they left the church all that was
mortal of Alice Haven was borne to the quiet
little burial ground of Rye, where her last resting-place is marked by a cross, as was her own
wish, bearing simply her name and age, and the
words so often uttered-by her lips, and which she
illustrated through all her life:
" BEAR YE ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS, AND SO FULFIL
THE LAW OF CHRIST."




CONCLUSIO N.
THRILL of sorrow and sympathy
went through the country when
on the morning of the 24th of
August, the readers of the New
York " World " learned of the death of" Cousnm
ALICE" in the following obituary notice:
" In the simple announcement in our obituary column
this morning, of the death of Alice B. 1Haven, many of
our readers will find an interest, the deeper and sadder
for their knowledge that it chronicles the departure from
earth of one of its most gifted and lovely daughters
known to a multitude of our readers as'Cousin Alice.'
"Mrs. Haven was yet in the prime of life, not having
completed her thirty-sixth year. For more than half of
her days she has been achieving her reputation as a pure
and charming writer for the young, and has won for herself a place among the poets of the land by not a few.ofty and enduring lyrics.




CONCL USION.                  37
"Admirable and highly cherished as her fame in
the world of letters will be, this is, however, the least
excellence of her now sacred memory. The crown of
her character was her truly unselfish and unsparing consecration to the highest good of others, not only of those
who had natural claims upon her but of all who came
within the reach of her hand and her influence.
" She spent and was spent for the promotion of pure
religion and sweet practical virtue. In her the church
found a faithful adherent and auxiliary, and charity a
blessed exemplar and almoner. Her bereaved home and
family will mourn her only more in degree, than the parish
and the people, who will know her no more in- her
unostentatious and almost uncircumscribed ministries of
love. Beyond these a wide circle of the public will miss
her ever fresh and fragrant contributions to sacred and
secular literature alike.
" Her beautiful life-service is ended apparently in the
midst of its sweet and pure liturgy; but God and the
angels have uttered its Amen."
In the same paper appeared from  the same
pen a fitting
"IN MEMORIAM.
"The silver cord is loosed whereon were strung
The priceless pearls of an unsullied life;
And while the jewels drop, our hearts are rife
With anguish from their grieving tendrils wrung



378                COUSIN  ALICE.
That grew and twined about that slender string,
As if it held a cable's strength instead;
Half of our wealth is lost since she is deadWhose virtues to contempt our best deeds bring.
No more, alas! that cord of pearls shall hang
For rare adornment, Earth's fair neck around;
Its silver brightness hid beneath the ground;
And every scattered pearl for us a pang,
Yet Memory's hand shall gather them again
And bind them on our hearts, a holy endless chain.
"EW. C. R."
Mrs. Haven  was buried  in  the  secluded
Cemetery of Rye in accordance with her own
wish.   She  had  a  strong  preference  for  a
quiet country burial place, and some years before had expressed the feeling in a poem which
she had written with reference to the New
York Bay Cemetery, entitled,
"BEAR OUT THE DEAD."
Aye! carry out your dead!
They have won rest;
Theirs was the burden, and the heat of day,
Now smooth the shining hair, the white hands lay
Folded upon the breast.
The fluttering heart is still!
No hope, no care!
In moveless calm, the labored throbbings cease;
The marble forehead bears the seal of peace,
Its smile, the lips still wear.




CONCL USION.                    379
Therefore, " bear out the dead."
Far from the strife
That daily soundeth through the city streets,
Where momently the burdened air repeats
The hurried march of life.
"Nay," some true mourner saith,
" In hallowed ground
We make their graves, in shade of cross or spire,
Where chime and prayer, and chaunt of solemn choir
Thrill with a dirge-like sound."
Or others grieving pray" Not out of sight
Make the low mound, but where our feet may tread
Daily, in loving memory of the dead,
Who were life's chief delight."
Think you our anthems reach
Where that "new song"
As noise of many waters surging rolls?
Our earthly prayers though wrung from anguished souls
They hear where angels throng?
And when another love
Shall fill the heart
Now void and desolate, these graves will lie
O'ergrown, or trampled down by passers-by,
In crowded church or mart.
For traffic in due time
Will covet thisThe narrow space which grudgingly is given,
Pent under walls which bar the light of Heaven,
The sunshine's gentle kiss.




880                COUS122N ALICE
Therefore, " bear out the dead"
Where earthly calm
May image that which they have surely won,
Where careless feet the hallowed paths shall shun,
Nor idle hands work harm.
Daisies and violets,
The snow white rose,
With trailing ivy o'er the earth shall wreathe,
And solemn chants the lingering south winds breathe,
Where fir or cypress grows.
No taint of sin or shame
The rippling tide
Bears from the distant city clearly seen,
The waters roll their clear, bright waves between,
And life from death divide.
They ask this rest of thee
All faith to prove,
In the fair stillness eloquent to teach
The Sabbath calm of Heaven surpassing speech,
The dead ye mourn and love.
From every direction the most loving and reverential tributes were poured forth to the memory of one whom all claimed as a friend, and to
whom many looked up as a benefactress. Letters
were addressed toherhusband and family, in some
cases by those who were personally strangers to
them; tributes were paid in newspapers and mag.




CONCLUSION.                  381
azines, in prose and verse, and the characteristics
of these were that even more love and appreciation of the devoted and high-minded Christian
woman and self-sacrificing friend was evident in
these innumerable tributes than apprehension
of the comprehensive and fine intellect which
had made her heart offerings so well known and
widely spread.
It is impossible to give all these, but from
them we select a few which will be read with
interest: The -first is from a letter addressed
by her pastor, the Rev. John Ward, to her
sister
" I am happy to add my testimony to the rare excellence
and exalted worth of character possessed by Mrs. Haven.
I feel it to have been a privilege to have had her for a
parishioner, such as rarely falls to the lot of a country
clergyman. In a parish and neighborhood so circumscribed as this, full scope could not be afforded for powers
so great, and energies so untiring as hers. Yet in every
thing in which the cause of the church, the advancement
of true religion, and the good of society were concerned,
she was ever foremost; and with that sweet persuasiveness
of manners so especially her own, she overcame obstacles, and effected results, such as few could have accomplished.
17




382              CO USIN ALICE.
" Confirmations in the parish were to her, seasons of
peculiar interest, and her cooperation in preparing the
candidate for assuming the obligations of Baptism with
intelligence and serious devotion of heart, was most
gratefully appreciated. In the Confirmation season to
which you refer, and in which there seemed to prevail in
the parish a more general feeling of the importance of
religious duties, she was most untiring in her efforts to
assist me; and in some cases which required to be approached with peculiar tact and gentleness, the fruits, I
am persuaded, were the harvest of her prayers and efforts.
" She particularly impressed me with her conscientious observance of the Lord's day, so faithfully fulfilling
the injunction,'Remember the Sabbath day to keep
it holy.' She did indeed'stand up for God,' and was
found in His Temple when her health would have been
deemed by many a sufficient excuse for her remaining at
home, and when her devoted and earnest manner impressed all that her's was no lip service, but the homage
of a heart lifted in grateful praise, or bowed in lowliest
breath of prayer; listening, too, to teachings, which if they
seemed feeble to her, she yet received as from one whom
she felt to be an ambassador from his Master and hers.
" Knowing Mrs. Haven's many social and literary engagements, I called less frequently than my inclinations
prompted, but I always left her strengthened for my
labor, and inspired by her zeal which had no limit, but
the salvation of all with whom she came in contact.
"' If I should attempt to speak of her charities,-and hei




CONCL USION.                383
efforts to ameliorate the condition of the poor in the
village, I might fill pages.
"Drawing from the fountain of her Christian benevo-'ence, she literally obeyed the Divine injunction,'Never
turn thy face away from any poor man,' and the kindly
words of sympathy and counsel with which her charities
were accompanied, have caused her to be remembered
with a most reverential affection.'Many shall rise up
and call her blessed.'
I" As an instance of the admiration and love with which
she was regarded, a devoted member of the Romish
Church said, at her funeral,'If Mrs Haven has not gone
to Heaven, no one need try to.'
" She was certainly that noblest type of woman, the
Christian woman. One who wore always the badge of
her profession, and like the Apostle, felt the cross to be
her chiefest glory. This I think was the secret of the
great influence which she exerted in the society in which
she moved; the beautiful consistency of character that
showed her to be the Christian at all times and in all
places, and above all her beautiful example as a humble
and devoted follower of the lowly Jesus, which made so
many willing to be led by her whose hold they saw was
so firm upon the Rock of Ages."
From the various notices which appeared in
the leading magazines, we select one from the
pen of Miss Virginia Townsend, one of the editors of Arthur's Home Magazine, which is par



384              CO USIN ALICE.
ticularly interesting, because it refers to an incident which illustrates an eminent characteristic
of Mrs. Haven, her broad sympathy, and untiring effort to serve others:
" The closing days of the last summer carried to many
a home and heart throughout the land a message of grief
whose memory will not easily pass away.
"The life of Mrs. Alice B. Haven closed just before
the summer's did. There seemed some peculiar fitness
in their going out so closely together-the service of both
completed; the voices of both falling into eternal silence;
and both lingering in our memories like the tones of
some sweet singer which we may never hear again, but
which we shall carry in our thoughts through all our lives.
"It does not become the writer of this to furnish
these pages with a biographical sketch of Mrs. Haven.
Those who knew her intimately as wife and mother, and
sister and friend, have elsewhere performed that work,
and briefly told us how nobly she fulfilled all the public and
private duties of her life, faithfully and humbly seeking to
infuse into all the spirit of a true Christian womanhood.
"But a single incident which came to the writer's
knowledge, and which touchingly illustrates the scope
and tenor of the life of Mrs. Haven, will not only be welcomed by many readers who loved her work, and mourn
her loss, but through it, though tender voice and faithful
pen are hushed now, she may speak to some heart that
shall be encouraged to' go and do likewise.'




CONCL USION.                 385
"It is more than six years ago since Mrs. Haven,
during a brief visit to Philadelphia, heard her friend, Mr.
Louis A. Godey, mention the name of a young lady who
had occasionally contributed to his magazine, and who,
herself on a visit to the city, found suddenly a new and
wider sphere of literary usefulness opening before her.
" The quick sympathies of Mrs. Haven enlisted her
interest at once in one, whose writings she had occasionally seen, and for whose future her generous nature felt
a keen solicitude,
"An interview with the young lady was easily obtained, and she will never cease to remember the impression of Mrs. Haven's face and voice as she entered the
parlor. There was so much cordial animation in her
greeting, so much tender interest in those beautiful dark
eyes, and oh! so much kindly and faithful counsel in the
words that fell a little later from the lips which seemed
pendulous betwixt smiles and sadness, that that hour or
two will never be forgotten by the listener who hung on
every tone and expression, and tried to catch the spirit
and import of each; and if she did not succeed then, she
did afterwards when a sterner teacher revealed them.
" An interview like this must from its very nature be
a confidential one, reaching beyond externals, to somewhat that is essential an&d vital;
" It is sufficient to' say, that Mrs, Haven fancied her
young friend's position had at that moment some general
likeness to certain phases of her own experience, and
that her wider knowledge of the world and of some




386               COUSIN ALICE.
pec iliar paths of temptation and danger would furnish
those practical warnings and suggestions, of which a
young sister-writer might greatly stand in need.
"But how few of her sex would have had the heart,
the courage, or the tact to offer these as she did!
"Sometimes as she touched on her own life, the tears
stood still in those large, steadfast, beautiful eyes; sometimes smiles, swift and bright as a child's, flashed out
from a face that seemed still in the light of its early
twenties, a face beautiful in itself, growing doubly so to
the gazer through all its infinite charm and grace of expression.
" The interview closed at last, regretfully on one side
at least. The paths of these two, singular to say, never
intersected again, although both I believe separated with
the hope and expectation of subsequent meetings which
various small obstacles prevented.:" As the years grew, however, bringing with them the
experience which makes us all sadder, and if lived in any
true sense, wiser; the real purpose and significance of
Mrs. Haven's visit manifested itself to her who received
it. But a letter written to Mrs. Haven out of the gratitude of her heart, was after awhile replied to, with that
complete and final answer which sooner or later, oh, my
reader, must be the last story which can be told of you,
or me,' She is dead!'
"'Dead and yet speaking' by her life of love and
sacrifice, of service and faithfulness, speaking in a thousand incidents such as this, that may never be written in




CONCLUSION.                  387
any book save that one wherein are the chapters of
every human life.
" How many women are there, who would have had
the care, or taken the pains to turn aside from the
pleasure and excitement of a brief social visit, to a stranger sister, whose feet were just about entering some untried path, wherein it was likely might lie much stress
and trial for her? And of few of us may it be said as of
her,' Her life had no ignoble days.'
"That pen whose genius was dedicated to the service
of God and the good of man, lies silent; it will gladden
and exalt us no more with its sweet stories of human life,
of trial, of sacrifice, of faith, and of the joy and beauty of
endurance and endeavor, amid the strain of care and wearing details of life; no more sweet, and living home pictures,
will brighten along her swift pen; the small white hand
which held it so long, and so bravely, now lies silent and
cold under the smooth linen of these winter snows. Like
the light of the summer days amid which she faded, has
the noble and loving woman with her rare gifts of mind
and heart passed away.
"From the shadows of the little church at Mamaroneck, they bore all that was mortal of Alice B. Haven;
but the seed which she scattered prayerfully along her
earthly path shall take deep root by the water courses of
other lives, and it shall not be gathered in the harvests
that are of this world."
In  "The Christian  Times," published  at




888              COUSIN ALICE.
Chicago, appeared the following, one of many
more or less extended obituaries which the newspapers for weeks after her death brought to the
public, witnessing how her works praised her of
whom they wrote.
" ALICE B. HAVEN.
BY MRS. MARY C. VAUGHN.
"As I prepare my pen and seat myself to write, there
comes to me tidings of the death of one well known to
the reading public, but not more admired for her talents
than beloved by a large circle of deeply-attached friends,
A beautiful life was hers; a life that perhaps suppressed
its lcrgest capacities, but put prominently forward only
those that were pure and true. There is in our day a
powerful temptation ever placed before writers. By
pandering to a low taste, there is to be gained both
money and popularity; by letting the imagination run
riot in producing sensational articles, stories, sketches, or
brochures of the Fanny Fern style, for example, there is
to be obtained a certain notoriety which all cannot see
is even more ephemeral than life itself-a blaze of the
ascending rocket sure to be followed by the dull thud
of the falling stick. By indulging in sarcasm, by striving
to say the wittiest and bitterest things of every human
being and institution, by forgetting the chiefest of virtues,
charity, the writer may gainfame, of a certain sort.




CONCL USION.                 389
" But Alice R. Haven turned from such temptations,
firmly and courageously. Her talents were dedicated to
a high purpose, not merely to amuse and interest, though
she seldom failed to do that, but to warn, to instruct, to
inculcate some important lesson, to paint some worthy
moral. She did not invade the realm of the'preacher;
her field was rather the minor morals so called, the social
and domestic observances, the economies and charities of
every-day life. In this sphere her influence has made
itself widely felt, and her works do follow her in juster
views of life and its responsibilities in many homes; in
high and noble impulses strengthened, in that every-day
practical Christianity which consists in acting and living
for the good of others, where formerly there was but the
cold expression of a belief only.'"Could there be for woman a worthier aim, or a
more exalted sphere? There is a diversity of gifts, and
while one devoted woman may feel herself called upon to
proclaim the religion of the cross to the dark-skinned
children of the Orient, or the red man of our own
forests, I question if she will be more truly useful than
she who sits at home, and devotes her pen to the conversion of heathenesse in our own land. And there is more
than enough heathenism, be it said with deepest humility, not among the lowly and ignorant alone, but in the
high places of our land. The idolatry of fashion; the
shrinking from known duties; the neglect of the better
interests of children and their proper instruction and
training; the narrow, selfish modes of living which seek
17*




390              COULIN ALICE.
only present ease and comfort, and look not to the future
which will develop the harvest of all our deeds.
" My own memories of this gifted woman are grateful
and tender. In the darkness of a terriblemisfortune, in
the depths of an almost overwhelming despair, she came
to me with such sweet, womanly words of encouragement, and such tender sympathy as I can never forget
while life lasts, and pointed me in the way her feet had
already trod.
" Such aid as was in her power she gave, and it was
not small. But above all I blessed her for her words of
truth and faith which directed me to my only true
source of help. To me she has seemed ever since, something almost more than mortal woman; and in my imagination I have seen her as the early martyr-Christians
saw their saintly woman walk abroad with a visible halo
around her head, distilling blessings as she went from
the sanctity of her pure life.
" Still untouched by age, beautiful and beloved, death
has claimed her. We trust she has but gone to a better
home; her quiet, fervent piety, and the exemplary purity
and saintliness of her life, forbids every other thought.
And so even our sadness has its tender consolation, our
grief its tinge of perfect joy."




CONCLUSION.                       391
COUSIN ALICE'S GRAVE.
I saw her asleep for the last,
Close-clasped in her pale hands a cross;
IHer praying and weeping were past,
But we stood in tears for our loss.
The chaplets lay white on her brow,
And lilies lay white on her breast;
Her shroud was-as pure as the snow,
But the cross her true beauty expressed.
Life's burdens to bear for the faint
Life's sorrows to share with the sad,
This sweet service made her a saint,
And each rough cross still made her glad.
What else for a sign might be setIIer wood-cloistered grave to reveal,
Than the cross she is honoring yetThough no more its weight she can feel?
The cross at her grave is as white
As that in her hand's icy fold;
That faded, and this will be bright
When the grave yard trees are grown old.




892                COUSIN  ALICE.
But longer than gleam of the stone
The light of her life shall endure;
By the cross to us here she was known,
She lives by the cross with the pure.
W; C. R.