Reminiscences of Mary E. Farnsworth.

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Reminiscences of Mary Emma (Weaver) Farnsworth

Book 1.-
In compliance with your request my dear  Anna to record my recollection of your ancestors from hearsay on novel authority, as also from personal knowledge. I will make a beginning of a long story. 
    My grandfather Weaver died before my birth, at the age of 60. Grandpa Turner when I was three years old: of him I have only a dim remembrance as a rather stout man of medium height, with a bald head, and of sitting on his knee by the open fire place.
    Grandma Weaver lived too far away for frequent visiting, though father went away every fall to see her. Some

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times alone, but usually mother with one or more of the children accompanied her. I have a vivid recollection when three and a half years old starting early one crisp October morning in a carriage with Father. Mother and sister Sarah, five years older than I, for forty mile drive to East Greenwich Rhode Island, to visit her at the old homestead and farm: of our driving at noon under a tree with wide spreading branches, and my enjoyment of the luncheon produced from the box under the seat of carriage, consisting if sandwiches, cheese, cookies, and apple pie. Coffee had been bottled for our parents but Sarah and I regaled ourselves with pure water from the babbling brook close by. But even the pleasure of the drive through the beautiful country with its autumn foliage did not prevent my becoming drowsy and gnawing the finger tips of my new kid gloves, while falling off to sleep.

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Grandma greeted us warmly on our arrival and next introduced me to her dairy and whistled to my great delight a row of small cheeses, she had made for her New London grandchildren.   I remember too of crying bitterly, because of being considered too small to go nutting with my sister and cousins, Nancy and Sarah. the children of uncle William Weaver who lived very near.
    This is all I know of her personally, except that she was a short, plump pleasant faced old lady, with a quick alert manner and that  she wore a close fitting white muslin cap. She died when I was six years old, and I fear the novelty of wearing mourning - the new black and white checked silk dress, bonnet with high crown, and long poke pant from which pink ribbon was removed to be replaced with black, and face ruching[?] in which black satin loops were substituted for pink moss[?] rose buds, with black kid gloves made a deeper impression and gave more pleasure than grief for our loss.

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Dear Grandma Turner lived until I had passed my twenty second birthday. Through all these years I was much with her, and sitting on a stool at her knee, received much religious instruction, and many of the most lasting impressions of my life.
    After Grandpa's death in 1883 she rented the farm at Lake's Pond, now known as Lake Kanomac[?] from which for many years New London has obtained its water supply, and went to that city where Grandpa had formerly been in business, and took a house on Methodist[?] street where she remained until the marriage of mother's only sister Louisa to Mr. William P Benjamin.  Uncle Elisha the youngest of  the family soon after was sent to Colchester to Bacon Academy twenty miles distant, and Grandma made her home with us, until his school days were ended, when she resumed housekeeping to make a home for him.
    I think he began business life as a 

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clerk in the dry goods store of his brother in law Mr. Benjamin until he attained his majority and soon after entered into partnership in the same line of business with Mr. W. H. Chapman at the N.E. corner of State and Bradley streets. Later a grocery department was added. In his daily visits to us he often produced from his pockets raisins, dainty bits of citron and black licorice which later he whittled in pieces with his knife and distributed among the many children of the family. He was of a most cheerful, generous disposition and a universal favorite, but as full of fun and mischief as one well could be. It would require hours to tell the tales of the amusing tricks I remember and the various forms of mischief his love of frolic and practical jokes led him into, though never in the least cruel or vicious in the pursuit of it. Even after attaining to manhood, he was very fond of playing jokes and not only on us children, but on the older cousins when

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opportunity offered.
    One winter he went to dancing school which did not please Grandma, who considered this form of amusement as one of the allurements of the devil: but I remember how Sarah and I used to stand on the terrace at the back of our house where we could see the dancers flitting by the windows in the City-Hotel and keep time with our feet and hands to the inspiriting music. To this day I can never hear "Life let  us cherish" without being carried back to the old grandeur and my childhood days.  Uncle Elisha wanted black silk stockings to wear with his dancing pumps and going to his mother's drawer appropriated a pair of her own knitting, in which she took great pride. After using them for the season, he returned them full of holes to their proper place without a word to grandma. When warm weather came and she brought them out for her own use, found to her

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dismay that they were utterly useless until refooted.  Of course Uncle Elisha ??? up when confronted with his offense but dear Grandma was more angry from their having served such an ungodly purpose than for his use of them without permission.
    In 1848 or `49 he went to Middletown Ct and entered into the dry goods business where he made the acquaintance of Mr. Lyman W. Coe and his wife, which ripened into a life long friendship and whom he loved as a brother. From that time they were associated in various kinds of manufacturing business, building factories first at Waterbury where they resided for several years, when they removed the business to Farmington, where they are probably permanently located.
    From the first of their housekeeping, uncle Elisha made his house with them and has always been regarded as a member of their family. Children were born and married in the years succeeding and 

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he was at the bedside of his friend when he passed away suddenly many years ago.
    I was nearly broken hearted when he left home, for he spent most of his evenings with us, and was in and out frequently during the day, in going to and from the store. The winter previous sister Sarah passed in Le Ray, New York, in the family of mother's aunt Eliza Comstock, and I would have missed her bright companionship much more only that he did so much to cheer my loneliness.  Dear Uncle Elisha! all my life he has been so good to me.
    Even after he left New London, grandma preferred having her own home although she was growing old and was seemingly crippled from rheumatism. She had bought the house on north side of Golden Street near Green, in which we formerly lived and as our house was a few doors below, on opposite side of the street and Uncle Peter lived about 

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the same distance above, she was surrounded by her family. After a time however she became entirely dependent on her nurse. 
    In 1850, father was advised to move to Groton, hoping the change and daily crossing the river might benefit his health which was far from good. So he purchased a beautiful lot of one half an acre just opposite New London and erected a fine house for the place and time, just in the shadow of Fort Griswold. Only the road separated us from the banks of our beautiful Thames.
    Mother could not be reconciled to leaving Grandma, and persuaded her to go with us, an arrangement to which she more readily consented, from the fact that her nurse had married, and she found no one to satisfactorily fill her place. At this time she was quite helpless and mother intended having a girl to wait on and assist in the care of her, but the only available service being Irish, 

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we were obliged to give her her own way, as she said she had not lived to such an age to be dependent on Irish servants. She had an unaccountable aversion to any one of the Catholic faith but was greatly interested in the Jews, "God's chosen people," and everything pertaining to their modern history as well as ancient. 
    From the time of her coming to us, until she passed peacefully away, I was almost her constant companion. Her room connected with mine, so I could hear her faintest call in the night. Mother, in the last winter of grandma's life was so lame in her knees she suffered greatly in going over the stairs and some days visited her only once though in countless ways she manifested her thought for her pleasure and comfort. 
    During her last illness of only a few days, she was most of the time in a stupor, or semi conscious condition, though we 

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frequently saw her lips move and sometimes gather enough to recognize the scripture she was trying to repeat.  Her last intelligible words were "Cast me not off in my old age; forsake me not when my strength faileth."  We buried her in the spring time beside the husband of her youth and the five children who passed away many years previous.
    Sitting beside her in early childhood with the great family Bible open on the light stand which latter Anna dear, you now have in you possession, I learned many lessons which undoubtedly influenced my life. Many great truths and doctrines were discussed, and questions asked which she sometimes found difficulty in answering. After the death of dear little brother Isaac, a lovely boy of three, for whom I sorely grieved, we had many talks of the home to which he had gone. He had a sweet confiding nature, and 

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had perfect faith in the efficacy of prayer, fully expecting that he would receive that for which he asked and it seemed wonderful how often his petitions were answered in accordance with his desires. One day the woman who had been our maid of all work for years and who had made an especial pet of him, said " Iky your shoes are wearing out, you need a new pair." After inspecting them gravely he went to his usual place for his devotions a corner of the kitchen on which the back stair door opened on the second stair and kneeling at the lower one, said very fervently, "Oh God, Iky's toes are coming out of his shoes; please give him a new pair," then resumed his play. When father came home to dinner, he brought a package of shoes and took the boy on his knee while fitting him. The child expressed pleasure but evidently considered it an answer to his prayer. Father had noticed the need and bought the shoes, without having been spoken to, which was the more

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remarkable, as his mind was usually too much occupied with his business to be observant in such matters, but he seldom would have failed among so many active feet to find one pair at least needing to be shod.
    Four of us younger children were seized of measles about the same time, in June of 1836, Iky being the first one attacked and I the eldest and third one taken. 
    As the others recovered, he became worse, the disease settling in his lungs, and on the night of July 4th he passed to his heavenly home. He had suffered terribly, and in his spasms twice set his teeth so firmly in attempting to drink that he took a piece from the tumbler.
    I so well remember of father coming to my bed that night and saying in a tremulous voice, "Emma, Iky is going," and lifting me into his arms, carried me to his bedside. The small little pale face with the soft brown hair curling on his temples, the little hands lying motionless

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by his side, the scarcely perceptible breathing, even the little wrapper - a few threads of white and same of orange, then a broad ??? of white, in which was a tiny ??? in orange, are as distinctly engraven on my memory and I can see them as clearly as on that night.
    The little mahogany coffin, the smell of the varnish, the sweet placid face of my darling brother, so quietly sleeping that it seemed he must respond to my call, the gathering of friends at the funeral service, the placing of the casket on the little black bier and borne by four boys to the graveyard while we followed, - the prayer, the lowering into the grave, - the loneliness on returning to the house, which never more his sunny presence would brighten, all combined to make a deep and abiding impression, and I mourn long and deeply for my little play fellow. This is a long digression induced by recalling a conversation which I started to record. Not long after he left us, when sitting by grandma's side at her morning

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reading our talk naturally turned on the subject, which was the fruits or wages of sin. I said, "grandma, do you believe that God knew everything from the beginning"?  "Why, yes child."  "Well, then He knew when he put Adam and Eve in the garden with the forbidden fruit that they would eat it; now why did he do it? If they had not sinned, Iky need not have died." I was six then. I am seventy now, but the intonation of her voice in its intense surprise and displeasure at my questioning is as fresh in my memory as if just uttered, "Emmy, Emmy, don't you impute sin to the Almighty! I was silenced but the query has never been satisfactorily answered, nor will be until the great day when all these mysteries shall be revealed. 
    Even after she was bedridden, she could feed herself, after her food was prepared and daily through the long season for apples, about eleven o'clock I scraped the fresh fruit which she ate with much enjoyment. One day while doing so, she said as if she had been dwelling on the 

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subject, "the two things I most dreaded have come upon me, being left a widow and helpless." At another time when mother was waiting on her, she said she could not understand why she, who was so useless, was spared and mother replied, "Indeed mother you have by no means outlived your usefulness: for you are a constant lesson of patient, cheerful endurance, in all your sufferings." She had passed through many heavy trials in her earlier life though after grandpa's death and anxiety regarding the fate of her second son Isaac of which I will tell you later and the death of her youngest daughter Louisa at the age of twenty nine years (in 1844) her days passed peacefully surrounded by the attentions lovingly bestowed by the remaining children, mother, Uncle Peter, Uncle Elisha, and many grandchildren.

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My mother was the first grandchild on her father's side, but even with eighteen uncles and aunts to tease and pet her she was not spoiled. It is not strange that they considered her a prodigy as at the age of three years she read fluently without the family knowing how she had learned. At five, she could repeat all the rules of Murray's grammar, having borrowed the book from older pupils, and committed them to memory for pastime, during the noon intermission. Of course her language was always correct. At the same age, she was carried on the shoulders of our uncle through heavy drifted snow, a mile and a half to the school house to take part in a dialogue with two girls of fourteen and fifteen years of age, which we would consider quite beyond the comprehension of such a child. I remember only a small portion of it, though mother once repeated it entirely to me. It was something like this. " I saw Miss _ this morning carrying a child in her arms, &c" -mother replied "a child! you don't think she would

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be seen carrying a child on the street! that was her lap dog!" Then followed arguments and discussions as to the propriety of the matter, in the old fashioned stilted style.
    That mother early comprehended the true meaning of language was proved when she was only two years old. The child of a neighbor died over which she grieved much and expressed her sympathy by saying, "I am so sorry for Mrs. B_" Grandma said, "what is sorrow Anne"?  "Great much trouble" was her ready reply.
    At the age of eleven, she was sent to boarding school, where painting in water colors was taught and some of her sketches were preserved and adorned the walls of our "sky parlor," as the playroom in the garret was called, until I was nine years old. At that age we moved to a house father had purchased, on the opposite side of the street several doors below, where mother consigned them all to the rubbish pile to which the boys set fire, regarding them as worthless. One in particular I remember, "The Lady of 

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the Lake," and I greatly regret that I had not the forethought to preserve it. She always had a true eye for color, never being governed by her pattern[?] in the selection unless they coincided with her taste and judgment and her work was always beautiful and harmonious. The winter she was fourteen she was allowed to teach the village school but as grandma was never robust[?] it can readily be understood that with a family of small children her services were needed at home.  Also that being the eldest, she had little time for self improvement or even for the preparation of her outfit for marriage as was the custom of girls at that period. Consequently, her bedding, table linen &c was mostly prepared out of the house, though she did some spinning and each of my girls has a portion of a linen sheet of her own spinning and weaving._
    The next summer an accident occurred which resulted in the death of her little  brother Guy three years old. One of the hired men having occasion to go into the cellar which was entered through a trap door in the kitchen care-

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lessly left it open, and the child not seeing it in the morning fell through on to a pile of bottles and was so severely  cut in the abdomen, he lived only a few hours.
    In the fall of 1817, typhoid fever was prevalent in the neighborhood and grandma was one of the earliest victims. Then while she was still very ill one after the other, Sally age fifteen, Elisha Myrick eight, Emily ten, were taken ill: the fever same ran its course with them. Sally a lovely girl sixteen months younger than mother, to whom she was devotedly attached, passed away first soon Emily followed: and while the family were taking her to her last resting place, the boy died.
    Poor grandma felt her cup of sorrow was full to overflowing from such repeated bereavements, but bowing meekly to her Father's will she gradually recovered.
    I do not recall mother having even mentioned when and how she first met my father, but father told me that having learned the carpenter's trade, he left home,

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and in seeking employment went to Montville and while building a home there he became acquainted with mother. That barn was the first and only work at his trade, the business not suiting his taste. 
    It was a case of love at first sight.
    There was much talk about Western government lands and many went out to lay the foundations for houses there Ohio being the chief attraction. Father's brother Christopher older than himself, having decided to go, father concluded to accompany him and together they built a log cabin for the two families under one roof, for company and protection. It was divided at one end into two bedrooms, the rest being one immense living room, which served all purposes, they using it in common, though they had separate tables, and each family their own furniture, mostly home-made._
        On April 26th 1818 {1818/04/26}, they were quietly married, their bereavements being too recent for any desire for festivity and grandma's heart too oppressed at

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losing the daughter on whom she she so depended.
    They did not start however for their western home until early in June, as the roads were not in condition earlier for traveling.
    Great Grandma Anna was bitterly opposed to having her favorite grandchild and namesake go so far away from all her kindred, and told Grandma Grace that she ought not to consent to such a sacrifice, but the dear mother heart was too tender from the loss of many of her household treasures to oppose her eldest born in so vital a matter, and said when reminded that she might as well consider Anna as dead and buried, that she had buried too many to place any obstacles in the way of her child's happiness.
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    So with many tears, prayers and blessings, the family party of six, the newly wedded pair, uncle Christopher's wife and three children started on their long wearisome journey to their future home in Ashtabula, Ohio one bright June morning with their household goods in two emigrant wagons drawn by two horses and a yoke of oxen, each, accompanied by a man who drove one team, and assisted in every way. At night after leaving the settled towns and villages on 

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their route, they made their beds in the wagons, stopping at regular times for cooking their meals under the trees.  I have heard father say that his favorite Rhode Island Johnny Cake (though I believe the correct word is journey cake) never tasted better than when prepared by the roadside, spread on a big chip and baked before an open fire. When possible to reach a `tavern' at night they stopped there until after breakfast next morning to rest and relieve the tedium of the journey. 
    Often when tired of sitting in the wagon, mother with the oldest of the children would walk with father to enjoy the beautiful country and gather flowers. The roads were very rough most of the way, particularly through Cataraugus[?] Woods, and over corduroy roads, but after twenty nine days of varied interest and experience, they reached their destination and met a warm welcome from uncle Christopher.
    I have often thought how desolate and forlorn that log cabin must have looked to mother with nothing to make it attractive, and no dear ones to greet her; but with her lover[?] husband beside her, and a disposition to make the best of everything, she 

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was for the present happy and content giving no thought for the future.
    All the water had to be brought from a spring near the house, and they were careful to have their buckets well filled before the night, as the wolves prowled and howled around the cabin after dark.
    After a time mother became very homesick, but not a word did she breathe of it to father though he probably suspected it.
    In the following year in July, a little daughter was born, whose first cradle was a hollowed log not the dainty bassinet or crib of this period. Mother gave her the name of her darling sister and earliest playmate.  Father thought that the baby would so brighten their home as to render her more contented, but to mother the idea of bringing up her child in such a wilderness, without education or social advantages, was most painful and rendered her even more anxious to return to civilization. She has told me how tired she became of the manner of living, the wild meat &c, but enjoyed the fine white lake fish; and what a treat it was when a neighbor on killing a pig, allowed her to have a small piece of the fattest at twenty five cents 

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a pound. She used only enough at a time to fry potatoes, but thought there never could be a sweeter morsel than those bits of crisped pork. The settlers rarely killed any of their stock, reserving it for the increase. There were no near neighbors, and of course little social visiting, but received invitations to attend a wedding to which all within reach were bidden and made welcome. The ceremony was performed in the one large room, which served as a parlor dining room and kitchen. At one end a long table made of boards placed on boxes or logs was set and it was crowded in true New England style of that period, everything possible to obtain for refreshment. Of course baked beans and brown bread had a prominent place. Wild game, cake and coffee were served, and though lacking in delicacies, there was such hearty good will and generous hospitality they did not miss them, and had a delightful time. 
    They also had their first experience in sugar making the spring after their arrival and spent some days in the camp while boiling down the sap. They used it as taken from the tree for making coffee, and thought it delicious. It was

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such a pretty sight to see the fires all about with the great kettles of sap suspended over the blaze, and filling the air with the delicious odor, and to watch the people about in the firelight - chatting together. A small piece of pork was tied to a string and suspended from the bale of the kettle, allowing it to just dip in the boiling sap, which prevented its going over. When nearly done they tried it by pouring some in saucers filled with snow, making taffy far superior to that made from molasses.
    In the fall after baby's birth father was severely injured while assisting at a "raising" by the falling of a log on his chest, disabling him for a long time and laying probably the foundations for the disease which later caused excruciating suffering and ended his life.  He finally decided that he was not fit for the hand work necessary in pioneer life and knowing how mother yearned for her old home and kindred, thought she never complained, concluded to return to Connecticut. Gladly, joyfully were preparations made for the cold, tedious journey which they made in February in a sleigh in twenty seven days. A portion of the way it was bitterly cold, mother feared the baby would freeze, but father has no anxiety for its

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safety, she held it so closely to her warm breast but he did fear that she might become so thoroughly chilled that serious consequences would follow.  However they could travel much faster in the light sleigh then in the heavy loaded teams, and by making frequent stops reached home safely at last. 
    How they were welcomed and rejoiced over as those restored from the dead; for in those days "going-west," was to those left behind, like seeing their loved ones pass "that bourne[?] from whence no traveller returns."
    1820.    They found grandma with a new baby to show as well as they - a boy named Charles.  As the summer heat came on the little flower from the wilderness faded and with the falling leaves they laid her to rest among her kindred.  1821. The following April a little son came to them, Christopher Arnold, the first for grandpa Weaver, the second a part of father's name by which the child was always called.    
1822. The next January, grandma gave birth to another son named Elisha, and in December following another son came to mother, named Guy Turner, but always called Turner. So in less than four years, 

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there were four boys added to the family, in the various relationship of sons, grandsons, uncles, brothers and nephews. Sister Sarah was born in July of 1825, and John followed in February of 1828 on Washington's birthday anniversary. 1828. He was but two weeks old when they moved to New London from Montville, to a house still standing on Main Street, second door north of John street where I was born on March eleventh 1830 {1830/03/11}. 1830. 1832.  Previous to Henry's birth on January first we moved to the Beckwith house on State street at foot of Main.  Not long after father purchased a house on the north side of Golden street near Green, very bright and sunny with large airy rooms, a fine garden in the rear, below a terraced year I think thirty feet at least in depth, and entire width of lot of fifty ft. where we used to play. Afterwards a summer kitchen was added which divided the terrace the wall being on the east side and the swing under a grand old apple tree. The lower garden was planted in vegetables, though we had a long bed each side of centre walk for flowers, of which mother was so fond that with all her cares, she found time for cultivating How beautiful were the marigolds,

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sweet peas, Lychnidia[?], London pride sweet William ambrosia, as well as the damask roses, and the other lovely things too numerous to mention, though all have a place in their in their order in my memory: - old fashioned beauties mostly although the pure lily of the valley will never be discarded. There was one rose bush dear to my childish heart standing near the side door for which the others seemed not to care, but I lived for its free early blooming and spicy fragrance. Many a rose cake I made from the petals of that Cinnamon bush, gathering them in full flower, sprinkling liberally with brown sugar and after folding them in paper, pressed them over night under the corner of a chest which taxed my strength to lift: then it was ready to eat. I can taste it now.
    In this house the fifth son Isaac Turner was born May of 1833, and Charles Turner the sixth son, in March of 1835, and sister Louise in same month of 1837.
    What delightful memories cling about this old house! The great kitchen fireplace, its

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long crane filled with pot hooks (a copy of which was my first lesson in penmanship) swinging on the left side of the chimney, to allow the hanging of kettles of various sizes, the hooks being linked together, three sometimes being necessary to adjust the different kettles to the requisite degree of heat. I enjoyed moving and hanging these hooks sooty as they were from the smoke. Was there ever a child who did not enjoy playing with or fussing over a fire? How strange it then seemed, to see the nurse scrape the soot from the chimney into a cup, on which she poured boiling water and sweetened to feed the new baby when troubled with colic, though a much less refined term was used to designate this torment of young infants, and older people equally. 
    Such a sense of comfort and satisfaction when in coming in from school in the fall afternoons, I experienced on seeing the bright glowing fire and the big iron pot hanging over it from which issued the appetizing odor of green corn or sweet potatoes: - a most agreeable suggestion to a hungry child.  The fire place

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was not as large as that at the Congdon[?] farm where it required four men to carry in and place the back log in position, but of sufficient size to accommodate several persons around it. The house was old fashioned, the window panes being very small, especially in the kitchen, where there were heavy inside warden[?] shutters fastened by an iron bar through the centre. The outside door of this room was secured at night in the same manner. The doors of every room had openings cut in each upper panel to admit air and light in various shapes, generally a crescent or clover leaf. The front door was divided through the middle in two sections and each part fastened separately. To the upper half, a heavy iron knocker was attached:- this was left open in warm weather though sometimes the entire door was swung back and a blind or screen door was used to shut out the sun. The windows all had Venetian blinds. 
    Behind the front door hung the fire buckets in readiness for immediate use. They were painted a bright green, except the rim

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and handles which were black. After a fire they were all thrown in a heap where each owner could identify his property by the numbers. Ours were 45 and 47, I think. 
    We children seldom cared to go from home evenings, as there were enough of us for many games like "hull gull" and "odd or even" which we played with beans, also ???, and fox and geese. Children then had the idea of depending on older ones for amusement and we had our books and knitting work to fill our time. In the summer we played with the children of the neighborhood on the street in front of the house, as teams rarely passed after business hours in the cool of the day. 
    When Turner was a little fellow in attempting to cross the street - boy like - in front of a gig in which were two men, he stumbled, fell, and was run over the wheel passing across his abdomen. He was picked up unconscious and carried into the house, a crowd gathering at once. With fear and trembling his clothes were removed to find his body deeply indented and bruised, but the skin 

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not broken. Beyond lameness and soreness lasting a few days only, he suffered no injury. 
    In cold weather we were often allowed to invite several of our friends to spend the early evening hours but when father came home it was a signal for quiet and they quickly dispersed. I wonder how mother endured the racket of so many noisy children rushing over the house in playing "hide and seek," from attic to cellar, only grandma's room and the guest chamber and parlor being closed against us. She often assisted the little ones in finding hiding places - sometimes covering us with her skirts or shutting us in the place under the brick oven, where the fire wood for heating it was kept.  Oh, what good things came out of that oven semi weekly! It was the boys business to keep a liberal supply of fuel on hand to fuel this oven and what an amount it required. Bread cake and pies were made on Wednesdays but on Sunday there was a greater variety: in cold weather baked beans and brown bread, with Indian pudding the latter forming our lunch in coming home from Sunday school after 

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the morning service. The noon intermission was too short for dinner which was served after the second service. The meats were usually served cold having been cooked the day previous, but we had hot vegetables. 
    In the fall, father always layed in a liberal supply of apples, Spitzenbergs for eating, Rhode Island greenings and russets for cooking. There was a small room in the cellar for vegetables and for the barrels of cider. The hickory nuts were stored in the garret and when father and mother went to the evening meetings we used to amuse ourselves in roasting apples, cracking and eating nuts. Sometimes we suspended the apples by a string tied to the stem before the open fire and kept them turning to roast them evenly: at others we swept the hearth and placed them in it but had to watch them lest they burn, we cooked cans of green corn in the same way. I do not remember ever hearing my brothers or sisters asking as the children of the present day often do "what may I do for amusement?"  We were fully able to entertain ourselves, perhaps because there were so many of us - nine of us lived to man or womanhood.

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    Father also put in two or three barrels of cider as that was a common beverage then and we needed it for mince pies. One barrel was allowed to get hard, when it was bottled for medicinal purposes, mother making spring bitters [?] by steeping barberry bark and dandelion roots in the water which liquid she put in the cider adding bits of horseradish.
    One fall father was absent when the cider came and John proposed that we sample it - to which we gave ready assent and prepared our straws. Removing the bung, as many as could crowd around the barrel inserted their straws, but the neighboring children coming in of course wished to enjoy it. John was a generous boy and for their accommodation bored holes in the barrel and we regaled ourselves with long delicious draughts regardless of the consequences. 
    Of the settlement between John and Father after his inspection of the barrel, we never inquired and neither of them ever referred to it within my presence. 
    On many days when the weather did not admit of our playing outdoors, the garret was

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a delightful resort. Besides the swing, there was a spinning wheel, on which with its swift revolutions, I have in imagination travelled as many miles perhaps as in my repeated voyages between New York and San Francisco. 
    Then as mother thought some of our time should be usefully employed, she had us assort rags, which were stored there for the purpose. White ones in one barrel, colors in a second and woolens in a third. The cotton ones were for Mr. Mattoon[?] the tin peddler, who made annual fall trips with his big wagon load of tinware of every description which he exchanged for rags. The woolen pieces were given to anyone wishing to use them to work with carpets or mats. 
    The cooking implements were, many of them, quite unlike those in modern use, but to my taste the corn bread and short cake baked in the iron bake kettle over hot coals were far more appetizing than in the store oven. All the kettles had round bottoms and legs. The tin Dutch ovens too for roasting! Were ever meats or poultry equal to those cooked in these ancient inventions before the open fire, on the spit which

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was constantly burning?
    The waffle irons were great unwieldy articles, perhaps seven inches long by four in width with long handles. Many a pan of batter have I made and baked in them though they required strength and skill in manipulating though I was quite a small girl then.
    In my early childhood, we used candles and lamps in which we burned whale oil, the horrid odor of which clings to me still. For the candles, tin, pewter, and brass candlesticks, with a little peg or knob for holding the extinguisher, for common use, but for the handsome tall brass candlestick used in the sitting room, there was a tray and snuffers of the same material. When astral lamps were introduced, they were considered a wonderful improvement and in them used sperm oil, for a long time, and afterwards land oil. 
    Once a year, generally after the earlier fruits were preserved "pound for pound," mother made a practice of inviting all the cousins living in the city to a social tea.  

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There being too many to accommodate at once, the older ones were invited the first day, the younger ones the day following.
    I was always greatly interested in the preparations from seeding raisins and cutting citron for cakes, to setting the table and arranging there the various articles food. The cutting of the sugar from the big cane shaped loaf which may have been from fifteen to eighteen inches high from base to peak and was wrapped in a purple paper. (the latter was used by many people for dying) generally called the children who after being each served with a lump returned to their play quite satisfied. They were never allowed at the table with a large company and it would have been a trial had they been compelled to sit the long time occupied in this social tea drinking. I cared less for play and remained to see the meats and cake cut  and can now see the pretty china, white with a gold band, the bright silver reserved for extra occasions, the snowy cloth.  Then the dishes of a-la-mode beef, cold chicken and fruit cake (made once a 

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year), two or three kinds of sweetmeats, jellies, pickles, cheese, light flaky short biscuit with tea and coffee were the usual refreshments served. A tall lamp in the centre of the table diffused a cheerful light and added to the general social, attractive effect.
    When in 1839 we moved to a house father purchased a half block below on the other side of the street new furniture was ordered for the parlor and many old pieces were given away for which a high price would be readily be given now. The new set[?] was a heavy mahogany, dark, handsomely carried and upholstered with figured[?] haircloth, then the prevailing style. They were considered very handsome, even elegant. An immense sofa, six chairs, and large high backed rocker, centre table and a pair of ottomans, the seats being covered with embroidered canvas which sister Sarah did in crewels.  To me the most attractive of all was a pair of mantel ornaments; china vases with landscapes on one side and figures on the other. They were filled with artificial 

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hyacinths in blue, pink and red and covered with tall glass shades. The vases rested on a polished wooden base two or three inches high in which was a groove for the shade to rest in, and this concealed by a large scarlet chenille cord[?].
    The wall paper being quite new and unlike any other in the city was allowed to remain for a time though now it would only be considered suitable only for a playroom or nursery. To my childish taste it was beautiful and a constant source of pleasure. The back ground was light blue, covered from the base board to heights varying from four to six feet, trees even higher, with oriental scenery. Camels, loaded with their packs, others kneeling to receive their burden, their masters being arrayed in brilliant picturesque costumes: elephants with gorgeous trappings, tigers, monkeys, and serpents. Illy suited as it was to the room, it was with real regret that I saw it removed to be replaced with a ??? covering.
    I was not naturally a mischievous child and was rarely punished that when administered, it made an abiding impression. I remember two punishments by father. He once

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struck me on the shoulder with a broom splint, another time he drew my downcast head back by my braids saying "when I speak to you, don't hang your head, but look me in the face." Light as the punishment was it was sufficient to cause me to weep long over it. Another time several of us had been in mischief, and we were assigned "en masse" for investigation. John always, Sarah and Turner sometimes though the latter was too much older to be interested in the things which were a temptation to us. I do not remember the cause or result but the fact of us being drawn up in line left an impression.
    In the warm summer weather church going twice a day, besides attending Sabbath school would now be considered too great a tax on any child, but that was expected of us after four or five years of age. We were free to go to sleep if we desired but the heat made us too restless on a warm Sunday I remember. The previous week, Sarah had been been allowed to go out of church on the plea of a stomach ache

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and as she was running about the garden on our return, apparently free from illness, she probably thought the same excuse would not avail a second time. So she worried  me by frequently asking if my stomach did not ache until I finally concluded that it did and mother tired I presume of our restlessness, sent us home. I was a little more than four, Sarah nine years old.  After mother had removed her bonnet she called us in to her room and talked seriously to us of our misconduct and applied the rod of correction, to me, the first and only time. I never misbehaved again in church. On another occasion Sarah and I were disobedient and not repentant: so at bed time she refused to give the good night kiss, saying she could not kiss her little girls when they were not sorry for being naughty and we went to bed without relenting.  I could not sleep and after turning restlessly for a long time started to go down to mother to confess my fault but Sarah aroused and I had to explain. She said, "she wouldn't be so foolish; if ma didn't wish to kiss her she needn't."

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    I was strongly influenced by her in all matters and returned to bed, but a guilty conscience gave me no rest. I knew that mother did want to kiss me and was grieved that I refused to acknowledge my fault. After waiting until sure that Sarah was asleep, I stole softly down to mother's bedside in the dark and laying my face close beside hers sobbed out my confession and petition for forgiveness. Need I say it was freely given with many kisses and I went back to bed with a light heart and slept soundly. I could not be happy with the shadow of a cloud between me and my precious mother. No doubt Sarah was sorry for her fault but it was not as easy for her to "fess" as for me.
    On  one of my visits at home after my marriage, on being reminded of some of our childish escapades, she said to father, "Emma never was punished as much as I, she always escaped:" to which he replied, "because she didn't get into mischief as often, and you were older and generally led her into it." She always felt herself a scapegoat for my misdoings. 

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    She was such a bright active capable girl and I was always ready to acknowledge her superiority. Since I have had children of my own, I have often wondered at my parents patience with such a family of children no two requiring the same training. I think of them now, father so nervous and impulsive in temperament, as a marvel of patience, and mother as angelic in their united management. However grave the offense I never knew him to punish one of the boys at the time it was committed but gave himself time to be able to judge justly, and them time for reflection.
    I once heard him tell cousin Anne Comstock, a double cousin of mother's, a great favorite in the wide family circle, and always a welcome guest, that it was a much greater merit for him to control his temper than for mother, who by nature was so placid and gentle, while grace had to do everything for him. 
    Another and important article which conduced greatly to our comfort in the cold winter nights I have omitted to mention in its proper place. The long handled brass warming-

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pan which being filled with hot ashes was passed quickly and repeatedly between the sheets to warm the bed while we were undressing.  In the winter we slept between the homespun woolen sheets which were more comfortable than the heavy unbleached cotton sheets which were made in the fall and bleached by repeated freezing while spread on the snow.
    The old church on the rocks, at the head of Pearl street where I first attended church, and until we left the city has many sweet memories for me. With its high galleries, lofty semi-circular and long square enclosed pews so high that the little ones could see only the heads and shoulders of persons outside their own pew would look strange enough to children of the present day. It was very plain and unattractive for years but later it was undersized[?] and finally after the congregation removed to their new brick church on Washington and State streets, was sold and occupied as a stable until it was consumed by fire. I was away from the city when the new church was built and having attended service there only when on visits at home have no particular feeling about it except as the place where father and mother worshipped

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the remaining years of their lives after returning to the city. My associations are with the old "meeting house" where we nearly froze in the winter and I amused myself during the service in watching the "smoke" issue from the lips of those around me.
    Grandma always had her foot stove which was the boys' business to fill with hot ashes and a few live coals and carry to every service for her use: we also had one which was passed around and often into the adjoining pew occupied by poor old ladies, and called the "widows pew." They were made of wooden frames a foot square, the sides and top of perforated tin, and an iron pan contained the coals. There was only one box stove to warm the entire church and that was at the entrance instead of the centre of the building with the result that it was barely comfortable at the close of evening service.
    A story was current long after its occurrence, of the Rev. Abel McEwen[?], who for more than fifty years, was pastor of the Zinn's[?] hill Congregational Church who being in the habit of praying with his eyes open, was effectually cured in this way. One intensely cold morning, a number of men coming in during the prayer stood around the big box stove warming their hands, among these one with fiery red hair. Presently, another came in and instead of following the 

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example of the others extended his hands over the red head and rubbed them vigorously. The reverend pastor, certainly did not magnify his office that morning as he burst out laughing to the utter amazement of his congregation, which of course, their backs being turned could perceive no cause for so extraordinary a departure from the usual course. Some years after this old church was removed and an elegant granite structure was erected on the same ground which bears the name of The First Church of Christ." although the same congregation worshipped in it. I think the old name was far preferable. 
    In August of 1839 sister Julia was born and in the same month three years later Helen Adelaide whose brief little life of eight months was indeed "a well spring of pleasure" to us all. Whooping cough, commencing with croup, induced convulsions and after a week of suffering she passed away, and we sincerely mourned for our small little pet. To me, from her birth she was a source of continuous and perfect delight and it seemed to me that when she died, I never again could be happy. How wise a ??? it is that the grief of children is in large measure evanescent! I had been perfectly devoted to her and so trusty 

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that after the monthly nurse left, mother allowed me to bathe and dress her daily until she was three months when sister Sarah claimed the privilege and I reluctantly relinquished my precious charge into her care. A year later, I found this experience valuable as going with a basket of things to our former laundress, I found her baby dying of consumption. To relieve her, I took the baby and an hour later it died in my arms. There was no one but the mother to do anything and she shrank from the task of laying it out: so I told her that if she would give me the necessary articles I would do it. When I removed the clothing, I almost regretted having volunteered my offices, for it was so wasted, it seemed as if the head would part from the tiny attenuated neck. There was nothing babyish or lovely about it and I could liken it to nothing but a picked robin had recently seen. However, I succeeded in properly preparing it for the coffin and laid it on a pillow in the bureau drawer.
    In this house to which we moved when I was nine years old some of the happiest of my girlhood life was passed. Though very  fond of reading and study, delicate health rendered continuous attendance at school impossible and several times I was out for months at a time which was a 

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severe trial to me as I was very ambitious and could not endure the idea of being excelled. From the first I kept my place at the head of my class except when having held it for two weeks, the rules compelled me to "go to the foot," and give others a chance, but soon worked my way up again.
    No doubt many will discredit the fact that my earliest recollections are at the age of twenty two months, when just after brother Henry's birth, I was taken for a visit to the Congdons' living on a dairy farm a mile and a half from home. Quaker hill it was called. Our good friend Mrs. Congdon thinking it would be a relief during mother's illness to have one baby off her mind, persuaded her to allow me to go home with her. I have no remembrance of the journey or of arriving at the house - probably was asleep, but perfectly recall one morning - perhaps the first - from its ??? when she went to the pantry and bringing out a tin cup of milk crumbled bread in it, and drawing out ashes, placed it to warm. When ready, taking me on her broad lap she fed and then rocked me to sleep in her kind motherly arms. Years later when recalling the circumstances, she could scarcely credit it, but when I told her where she sat, described the chair, cup &c, she was

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fully convinced of the truth of my assertions. 
    So many happy weeks I passed with these dear friends at frequent intervals, not only while they were on the farm but after they took residence in town.
    I had my books and playthings, the former having a place in a certain drawer in the handsome mahogany buffet in the sitting room. My favorite books were "Who killed Cock Robin?" and "The Babes in the Wood." I thought them beautiful with their gay colored pictures, but children now would scarcely give them a passing glance. The asthetic taste was not then so highly cultivated neither were there so many forms of amusement devised, but children were far more easily entertained and ready to find interest in simple ways than at the present day.
    From being so much with them, I was regarded as belonging to the family and "Uncle John" always spoke of me as his "little girl." (as his only daughter was a young lady.) who was to marry his son David and always live with them, a matter which made no impression on me, though I did not forget to tell his wife later that she had taken my promised husband.
    Twice a day they sent milk to the city and after Robert had served his customers he would come to the house, put my dolls and their belongings in the back of the wagon

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among the cans and lifting me into the seat beside himself, I feeling as happy as if driving away in a "coach and four." When I was about four, they had some pretty doves given them, and I have never forgotten my mortification at their laughter when I asked if they were the same that were in the ark with Noah and Sarah, meaning the same kind, but they thought I supposed that they were the identical doves.
    Dear old friends! how good they were to me. I think of them still with sincere affection though the last of the family passed away some years ago.
    The summer after I was two years old I commenced attending school irregularly, mother yielding to my importunity, as I was lonely when all the older ones were absent so I went with Sarah, and often took a nap on the teacher's bed as the school was in her own house.
    The spelling lesson of bla-ble-bli-blo-blu-&c, was after the senseless method of the period, but I learned readily  and before I was four read fluently in any book. My first attendance at Sunday School was just before my fourth birthday. I presume it was thought sufficient previous to that mature age, for one to attend morning and afternoon service. Mother suggested that I would prefer to have a lesson to 

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recite with the class so before she went out on Saturday afternoons she made a selection of the first and second verses of the second chapter of Matthew, and I sat down on a "cricket" (as we called a little stool) and all by my lonely before the bright fire learned my lesson.
    On mothers return, she wished me to recite it and without being prompted, I went through four verses saying as I closed I thought I would learn a verse for each year. I am not aware that it was considered remarkable at that time though mother commended me for having a perfect lesson.
    I think there is still in existence a piece of quilt I began piecing the summer after I was three, and the improvement in sewing in the course of time is very marked. Every night mother prepared at least sufficient for my next day's task, and put in my little basket, with an apple or cookie for my recess lunch, and when I called for Mary, daughter of Uncle Peter Turner, who lived diagonally opposite, Aunt Mary often added a fig or something nice.  The same summer, 1834, she died leaving three little children motherless and the home was broken up, the two eldest going to their maternal grandmother and care of a maiden aunt, while the little six[?] weeks old baby was taken to the home of a wet nurse.

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    When Uncle decided in October of the following year to marry again, although his chosen bride was a niece of his deceased wife, the aunt injudiciously filled the children's ears with such dreadful tales of stepmothers that they had no desire to return to their own home and it was arranged for them to remain with their mother's family, and only baby Charles was to be the charge of the new mother.
    I heard so much talk on the subject when I visited Mary that I became very much worried that we were not all the children of one mother and often remained a long time awake after going to bed thinking of it and trying to devise some of learning the truth. At last I summoned courage to approach the subject - after this fashion: "Ma are you John's own mother?" (he was the next older than I, Henry next younger) "Why yes." - "and Henry's too"? "Certainly I am, why do you ask such questions?" I clasped my arms convulsively about her neck, and sobbed "then you must be my own mother!" I reasoned that she could not be mother to the one older and younger without having the same relationship to me. I think she realized what had been revolving in my mind, as she was very tender with me and said, "do I not treat you well? what makes 

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you feel so"? I replied "Aunt Sophia talks so to us about Mary and Peter having a stepmother, I was afraid".
    The stepmother came: - a young, beautiful girl of twenty quite unaccustomed to care of any kind. From the moment Uncle brought her to our house a bride, my heart went out to her, her manners were so sweet and her beauty no doubt had an influence. The love she inspired then, has strengthened in the passing years, and she has ever been my ideal of all that is good and lovely. Their house was re-opened the baby brought home, and the older children were there often for a days visit. After awhile they of their own volition decided to remain but as it had been distinctly understood that they should not be under her care, Uncle left it for her to decide. She said "this is their father's house, and if they wish to come, I will do the best I can for them." For many years they were a heavy tax on her time and patience, though she never complained, or manifested the least irritation or impatience under the most aggravating circumstances which came under my observation: and if any preference was shown in setting differences between the children the older ones were favored. At this date only Mary lives (1899) to testify to the love and appreciation of her devoted care.

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    My dear, sweet, beautiful auntie! I so dearly love her and at 85, she is so charming, as when in her fresh girlhood she came among us as a bride. To her loving companionship, I am indebted for many happy days, and her memory will always be precious.
    I never cared very much for dolls and after the birth of sister Louse when I was seven years old, only a live baby satisfied me. With five brothers, and one sister who was five years older than I, she very naturally preferred companions of her own age, so this baby was a godsend to me. How I delighted in the pretty caps and dresses, dainty little shirts so nicely arranged in the drawers appropriated to baby's use. She was the last of mother's babies who wore caps and the fashion of so many generations soon became obsolete: and who does not think the little head with its natural covering far prettier? In our family we had no bald headed infants. I was a perfectly devoted nurse and never considered it a trial to watch beside her cradle, or tend to her while the family was at meals and felt very important at being allowed to carry her about in my arms from the first. She soon became too large and heavy for my short arms and father used to say "here comes the cat with her kitten. After she grew beyond my strength, I used 

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to borrow the baby across the street, keeping it for hours, feeding it, putting it to sleep and performing the office of a regulation nurse, though in these days I would not venture to give a baby a drop of food, as everything now goes by rule. I cannot see as children are stronger or better than when reared in the old fashioned way. I wonder though how any mother would trust a child of eight or nine years and small of my age, with their little ones so entirely. I was considered a born nurse by the neighbors and Uncle Elisha brought me a nest of young mice one day, saying I was always wanting something to nurse.
    The winter before I was nine years old, I had a severe illness, some disturbance of the brain, which baffled the skill of not only our own physician, but of those called in consultation. I think I was cruelly treated. Beginning with emetics, followed by calumel, then shaving back of my head and applying Spanish fly blisters to it behind each ear and on each arm. I was a pitiable object. I still remember the torture of those dressings and yet the agony in my head was not relieved. For weeks my life was despaired of, and I was a sad little wreck for a long time. I think I recovered in spite of the dreadful remedies and because there was still work for me to do in the world. 
    Dear mother was untiring in her loving care, and father equally 

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so. After I was able to be moved about, coming in from business, he used to carry me so tenderly on a pillow as first from one room to another to relieve the monotony and weariness of lying so long in bed in one room. Before this illness when suffering acutely from attacks of earaches, he resorted to various remedies to ease the pain, of which smoking into my ear through a clay pipe, the stem being placed in my ear, and was often effectual.
    In the following spring there was much religious interest among our church people and in the Sunday School. Meetings were held daily both afternoons and evenings for several weeks for prayer for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and conversion of the unregenerate[?]. I sometimes attended in the afternoon and with brother Turner became deeply impressed with a sense of sinfulness and need of saving grace. For days I was very unhappy, realizing how I must appear in the sight of a just and Holy God, and strove to make my peace with Him. He who never turns a deaf ear to even the weakest of His children when in sincerity they seek His favor, heard my prayers, and graciously filled my 

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longing heart with a sweet sense of forgiveness and a calm abiding trust in His unfailing love which in all the trials of life, many and varied though they have been, has never forsaken me. My brother Turner became a Christian about the same time, and united with the church. I was extremely anxious to do so, but on account of my tender years, and the fear that I was not old enough to realize the solemnity and full meaning step, father and mother thought it better for me to wait awhile. Finally, after the pastor, deacons and my Sunday School teacher had talked with me, it was decided that I go before the church and tell of the Lord's dealings with me. I stood on a seat in one of the pews, while many questions were asked, one being why I wished to be baptized. I replied "that God had been so good to forgive me when I had so long sinned against Him. I wanted to to show my love to Him by obeying the command to believe and be baptized", One old deacon bowed his his head and ejaculated "My Lord! if this baby is such a sinner, what am I?" After this examination, father and mother consulted, though with many misgivings as to my perseverance in the Christian course, and I united with the church, holding my membership there until thirty years later. I took a letter to 

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the First Baptist Church in San Francisco, of which Dr. Cheney[?] was pastor. Where I I expect to retain my membership until I join the church triumphant.
    In November of 1831, mother's second brother Isaac, about 25, being in ill heath, decided to make a trip south, and combine business with the effort to free himself of a troublesome cough. Captain Loomis, who married Eliza Comstock, daughter of mothers uncle Capt. Peter Comstock was to make a voyage to Mobile in command of a fine new vessel, and his wife was to accompany him. This seemed such an excellent opportunity for him to have not only pleasant company, but those interested to look after him if ill, that all the family were happy in his anticipated voyage. After leaving New York the vessel was never heard from - months passed and with anxious aching hearts they awaited tidings but nothing ever came - various rumors were circulated of the vessel having been taken by privateers which still infested the ocean, in some degree though at this period rarely came into our waters. Months, years of torturing, anxiety and suspense followed before all hope was abandoned,

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of receiving some tidings of their fate, but years after they had ceased to expect it, a report was circulated that some of the crew had been seem in a foreign port, another that a vessel putting into an out of the way port, one of the men saw a women on the beach, who wrote her name, Eliza Loomis, in the sand. Investigations proved the stories without the least foundation and it was cruel to harrow the feelings of the friends by idle tales. 
    Our sources of amusement as children were many and varied though one had few toys not manufactured by the boys of the family and as there was a host of children in the neighborhood a whistle would call in a few minutes a sufficient number for any game. After any serious illness, I was debarred, not only from attending school for a year, but from reading or studying for any satisfactory length of time, and the time would have been heavy indeed on my hands only that I joined my brothers in their outdoor sports. Our physician told mother that living in the open air was my only chance for a complete recovery, and she must encourage me to try the boys games, as far

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as my strength would allow. I was an apt pupil and could soon climb trees and fences, fly kites as well as make them, pitch quoits[?] &c with the most expert among them. One game however was denied me, not only as being too boisterous but it would have taken me beyond mother's watchful care:- this "was "hunt the hare oh!"  The neighbors suggested that I would not only ruin my complexion from going so much without a bonnet but predicted I would become a "tom boy." Mother did not worry and was rewarded by my steady increase in health and rigor, while I naturally enjoyed the free life, far more than my regular stint of knitting and sewing seams, which occupied a portion of the time the others were in school. At six years of age, I was already knitting my own stocking without assistance in heel and toe. 
    In the spring, parties of girls and boys went frequently to the "Old Tower Mill," an enchanting spot surrounded by fine old trees and belonging to the well known family of Lewis. We had fine sport climbing over the rocks, not in the least minding an occasional tumble in the water which

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flowed over some and between the higher rocks. We carried home quantities of young birch twigs and spice wood, also sassafras root and wintergreen leaves, and a supply of willow switches for making whistles.  Often in the summer we rose before the sun though the birds always had the first start, and enlivened with their songs our tramps in the fields for wild flowers, returning in time for breakfast. 
    Another source of pleasure was in out trips to Groton on the old horse boat, to visit the monument, stopping on our way up the steep hill to gather pebbles to throw from the top, and count as many as we could before they struck the ground. What simple things amuse a child if perchance it is the right one. Then we wandered about the old fort grounds and through the under ground passage which year by year contracted and rehearsed the tales so familiar to every child in that region, of the terrible massacre of our brave men, in that memorable battle on the 6th of September 1781. 
    At other times we went to see "Mother Bailey" who with her husband kept the Groton Post Office, and lived near the same building. We were delighted when we could engage her in conversation but 

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as a rule, she was not inclined to be sociable with children unless accompanied by another person. She was a great admirer of Andrew Jackson, and an ardent politician. As my father also approved of his nomination he cast his vote for him for President, considering him the man for the times, although he was a Whig in principle. While Jackson was in office, Mother Bailey traded at father's store (ship chandlery and groceries) saying she could get no tea equal to his, but when he failed to cast his vote for Martin van Buren, his tea at once lost its excellent flavor as she ceased to be a customer. I went over to see her in company with two friends of my own age just after the election and found her in high spirits; she had a picture of Van Buren hanging on the wall, in the Post Office which she showed with the greatest delight, but with great satisfaction called our attention to our defeated candidate, Henry Clay, which she had hung up side down, saying it was his proper position.  She also brought out a lock of Jackson's hair some friend had sent her, and was carefully kept among her treasures. Soon after the inauguration

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Doctor Charles Douglas, living near us, on Greene Street gave a large party to celebrate the event and through the open window, the music having called the children, I Mother Bailey tripping the light fantastic toe" with her host with as much ease and enjoyment as a young girl. She was then 80 years of age. On a later visit to her, she was very reticent and although we resorted to various devices for drawing her out with no success, some remark was made about the English (British she called them).  When I said "Mother Bailey do you like the British"? She fired at once and with great spirit replied "I hate the British and I hate everybody who don't hate `em"! My last visit was after her husband's death, which broke her down completely, her mental faculties soon failing. She seemed to have last all interest in life after the companion of so many years was taken from her - Poor old soul! she talked of nothing but "the dark river she was about to cross" and beyond which there seemed no light and no hope. After living to such an advanced age, it seemed terrible that her life should end so tragically. Sitting alone one afternoon before an open fire, her clothing took fire, and before aid reached her, she was so fearfully burned, that she 

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survived but a few hours.
    Trips to Fort Trumball, only a mile from the home, was another source of enjoyment: for a long time we were allowed to roam about the grounds without restraint, and over a considerable portion of the fort, but when repairs and alterations were commenced we were excluded entirely but we used to amuse ourselves by trying to lift the cannon balls and in mounting to the top of the great piles lying all about. Often from there we proceeded to the Light House, two miles farther on. Oh, how tired we were after tramping in the heavy sand on the beach. After resting awhile we gathered up our clothes and waded to our knees in the waves, going out to meet them and scurrying back lest they overtake us. Then we sat in the sun to dry our feet, not one of us taking the precaution to bring a towel. Sometimes the boys would bring buckets and dig clams, and gather clams to take home, where we would make a fire in a clay furnace under the grape arbor, and filling a big iron pot with the clams, cooked them; then gathered around it in the cool shade, and picked and ate from the pot using the shells

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for drinking the broth. We had also a tin[?] baker mother gave us, in which we roasted potatoes and corn, which we gathered from the garden.
    In the several schools which I attended I had great enjoyment being fond of my teachers with two exceptions. My first teacher was Mrs. McClintock[?], then her sister Miss Babcock on Main Street. Next Miss Hastings in the Basset building on Bank Street where every night cards in blue green and red, on which were printed "a good girl" in black letters were given to those who merited them. Then Mrs. Hinsdale and her daughter on Golden Street. Next Uncle Peter. At this school, Lewis and Alfred Mitchell, brothers of author Donald G. or Ike Morel[?], were pupils. Lewis was lame, and a very quiet, gentle boy. I was very fond of borrowing his crutches, and did not think it such a misfortune to be lame, as I liked the swinging motion required in using them. He was always delicate and died young. Next was Miss Hayden on Pearl Street who had a very hasty temper, and was often unjust in the management of her pupils. Then came Miss Beach on Green Street, to whom I was warmly attached, and who taught us to recite in concert

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many pieces of poetry, standing in line. How patriotic we felt as we repeated "Again to the battle Achaians"! "On Linden[?] when the sun was low." "The boy stood on the burning deck &c." After her marriage, I went to Miss Pease on Union Street, a terror to evil doers, and feared, rather than loved even by her best pupils. Afterwards, I attended Mrs. Shepard's school in Mason's St. She was assisted by her sister Mrs. Treby, both being widows. Mrs. Shepard opened school by prayer leaving her elbow on the table and bowing her head in her hand, while with the other she was constantly twirling a pencil and I used to wonder how she could keep her mind on the prayer and the same time turn the pencil so regularly. They were both refined, cultivated ladies. From them I took my only lessons in English Grammar giving it up at the age when I should have commenced the study. None of us evinced mother's fondness for grammar.    Illness frequently kept me out of school for months at a time, which was not only detrimental to systematic progress, but a great trial for me. Then I was pupil at Mrs. Julia Turner's school, on Main Street, where

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sewing was taught in connection with our studies. There I was allowed to recite morning lessons I prepared at home and devote remainder of the day to learning fine needlework. She had a violent temper and a long tongue with which she lashed her pupils into tears frequently, but to me she was always sweet and amiable. Then after a year out of school from illness, I was sent to Miss Louisa Smith's Seminary on State Street, and the year under her tuition[?] was one of unqualified pleasure. At the expiration of that period she was married and after a rest, I entered the New London Female Academy, Mr. Hiram W. Farnsworth, being the Principal, Cousin Mary Turner, was my constant companion in the changes.
    Mrs. Farnsworth his lovely wife taught French and Botany in the afternoon. Adaline his only sister was a pupil, coming from her home in Brattleboro Vermont for benefit of his tuition, and was an intimate of his family. Her sweet face, and gentle manners attracted me, and a warm attachment soon developed into a friendship which lasted until her life ended. I was very fond of the entire family, and the attachment was warmly reciprocated.

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1844    That summer I met my fate, though only fourteen years old, in the person of her brother Seymour, who visited his brother's family, prior to making his first sea voyage, but I little realized what a change in my life that meeting on a July afternoon was to effect, when he joined the school on a botanical excursion. I though him very youthful looking, with his clear, fresh complexion and admired his beautiful teeth and eyes, the most brilliant and finest blue eyes I still think I have ever seen. I considered him a fine specimen of young manhood.
    My school days were not particularly eventful, though in June of 1844 aunt Louise Benjamin, mother's only sister died leaving three little children and in 1846 a terrible wreck on our coast, bringing grief to many hearts. The fine steamer Atlantic plying between New London and New York, with its precious freight of human life was lost off Fisher's Island and many perished. She left her dock for New York on Thanksgiving Eve, with many passengers anticipating a joyful reunion with loved ones around the festive board the day following. As a heavy storm was

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raging, the Captain was advised not to start, but as his vessel was new and staunch, he thought he could make the trip safely. Only a few miles out her steam chest burst and she was at the mercy of the elements. Before morning she drifted on the rocks and all day long there pounding and grinding herself to destruction. Heart breaking scenes were enacted in the cabin where passengers awaited their doom and agonizing must have been their feelings on finding that all efforts to rescue them were unavailing. Several steamers made repeated attempts to reach them during the day but the fury of the storm forced them to turn back and leave them to their fate. Constantly they were on watch, hoping for a lull in the wind which would enable them to reach the hapless, suffering ones.
    Sadness and gloom shrouded our city as with a telescope from high ground the boat could be seen in her perilous position, and desperate were those having friends on board but being unable to save them. Prayers were offered in the churches and the poor doomed ones were committed to the mercy of God. From the pitching of the vessel its bell constantly tolled a mournful dirge for those so soon to be engulfed in the raging waves of the sea. During the night, the steamer broke up and many met

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their death from being dashed against the jagged rocks, and the few who survived were fearfully bruised. The next morning the storm having subsided sufficiently to admit of reaching her, steamers went to the rescue of the living and returned bringing 22 dead bodies picked up along the shore. More of the dead were later brought in. Most were claimed by friends but 22 unidentified corpses were buried New London. One entire family of English emigrants of the name Walton perished - Father, Mother, and three children on their way to purchase a farm in Pennsylvania, anticipating the making of a happy home there, were unclaimed. The eldest daughter a bride was lost and it was pitiful to see him, heart broken over such a terrible blasting of all of his hopes. It seemed such a strange Providence which spared a friendless, club footed boy, when so many strong useful men perished.  The dead were all placed in a building near the river and crowds from all around us came to view them from curiosity as well as pity. Mother with many others went to assist in preparing them for burial and I persuaded her to let me go with her, feeling certain I could render assistance. The sight of these poor beings, stiff and cold, so fearfully bruised

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their hair filled with sand, and tangled with seaweed, which was impossible to entirely remove: and the thought that strangers were performing these sad offices made an indelible impression on my mind. They were borne in mournful procession to the cemetery and laid to rest far from home and kindred. A granite monument erected by the city marks the site.
    In January of 1847, I was taken suddenly ill of inflammatory rheumatism and for weeks suffered intensely and for many days could only be moved on sheets; for many days life trembled in the balance, but my strong, wiry constitution finally triumphed, but my recovery was very dilatory.  For a time it seemed doubtful if I would ever regain the use of my lower limbs, as I had lost all power of locomotion. Twice a day after I was able to bear it, father and mother supported me under each arm, while Sarah with a long piece of scantling pushed first one foot and then the other, and after a time I was able to move them without aid, except of crutches. My sensations were however quite different from those experienced when moving about so lively on poor Lewis Mitchell's. It was April before I was able to go out and bitter were my tears on finding my books on the closet shelf and learned I was not to re-enter school and complete my course of study.

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The powerful medications administered had injured my stomach, and for years I was a martyr to indigestion, so it was feared later it would terminate in consumption.
    1847    During my illness sister Sarah was receiving attention from Mr. James Newcomb, whom we had known for years and soon after was her accepted lover. He was a widower whose wife had died a year and a half previously leaving a lovely little boy two weeks old. They were married on the eighth of September and on returning from their wedding trip, went to his home where his adopted mother had been keeping house and caring for the child. Though pleased to recognize him as a brother, I was very lonely without my eldest sister on whom I depended for many things, and the little ones, though sweet playmates, were too young for real companions.
    In November of the same year, brother Arnold married Augusta Brown, whose family had removed to New London the spring previous. A fancied resemblance to the young lady to whom he was engaged in Sag Harbor, but who died a year earlier attracted him. His grief was great, after her death and he seemed

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so desolate and heartbroken, I thought no one could ever fill her place but the human heart is a wonderful piece of mechanism.
    1848    The next summer some ladies from Boston came to our beach in search of sea mosses, bringing specimens from Nahant, and other seaport towns. I saw them on the rocks with their long handled scoop nets, and learning of them their method of gathering and preserving them, a wide field of pleasure and interest opened in me. In company with cousin Mary, frequent trips were made to the Light House in the wagon, drawn by the pony Zachary Taylor, stocked with our luncheon pails and scoops, where we spent hours, in the water and on the rocks, searching for the lovely sea plants, and in our zeal sometimes going beyond the safety line. We carried the mosses home in pails of seawater, and as they would keep for twenty-four hours, pressed them at our leisure. It was most fascinating amusement and dear mother became so interested she worked over them hours at a time, and made a beautiful collection, arranging them in a book for the purpose, which is still in the family. I have a similar collection of my own arrangement.

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1848    My beloved friend Adaline, returned to Brattleboro, in the spring of this year and in October of same year married Mr. Edmund Sawyer, a gentleman living temporarily in the village. They came to New London on their wedding trip, and finding him very cordial and agreeable and so ready to be my friend, I was disposed to accept him as such, and try to reconcile myself to his having taken precedence in the heart of the girl I loved best. She told me he had by no means usurped my rights - that I still held my own place, and I rejoiced in her evident happiness. After the birth of a son in September of 1849 business arrangements made it necessary for them to move to Easthampton, Massachusetts, but after a year's residence there her health failed and she returned to her old home, hoping that the change, her mother's care and the skill of the family physician might restore her. All was of no avail: consumption had fastened its deadly fangs into her vitals, and she rapidly wasted away. In July the year previous, her brother Hiram's wife had died of the same fell disease, leaving two little girls of six and four to his care.
    In February of 1851, Seymour returned from a voyage to China in the Ship Horsburg, to New York and found letters awaiting him telling of his sister's critical illness.

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so he proceeded immediately to Brattleboro, but he was greatly relieved to find her quite comfortable, except for a distressing cough. She was so anxious to see me that no urging was needed to induce him to come to Groton and escort me to his house for a visit. We had corresponded for a long time and as we were to be married as soon as his position would warrant it, father and mother made no serious objection to my going, though ideas of propriety were quite different from the present free and easy style. It was March when I made my first visit to the beautiful village where later I passed considerable time, and made many very pleasant acquaintances and some warm friends. Addie was very happy in the society of her favorite brother and her best beloved friend, and often expressed her satisfaction that the desire of her heart seemed probable of fulfillment in our union. She was very anxious that we should be married and her hopes fully realized. She was in such cheerful spirits that we found ourselves indulging the hope that as spring advanced, she might regain the strength, but that disease is so deceptive: Soon after I left her, she began to fail and on May 3rd, 1851, she passed peacefully away in the firm

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assurance of the acceptance with her Savior.
    Her dear little Henry remained with her mother until his father's marriage two years later to a lovely Christian lady of culture and refinement with charming manners, when he was taken to be with them in Easthampton.  No own mother could have been more faithful in loving care and devotion to her own child than this lovely conscientious woman. To me, she extended the same cordiality as if I had been her friend, and in the ensuing years, my visits to their beautiful happy home, were always most delightful. Mr. Sawyer because a very wealthy and influential man; active in church and benevolent work, greatly beloved and respected by all who knew him, and whose death at 58, was deeply deplored. His widow survived him nineteen years, and died in 1898 the last of her family, leaving many warm friends and the record of a beautiful, unselfish life.

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    Father and mother were always ready to entertain Bible agents, ministers, and any one working in the Master's service. There were comparatively so few Sundays when we were alone, that I complained to mother "that I did not see why the other deacons should not receive them part of the time," to which she replied, "you know what the Bible tells us about entertaining angels unawares." I said "yes, but I think they should have the opportunity to share in the blessing." Our state missionary, however, Rev. Emory Shaler, was an exception always being welcomed by every member of the family. He was very lame, but managed to accomplish more work than many with free use of their limbs and was very genial and chatty with us children, frequently entertaining us with stories of his travels about the State, to which we listened with great interest. To me, it was a great delight to hear him and father discuss the great truths of the Bible, especially the doctrinal points in the Epistles, knotty questions on which they would argue a long time, so that to my regret bedtime for me came before they concluded. We also had visits from many of our missionaries returned from the foreign field for needed rest. The Rev. Adoniram[?] Judson, knows the world over, for his hand 

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experience in imprisonment and persecutions, while pursuing his work among the Burmans. Rev. James Breytrue[?], wife and child, Rev. Justus Vinton, who with his wife and two children labored long and fruitfully among the Karens[?], his children having returned to the field after being educated in this country. They were all fine singers and the father had one of the most musical voices I ever heard. With Sarah and me he sang the beautiful chant "My soul is not at rest" and ever since it is associated with him. Rev. James Haswell wife and three children came to us on a whaling ship belonging to New London. She was very ill on arriving and our physician having been called to her, sent for mother while in church to go with him on board, where arrangements were made to and carried out for having her brought to our house. Mother nursed and waited on her as cheerfully as if she had belonged to us and with the addition of five unexpected guests, never was apparently any more disturbed, than if they had come on especial invitation. They brought on the ship a Burman cow, for the children's benefit sea voyages not being arranged for as at present,

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and there was almost nothing provided which a young child could eat. The cow was turned into our large grass flat and though we all gathered around to see her milked I could not be persuaded to take any but the others drank it freely.
    Every spring and fall there was an immense amount of work in fitting up so many children for the change of seasons - For the boys, two maiden sisters, for many years came regularly to make their suits for common wear, but for their best, they went to a finished tailoress who had a crazy brother of whom I stood in great fear, though he was considered perfectly harmless. The boys used to urge my going with them when taking their materials to be fitted, but after he chased them from the house, I never could be induced to go with them more.  For Sarah and me, also family sewing in general, another spinster, came as regularly and remained much longer. One day when she and mother were busy quilting in the sitting room, Henry in playing near the Franklin stove with a loose apron on, caught on fire. There was a shriek a burst of flame and in an instant, mother had the boy wrapped in her own clothing, smothering the fire. He 

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escaped with slight burns and the loss of his eyebrows and lashes, but mother's hands were severely burned. The seamstress tumbled off her chair in a faint, the frame fell on her, but no one noticed her in the general panic, until she recovered sufficiently to attempt getting out from under the frame.
    Another woman still came for dress and cloak making and what a relief it was to all, even us children when the last garment completed, we had the house once more to ourselves.
    There was quite a number of notable characters in our little city. First, as occupying the highest position was Dr. Daw, a brother of the eccentric preacher Lorenzo Daw, who taught a school for boys, Arnold and Turner being among his pupils. Although an excellent instructor his modes of punishment were in many instances original and peculiar and in this day and generation would not be tolerated. When boys fought at recess, even though they had amicably settled their quarrel, he compelled them to remove their jackets in the school room and give each other vigorous drubbing. For some purposes, I think bad language for one, a bitter, nauseating medicine, ??? was administered. One morning for sport, Turner


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and one of his mates took a notion to make frequent trips to the fire to expectorate in regular succession, ceasing only when it was no longer an amusement. The Doctor had been a quiet observer, and when they satisfied themselves, called them up and told them they could continue their exercise for his pleasure, so the poor youngsters were kept trotting back and forth until their throats were so dry and parched they could scarcely move their tongues
    Major Luke Perkins our neighbor across the street had a deaf and dumb son and in his employ and living in the family a man with the same infirmity, known by the cognomen of "Deaf and Dumb David." The thoughtless boys delighted in teasing him until he became greatly excited when he would rush at them gesticulating and uttering the most discordant sounds in his efforts to express his indignation. They considered it great fun. The son died at age 17 but the servant lived to old age. 
    Another even more unfortunate was Luther Barker. From birth he was strongly affected; although he could talk intelligibly, he would frequently when walking the streets mutter, commence waving his arms wildly, jump up and down, barking like a dog and imitating that animal in many ways. His family was very poor and 

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and it was told of him that on sitting down to a large breakfast one morning, casting his eyes over tables, ejaculated "only one little Johnny cake for four of us.  Thank the lord there ain't any more of us." 
    John Griffin was foolish, many called him an idiot, who lived with his uncle not far from us. He was a good natured fellow and always employed about the house or garden; the boys used to have great sport with him but he would not get angry. One day his Uncle sent him on a errand to the country telling him that he had better take the horse. What does Johnny do but lead the animal all the six miles out and back plodding the long distance cheerfully. 
    Another still was Sam Keeney; a simple fellow with six fingers and toes, and nearsighted. He helped support himself by selling the fine molasses candy his mother made every day and peddled it all over the city, going into stores where the clerks amused themselves by his curious antics and speeches and the boys treated him shamefully. Sometimes sailors who came on the whaling ships would set on him by putting him in a rage and after taking away his box, eating the candy, break it into pieces. But having gratified their love of heartless frolic, 

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would not only pay double the value of the candy but furnish a better box than the one they had destroyed.
    The last was "Dutch Mary," who when a very small child was brought a slave from Africa and probably took her name from the Dutch family with whom she lived for many years after being brought to America. She never forgot the cruel wrings[?] and dreadful sufferings she endured on the passage over. She was a servant for some months in our family but was then very old and becoming infirm. Finally, she was placed in the Alms House, where I used to carry her pies and good things after the Saturday baking. She died there and her age was presumed to be from 110-115. 

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    When I met my first love, he was a little more than twenty one, and I just passed fourteen years. There are daguerreotypes taken a little earlier with no thought of their being handed down in company. At his home he had a reputation from early boyhood as a ringleader in mischief and for excelling in all athletic sports but was no means as studious as his brother. His mother told me she found him swimming in the Connecticut River with older boys when 3 1/2 years old. Was considered very brave and courageous but said of himself to me that he was the veriest coward when having killed a toad, a small boy then the boys shouted "Seymour Farnsworth has killed a toad! now the cows will give bloody milk, and the Justice of the Peace will be after him, and put him in jail."  He kept at home for two or three days and when he did venture out, kept his eyes open for a town officer for a long time. Like most boys, especially those who have heard tales of the sea, he was very anxious to make a voyage on leaving school, to learn by experience, whether he would choose a maritime life as a profession. His father utterly refused to consider the proposition, thinking by giving consent to place his boy in the way of such dreadful temptations, and with such ungodly companions, that he would 

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consign him to eternal perdition. After working for some months with his father at his occupation of wheelwright and wagon maker, he went to Hartford to clerk in a grocery store, but the desire for going to sea was still active and on attaining majority went to Boston to seek an opportunity for gratifying his wishes. After considerable waiting, shipped before the mast in the Ann McKim, a merchant vessel bound for South American ports. The ship wrecked off Valparaiso and after weeks of detention at that port, returned home thoroughly cured of his passion for the sea. But after losing much time in unsuccessful search for employment on land, he shipped as second mate of the ship "Joshua Bates", Captain Stoddard commander, with whom he made voyages to China and other foreign ports. His next and final voyage in the merchant service was in the ship "Horsburg[?]" sailing from New York as first officer returning in February 1851. In his several voyages, he visited many foreign ports, Hamburg, Shanghai, Peking, Singapore, Manilla, Calcutta, Island of Penang, Valparaiso, Bahia, Iquiqui &c. From Penang he brought preserved in alcohol the fruit of the nutmeg tree, in its several forms, the nut with its lacey covering of mace, after ??? its heavy outer shuck until it was the nutmeg of commerce. On his last voyage

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he brought me an elegantly embroidered white crepe shawl, which I wore with great satisfaction, as they were very fashionable, and a consciousness that mine had no superior. For many years it has been packed away and will probably serve in wedding dresses for my twin granddaughters, combined with one worn by their great grandmother. A silver filigree card case was another of his gifts which I used for many years but long since laid it aside.
    In July of 1851, he joined as third officer, the Pacific Mail Steamship Co's new steamship "Golden Gate", Captain Patterson of the Navy Commander, on her first voyage to San Francisco, via the Straits of Magellan. She was by far the finest vessel in their service and was considered magnificent in all her appointments. At that time all their ships were commanded by Navy officers. A year later Seymour was promoted to Second Officer and expected to then come home for our marriage but circumstances being unfavorable, his return was delayed another year. Captain Patterson was highly esteemed by the Company as a superior officer and excellent disciplinarian on his ship, but later he became very unpopular for his treatment of a passenger, a Jew, who committed some offense against the rules of the ship. In punishment a 

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pork barrel with its end knocked out was put over his head so that it rested on his shoulders and he was obliged to carry it for some hours, a great indignity for anyone, but in this instance, peculiarly so from the Jewish antipathy to pork. It created an intense indignation among the passengers of all creeds and nationalities and excited strong feeling against the captain though they did not condone the offense. The prejudice caused  him later to resign his command and Captain Lapidge took his place. 
    On August 30th, 1853 just after dinner mother who was looking out of the window exclaimed "why I do believe Seymour is coming! Emma come and see!" I did not need a second bidding, neither to be told to escape from the room and out of sight before he entered and greeted the family. Mother noting my absence, said "Where is Emma? she was here a moment ago, I think Seymour you will find her in the next room." Who but those having a similar experience can imagine the rapture of our meeting after two years of separation?
    His unexpected coming found me occupied with my cousin Mary in preparation for her wedding

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which was fixed for the following Monday, Spetember the fifth. It had been arranged for me to be her bridesmaid her brother Charlie her groomsman but Seymour took his place, while a cousin Fanny Stanton[?] took my place with him.
    As Seymour's stay was limited to six weeks, he was anxious to be married at once, particularly on learning that his mother thought it too great an undertaking to come to the wedding and bring Hiram's two little girls who were under her care. So in the meantime my preparations for the great event of my life were being rushed in the way of shopping, so everything should be in readiness for the dressmaker, as soon as Mary was married.
    When we accompanied Mary and her  husband as far as Guilford, on their way to their house in LeRoy, New York, the heat was so intense we were quite exhausted on our return.
    The sudden change on the following Sunday made it very comfortable to gather about the kitchen range. Edmund Sawyer came down the previous evening to see as he told me one of Addie's as well as his own dearest wishes accomplished. It was a very solemn time for me, for though I did not anticipate leaving

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home for a year, I realized that this step changed my life and that new duties were before me. When mother came to my room to say good night, I fell on my knees before her and sobbed as I told her I hoped to be even more a faithful loving daughter, her voice broke as she replied that I had never been anything but a comfort. I slept little, and with the entire household was up early in the morning as to take the train for  New Haven, necessitated the performance of the ceremony at 9 o'clock. How my teeth chattered while dressing. I thought from the cold, but mother brought me a glass of wine to warm me and steady my nerves. It was a quiet wedding; only the immediate relations and a few intimate friends, about thirty in all. There were only a few simple gifts, the fashion of indiscriminate present making not having been inaugurated.
    Dear Uncle Elisha went with us to New Haven on his way to Waterbury, stopping to take us for a drive about the beautiful city of Elms, leaving us at the Hotel. The next morning we went to Hartford, thence to Springfield where we took dinner, from there to Brattleboro arriving about tea time. We spent three happy weeks in Seymour's old home,

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with the dear parents, and little grandchildren, Kate, Mary and Addie's little Harry. Our pleasure was not without allay however, the shadow of our coming separation ever looming darkly over us. His sister's death, and her appeals to him during her illness to become a christian made a deep impression and he gave his heart to the Savior. The following Sunday after the internment, Edmund united with the Congregational Church in Brattleboro and presented Harry for baptism. He was very anxious that Seymour should receive the rite, with himself. But not being decided as to the mode of baptism, he preferred to wait and give the matter due consideration. During the two years which elapsed he had given the subject much time and in the study of the Bible had become satisfied that immersion being the mode indicated by our Savior's example was the one for him to follow. So on the second day of October, a lovely autumnal day, he was baptized after the morning service in the Thames river, where years before I had made a public profession of my faith in Christ. The very atmosphere was full of Heaven's own peace on that beautiful Sabbath day. 

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    Three days only we had together after this, as it did not seem advisable for me to accompany him to New York, where every moment would be occupied on shipboard. Sorrowful indeed was our parting though the hope of a reunion at Panama in eighteen months sustained us both; but oh how desolate and empty the world seemed without him! Time does however, alienate all grief and in his letters there was immense comfort. There was too intense satisfaction in the knowledge that for better or worse we were united until death should us part. 
    Previous to our marriage father said to us, "I don't see Emma why you wish to go away and leave mother me, I think we can take better care of you than any one else, and you are too delicate to stand hardship, don't you think it would be wiser to stay with us?" In reply, I said "how was it father that you could take mother into a wilderness where she had little society and she only seventeen?" I am so much older and am going where I can have every comfort and refined society with religious privileges"? With such mischief in his eyes, he answered "oh that was because mother had such a rare chance." "Well perhaps I consider my chance equally rare" I replied.
    The railroad across the isthmus of Darien was not 

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completed by some months as early as expected, and when in April of 1855 passengers began to cross by train, I was very anxious to join Seymour, but he was unwilling to risk exposure to a climate so deleterious to foreigners in the rainy season, and I was forced to content myself until fall, when I arranged to go in company with Captain James Greene and family who were to proceed to Honolulu.  1855.  On September fourth, father, mother, and uncle Elisha went with me to New York and on the next day I sailed for Colon or Aspinwall as it then was called, on the P.M.S.S. Co's Steamer "George Law." Tickets had been sold until the day previous to more than 700 passengers on the advertisement of connecting at Colon with the Golden Gate: then posters announced that the "Gate" would be detained at Panama for the crowd already booked for the steamer to leave New York on the 20th inst. and such as preferred to wait over until that date, could exchange their tickets at the Co's office. Great dissatisfaction was manifested, and justly, as many had come with families from a distance, and unable to afford the expense of remaining so long in New York, were forced to proceed at once. The "Panama" one of the pioneer steamers was to take the place of the "Golden Gate." As I was to meet my husband, it mattered little to me what ship I connected with, so I was uncertain whether he would

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be detained on the "Gate" or sent up on the "Panama." The parting from my loved ones was impossibly painful and trying and to this day, I have a keen recollection of the heartache I experienced on seeing them standing on the pier watching the ship and waving their handkerchiefs as long as they could distinguish me. We had a comfortable trip, I suffering only a few hours from seasickness, the first and last time, though I made many subsequent voyages. Not being positive of meeting Seymour on landing I was not disappointed when he failed to appear and went on the train with the passengers. Though we moved all too slowly for my impatience, the trip was a novel and delightful experience. It seemed as if transported to a New World. The luxuriant tropical  growth, the the palms and banana trees loaded with fruit, and vines festooned among the branches, the gorgeous flowers, gay birds, native huts, nude children men with only a hat and loin cloth women with a loose low necked chemise and short skirt carrying large trays on their heads loaded with cakes and fruit, the moist steamy atmosphere, confusion of foreign languages, made me realize that I was far from home and my beloved country. When the train stopped at Panama, a gentleman, exquisitely neat in a fresh white suit approached, evidently looking for some one and in seeing me came up with a smile of 

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recognition and said "Mrs. Farnsworth I am sure. I recognized you from your daguerreotype," introduced himself as Dr. Leroy[?], the surgeon of the "Gate" and at the same time, handed me a note of introduction from Seymour saying that the Dr. would kindly escort me on board, as he was detained on account of having been ordered to go up as first officer on the Panama. The ship lay a long distance from the shore and in the beautiful bay. There being the dock, the only way of reaching the steamer, was by canoes, which on account of shallow water could not be brought within twenty or more feet of the beach. So I reluctantly submitted to being carried by a native to the canoe. Great as my repugnance to the mode of conveyance, in fear of being dropped in the water, I clung with a firm grip to his shoulders: the Doctor followed in the same way and I confess to a feeling of immense relief when safely placed in the boat. I asked the Doctor if accidents did sometimes occur and he laughed heartily with me over his relation of an experience of a very large fleshy woman a few months previous. The native carrying her lost his footing, fell, and both took an unpremeditated bath in the bay. The woman's discomfiture, and rigorous language, afforded great diversion for the waiting crowd of spectators who manifested little sympathy for her misfortune.

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How my heart beat as we approached the ship! I was conscious that though many curious eyes were on me as I ascended the gang plank, my beloved was not among those assembled on the deck and with the Dr. I passed quickly along the deck when on reaching his stateroom, he opened the door to admit me, closing it speedily, and not waiting for me to thank Dr. Leroy for his kind attention, though I freely acknowledge it did not occur to me at the time. Neither of us wished spectators at our reunion after years of separation and we had only a few brief moments at a time until after midnight. The Panama having been laid up for a year required much done to fit her for the voyage and a far less time would have sufficed to render any vessel in that climate uncomfortable for passengers. But with such a crowd, and for eleven days almost incessant rain which poured through the seams of the vessel and down on the passengers in their beds it was not strange that the indignation was deep and pronounced against the Company and complaints were made to the Captain and Purser who were making every possible effort to relieve their discomfort. During two days of a heavy storm, we shipped big seas which delayed us and in some instances nearly drowned passengers in their berths at night. To make room for so many more than the ship could accommodate, a part of the baggage room was

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appropriated to sleepers, which necessitated piling a large number of trunks on the upper deck; although fastened as severely as possible with chains and ropes, they repeatedly broke loose from the pitching of the ship and tumbled over the deck making a tremendous noise. Captain Dow, a very agreeable gentleman was in command. He came daily to my room to inquire if anything could be done to add to my comfort. One afternoon the heavy seas put out the galley fire so that all the preparations for dinner were suspended, tea and boiled eggs being the only articles which could be served hot. Seymour ordered dinner sent to our room, as he could leave the deck only for a few minutes at a time. Cold ham, eggs, bread butter and condiments were spread on the bed and braced as they were it was impossible for them to retain their places and the only way to prevent the tea pot from upsetting was to brace it on the floor. Using one hand to keep from falling off my chair, knives, forks, were out of the question, and I had difficulty in eating eggs after Seymour prepared them. He laughed over the constant mishaps and enjoyed seeing the dishes pitch towards us, or roll in the opposite direction as we attempted to grasp them, and it was scarcely possible to avoid a face bath in taking the tea.

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In the unavoidable disorder and confusion, the boy forgot to remove the remnants of our meal, so I packed them on the floor under the table as much as possible out of the way. When Seymour came in I was in bed, so he did not ring to have them removed. The ship rolled so, I had great difficulty to keep in my berth and he crowded pillows under the front edge of mattress, and I slept securely until morning quite unconscious of danger, or inconvenience, except when aroused by the water trickling from overhead on my face and neck, or the crash of baggage on deck. When daylight dawned, what a sight met my gaze!
    Various articles of clothing which Seymour had pegged up overhead to absorb the water, and on the floor such a medley! Ham eggs, condiments, bread, butter with broken glass, rolling about in a bath of lamp oil (the lantern having overturned) mixed with cologne water, sugar and sea water made a combination neither agreeable to the eyes or olfactories, or affording a favorable prospect for my bath and toilet. I was forced to put on my overshoes, which fortunately I could reach from the bed, in order to get to the bell, to call the boy to clear up the dishes before I could move about, and it took some time to mop the fluid and restore order. He then spread a colored blanket, on my floor to protect my feet from the water which poured in from the deck where

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we shipped heavy seas. Later in the day the storm abated, affording immense relief to every one. In the morning Captain Dow came to inquire how I had passed the night, on telling him that I had slept well, he assumed a stern voice though there was a smile in his eye and said "What right had you to be sleeping when so many on board, spent the night praying in fear of being launched into eternity before morning?" I replied that they who know nothing, fear nothing, "and having been assured there was no danger, concluded sleeping the most agreeable way to pass the time." 
    Another time on coming around when I was sitting by the open door, though it was raining heavily, he said how is it that you keep all the sunshine in this room? you look so cheerful and bright!" 
    The poor passengers did have such an uncomfortable disagreeable time, and for those I knew I tried to make it as pleasant as possible, giving them invitations to come freely to my room, when Seymour was not occupied in writing or making up his reports. There were Captain Greene, his wife and two children, Lucretia 4 and Mamie two years old, Mrs. Coggeshall with a little girl of 3, going out to her husband. Mrs. Osborne a widow and two children, Carrie six, Fanny four, Mrs. 

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Stott, wife of a whaling captain, whom she expected to meet at Honolulu, and Mr. Henry ? Parker, also returning to same place. The Greene children were often with me and Mamie's sweet baby noise, as she went singing about the deck nursing her dolly, after the pleasant weather came, lingers in my memory still. "Shut your eye peeps, now de day; and de light am gone away." over and over. 
    Mrs. Osborne's were very nice and well trained. Their mother later married Mr. John  Neville of Benicia where I afterwards visited her. Mrs. Coggeshall's little Laura was so homesick and grieved so for the aunts left behind that she nearly wore her mother out with her restlessness and irritability. I pitied the child, but admired the marvel of patience and sweetness of the mother (through those dreadful days of sore discomfort  and trial) which in the many years of my life I have never seen excelled and rarely equalled. We made one stop only - at Acapulco for coal. The natives swarmed about the ship bringing their wares for sale in boats[?], consisting of tropical fruits, cake, shells, strings of shells and baskets ornamented with same. Such a din! Every one trying to outshout the others, in crying the superiority of their goods, when all looked precisely alike. Many were swimming about begging for money to be thrown overboard for which they would dive, and bring up in their

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teeth with a grin of satisfaction. Many dimes were squandered in this way, by the passengers who enjoyed seeing the squabble for each one. After leaving Acapulco, all grew impatient to reach San Francisco, myself excepted who having my all on shipboard, cared little whether we were afloat or ashore. I had no relatives to whom I was especially attached on this coast, except brother Turner, whose business being in the mines I did not expect to see immediately on my arrival, but he was there to meet me. We reached San Francisco on the evening of October first and after discharging passengers and freight, sailed on the morning of the third for Benicia where the Co's works were then located. For ten days we boarded in the family of Mrs. Barzilla[?] Cocks[?], and then went to the Solano Hotel kept by Mr. Weinman which is still standing and occupied (1901). The board was excellent but I was very lonely there, as Seymour left at 6:30 A.M. for his duties on shipboard, and did not return until same hour in the evening. I spent most of my days and nights also in hunting fleas, my first experience in that line. I could find them readily enough but capturing them was quite another thing. Seven times a day I sometimes stripped to the skin, until strength as well as

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1855.  patience were exhausted, in my fruitless efforts to catch the tormenting little pests. On removing my clothing, I shook each article vigorously and searched every fold and seam to make sure not one was concealed there; then put them on again only to feel the exasperating stinging bite before I was fully dressed.
    Seymour remained on the Panama until the Golden Gate arrived, two weeks later, when he resumed his former position as second officer on her. She was soon taken to the Dry Dock at Mare Island being absent three days. I was doubly lonely in his absence though not timid at night until I was awakened the second night by loud talking in the hall and immediately my door was violently shaken, and with an oath admission demanded. When I inquired who was there the answer was "let me in!" I was in terror lest the lock should be forced, and greatly relieved when some of the hotel employees came and removed him. Learned next morning that it was an intoxicated soldier from the barracks at Army Point who had strayed in there. I decided I would not wish another experience of the kind and persuaded Mrs. Cocks[?] to take me in until Seymour returned.
    The Agents decided to lay the "Gate" up for repairs which
 
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would require six weeks, and as Seymour was retained to take charge of her, it was necessary for him to remain constantly on board. Mr. Forbes, the head Agent, told him to make it comfortable so that I could be on board with him as I could take my meals at the Officers Mess House close by, a most satisfactory and agreeable arrangement for us both. I was the only lady at the table with the thirty-five gentlemen, who were all exceedingly attentive and polite. If my presence acted as a disagreeable restraint on them they never indicated it, but seemed to enjoy my being there. To me their companionship was very pleasant, and as after my sea voyage I had an enormous appetite, the well cooked nicely served meals made the gong call a very welcome sound. I had never tasted fresh salmon, and thought it so delicious that for some time I indulged in it twice daily, and the celery in its way was equally excellent.
    When the ship left Benicia for her next voyage from San Francisco, December fifth, I went on her to the city and boarded with my cousin Sarah Weaver Bateman, who lived on a milk ranch at the Willows about three miles from the City Hall on Kearney[?] Street, Seymour in the meantime making two trips to Panama. 

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    1856.  I had only a few minutes for conversation with brother Turner, an arriving so his visits to me on the ranch were full of interest, and there was so much to talk over as it was ten years since he left home. Brother John who had been in California for three or four years returned in 1854, and married Miss Virginia MacDaniel at Macon, Virginia -  settled there.
    While staying with cousin Sarah, I had an attack of dumb ague and called Dr. Holman who came out on the Golden Gate as surgeon from New York. After remaining a year in the Co's service, he decided to practice his profession in San Francisco and sent for his wife, who was one of Seymour's Brattleboro acquaintances. Although I had never before met him, I felt him to be less a stranger than any other physician, and found him a most delightful gentleman. On taking up our residence in the city later he was our regular physician dearly beloved by us all. Years after he was compelled by ill health to go abroad for a long rest, and we were obliged to employ another physician, and I took this opportunity to employ a Homeopathist, my preference from girlhood being in favor of this practice. 
    In March I went on the steamer with Seymour to

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1856.  Benicia and engaged board for the summer, from the family of Mr. John Warner, as the ships lay there most of the time while in port. They had a lovely little girl of six months - a source of great pleasure and company for me in Seymour's absence.
    Everything was so entirely new and different on this coast from our home life in New England, but I managed to fill the time in various ways, taking pleasure in assisting Mrs. Warner whom I really taught to sew and cut garments. I felt no interest in local papers, until the whole city and surrounding country was aroused and excited on May 14th by the shooting of James King of William, editor of the Evening Bulletin, by Casey, editor of another daily. Death ensued a few days later. The very atmosphere was full of the most intense excitement and indignation while his life trembled in the balance, during which time the Vigilance Committee was organized. Their work and the hanging of Casey and Cora with other criminals, in the old City Hall grounds on Kearney street, are are matters of California, and especially San Francisco History. 
    In June the Golden Gate, Lapidge in command

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1856.  arrived from Panama. During the voyage up the coast, a refractory sailor was punished by order of the captain. The first officer Christopher Dall, had him triced up; that is I believe suspending the culprit by the thumbs. Seymour, being the deck officer was obliged to see the order carried out. Even if in direct opposition to his judgment to refuse would be mutiny. The weather was extremely exhausting and Seymour gave orders to give him water freely but on no account to allow him a drop of liquor. It was however, surreptitiously consumed by him, though Seymour watched him as closely as his other duties permitted as he feared the result of the punishment. On finding the man was sinking, he released him and sent for the surgeon and first officer, but he died just as they reached  him. The passengers were bitter in the denunciations of his treatment and consider Seymour responsible for his death not realizing that he acted under orders. By what means the Captain and the first officer managed to throw the stigma on a subordinate officer, I never was able to comprehend and was equally a mystery to many thinking intelligent people. They had influence, 

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1856.  while my poor Seymour had none. The matter was taken up on arrival at San Francisco and in the excited state of public feeling resulting from recent events, it proved a very serious case for Seymour. He was arrested, imprisoned but immediately released on bail given by the Co's Agents and he came up on the ship and remained on duty until summoned to appear in Court.
    On July 31st, just as whistles blew for 12 o'clock and the children shouted for joy at their release from school, out little daughter with her father's eyes came to us.  Welcome indeed she was, and we gave her at once my dear mother's maiden name Anna Turner. For several days though, she was little comfort to her father, as within an hour after her birth I commenced sinking and it seemed more than probable that she would be left motherless. Very slowly I came back to life and it was many weeks before I was able to assume the care of my baby. When she was just five weeks old, and I was beginning to walk feebly about my room, the U.S. Marshall came up to escort Seymour to the city for 

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1856.  trial. He was indicted for murder in the first degree and though the Agents offered $50,000 bail, it was not permissible on such a charge. On Saturday evening two days later, Mr. Bateman came up at Sarah's request to take me to their house, Seymour having previously written me, informing me of the charge and suggesting that it would be easier for me to be there where we could constantly communicate with each other. Not a word of his distress or misery. The tidings came like a thunderbolt to me. That such a terrible crime should be imputed to my husband was too outrageous for belief. How I ever managed, even with Mrs. Warner's help, to pack the necessary articles for my own and baby's use, and get ready for the trip in two and a half hours and make the tedious night journey with the care of a worrisome baby is a mystery even now, overwhelmed with grief, anxiety and weakness as I was. I felt I had more than I could bear and wondered why such injustice was permitted but the comforting promise "Lo, I am with you alway," was my stay and support, in this time of trial and distress and strength was given to carry me through.

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1856.  Cousin Sarah was then living on California Street, near Stockton[?] or Powell. I do not remember which. It was midnight when I reached there, and completely exhausted, Dr. Holman came next morning to see me and was exceedingly kind and attentive during the long illness resulting from grief and excitement in my feeble condition. All through the weary weeks pending the trial the Doctor brought me frequent assurances of the high esteem in which Seymour was held not only by the Company but others who knew him and strove in every way to keep up my courage, saying it would be impossible to convict him. 
    Captain Charles Prentiss and Mr. Frank Fitch, two New London friends, who were in the city at the time visited Seymour and me both with friendly offers of assistance in any and every way for my comfort or aid to him. Brother Turner came down from the mines as soon as he learned of our trouble and was a great comfort to me. Soon after our arrival at the Batemans', Mrs. Nathaniel Grey whose acquaintance I had made in Brattleboro, and whose husband's business was in the city, came to see

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1856.  me, intending to take me to her own house and care for me and baby as long as necessary, and though I did not tax her generosity, I will never forget, neither can I ever suppress any sense of her kindness, or appreciation of her sympathy and goodness. Many hours of pleasant intercourse in the succeeding years, did I enjoy in the family of this lovely christian friend. She and her good husband long since were called & receive their reward, after many years of usefulness here.
    It was some weeks, before the trial took place, but Seymour so won the good will and confidence of the keeper, that after the first day, he was allowed the freedom of the prison, and in a week, came to see me in the evening for an hour, under escort of an officer, and the visits were repeated frequently. Of course this was contrary to all rules, but he made it an object to the keeper and officer and proved how entirely they trusted him. 
     How intense was my anxiety when the day for his trial finally arrived! How the days dragged their weary length, and with what solitude I scanned the faces of all coming to see me, to ascertain how matters were going in the Court room.

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1856.  for I knew they would tell me nothing of a discouraging nature if I inquired.  Of the agony of that dreadful experience God only knows, and I shudder at the rehearsal even after these many years.  Though he had in the Co's lawyer, Mr. Hall McAlister, the best legal talent on the coast for his defense, I could not rest day or night, but cried with my whole heart to my Father in Heaven that his innocence might be established beyond question. In Him was my sole hope and trust.  Dr Holman came often with cheering words, assuring me there was no doubt of his acquittal, and when at noon of the fourth day, the jury after an absence from the court room, of only three minutes, returned with a unanimous verdict of "not guilty," - my good Doctor jumped into his carriage and drove with all speed that he might be the first to bring me the blessed tidings. Tears which had been denied me all these weeks now poured over my face in torrents while sobs racked my frame. It is said that joy never kills but it was months before I recovered from the terrible shock, and prolonged strain. It was some time before my beloved could come

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1856.  to me, as he was detained by congratulations, not only of personal friends, but many who had attended the trial and judged the case without prejudice.  But with my baby hugged close to my heart, filled with thanksgiving I could wait with comparative patience. Of our meeting I cannot write, save that clasped in a close embrace, we were for a time dumb for very thankfulness.

    We returned in a few days to Benicia, and after a week's visit with Mrs. Cocks, went again to the Warners' where we remained until the first of December {1856/12/01}, when we went to board in the family of Mr. Nathan Garretson. There were the father mother, three little girls, Percy, Frankie, and Sarah, of 7, 9, and 11 years of age, and a maiden sister Martha Howard. 
    My own family could not have been kinder, and I was made to feel perfectly at home.  A life long friendship was formed during my stay altogether of two and a half years.  There was nothing to mar the harmony of our intercourse.  All were devoted to the baby who was very restless, and demanded much attention. It was a great pleasure to the children to be allowed in time to assist in undressing her, and to fold, under my

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1857.   instructions, the dainty little clothes, and lay them neatly in her dressing basket. Percy told me after she had children of her own, that she owed much of her systematic manner of performing her duties, to my example and instructions. Mr. Garretson was so tender with her, and when the warm weather came, morning after morning, took her while waiting for breakfast, in her little sun bonnet and wrapper for a walk in the fresh air, and it would have been difficult to say which enjoyed it most. - When eight months old, it was proposed to bring her to the table at meal time; so perched up in a high chair between Mrs. Garretson and her mamma, she was a very happy baby. Naturally her little hands were ready to grasp every thing within reach, and I would not allow Mrs Garretson to put them out of place, saying she must learn at once not to touch anything not given her. The lesson was learned, after having her little fingers snapped a few times, and as a rule she behaved very well, though when a little older, large pieces of butter disappeared from my plate, which certainly had not buttered my bread, and Mrs. Garretson's "don't see it" was very significant.  The

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1857.  children were so disturbed when she was reproved, and Frankie's large eyes would fairly blaze when I snapped the naughty fingers.  At seven months she commenced saying "mamma", and at ten months, said many words, but not a sign of a tooth until eleven months, a few days before she walked quite alone. For some time previous she went all about the room barely touching the chairs for support, but when she suddenly discerned, that she needed no help, she trotted back and forth over the door sills the length of the house, until so tired that the next day, she was scarcely out of my arms.  Fortunately she was not heavy; though plump, she weighed only 16 1/2 lbs at a year.  How interesting and important these incidents are to a mother in connection with her children and especially her experience with her first born.
    1858.  In March of this year, Mrs. Garretson added a fourth daughter to her family named Emma Molesworth[?] for myself, and a gentleman friend. On April 10th {1858/04/10} I sailed from San Francisco, for a visit to my old home.  A rule having been established by the Co. that no officer should take any of his family on the ship with him, I went in charge of Purser

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1858.  Haren on one steamer, while his wife went on another with Seymour. Mr. John Birmingham was also very kind and attentive.  That was before the time of condensed milk and baby missed the nice rich milk which had been her daily food. Many substitutes were used for infants, and one lady carried her baby of eight months, through safely on a diet of lady fingers moistened with weak wine and water.  I thought my Annie was getting accustomed to doing without her milk. but one morning when I was sitting with her on deck, she begged piteously for some and when I said I was so sorry I could give her none, she said "den give my queam[?]" - again I gave her the same answer, when stretching out her little hands towards the angry white capped waves, she said in a tone that went to my heart. "dere is penty[?], mamma" 
    We arrived at Panama too late to cross the Isthmus that afternoon, so we went with other passengers, to a Hotel for the night.  As the steamers were usually on time, the arrangements were supposed to be made for serving a grand dinner, but with profuse regrets the proprietor announced that they were not prepared but would do the best he could, but we should have an elegant breakfast. So we made our supper on boiled eggs which we opened with suspicion, poor

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1858.  bread, muddy coffee, and fried bananas, and started for our sleeping apartments, which proved to be like wards in a hospital, and even less privacy. - and such beds! A glance at mine satisfied me that neither on, or under such covers, could I rest, so I spread my shawl over it, and pinned a towel of my own over the pillow, for my baby to rest her little head on, thankful she was too young to be squeamish about her accommodations, or lack of them. Undressing her, I rocked her awhile in my arms, hoping to soothe her, she was so excited from the many changes and strange surroundings, and then putting her on the bed, fanned her the entire night. The sand flies or gnats, lighted on us in swarms, if we ceased fanning for a moment, and the sting was so irritating! How welcome was the daylight, and how eager were we for  breakfast, that we might take the train for Colon. The morning meal was a decided improvement over the supper. Even if we did have to remove the feathers from the fried chicken. -
    When at sea on the broad Atlantic, we felt we were fairly started for home, and all became chatty and cheerful as the days passed, until on the morning of May 13th {1858/05/13} at 5 o'clock we arrived at the pier at New York.  Expecting brother Arnold to meet me, I waited until after 6, and leaving word with the steward to tell him when he came, that I was to take the train for home, took a carriage for the depot.

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While waiting there, took Annie to the restaurant for breakfast and called for an oyster stew, giving Annie her first taste of the delicious bivalve, and by the time her appetite was appeased, there was no chance for my breakfast.  In settling the bill, my attention was diverted from her, but in taking her in my arms, found she was hugging a half loaf of bread she had taken from the table, in imitation of some of the children on the steamer, some of whom snatched on leaving the table a roll or muffin to eat later.  It created a laugh among the onlookers, she was such a little tot.  Having missed Arnold, I was anxious to reach home without the knowledge of any of the family, but on the train, I met Major Williams, a dear old gentleman, and a friend of father's. He was delighted to see me, and on arrival at New London called out to a gentleman at the station, "Fitch, here is our friend Weaver's daughter with her baby, all the way from California" - (a great circumstance at that date) - Without waiting to greet me, he ran up to the store and informed Henry, who stopped the carriage in passing, and getting in, we made quick time to the house.  With Annie in his arms, he ran up the steps, and on being admitted, rushed into the room where mother and the girls were, I following. Such hearty greeting and welcome and all

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1858.  talking together, my Annie looking on with wide inquiring eyes.  Julie went out where father was smoking and asked if he was not coming in to see me, and he said "yes, when she comes." - "Why she is here now," said Julie and he lost no time in coming, and was so delighted with baby's friendliness, and readiness to accept the relationship. She at once established herself as an important member of the family, and especially in the heart of her auntie Jule, where she ever remained a favorite among all the nieces and nephews. 
    While still in the excitement of first arrival, a telegram from Arnold was brought in saying I was on my way home, Father laughingly said, "Well, Emma, I always gave you credit for being a smart girl, but never expected you to beat the telegraph."
    I should have mentioned earlier that having become weary of crossing the ferry daily, father sold our beautiful home in Groton, and returning to the city rented temporarily a house on Richards Street, being scarcely settled when we arrived. The fall following he purchased a house on State street, north side between Union and Meridian (then No. 97.) into which the family moved the next spring, and where he and mother passed the remainder of their days. 
    As the weather was still cool on our arrival there was a little fire in the furnace, and Annie chancing to step on the regis

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1858  ter, the hot air blew her little skirts out to her great surprise; stepping off, she looked down the register and said in such a querying tone, "wind b'ows mamma! `ot or cold?" to the great amusement of all.  She was exposed on the steamer to whooping cough, and a week after arrival commenced coughing. In a few days she whooped and strangled while the blood flew from her nose at every paroxysm, frightening her exceedingly. As she still had some teeth coming, I feared a complication of ills and called in Dr. Sites my old homeopathic physician, under whose treatment, the most violent symptoms were soon subdued, and in six weeks the cough had entirely disappeared.  Dear mother took the disease from her, and they sympathized with each other. Her room was next mine, and after a severe paroxysm in the night which started mother coughing, Annie before fairly regaining her breath, gasped, "poor gammy! her corks[?] so yard[?]." 
    In July we went to see the grandparents in Brattleboro; while with them we visited the relations in Chesterfield, New Hampshire crossing the beautiful Connecticut river. Annie amused grandma with her constant prattle to the house. "Old hossy, how you like riding on a bidge? Annie likes walking in a carridge on a bidge!"

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1858.  We took dinner with Uncle Amos Thomas, stayed over night at Uncle Oliver Farnsworth's, took dinner and tea at cousin Newell Colburn's, and went to Uncle Ezekiel Colburn's for the night. (his wife was Patty Farnsworth.)  It was a double house, his son George and family occupying one half. - as I could only stay for one meal the two families joined forces so we could all be together. The breakfast was overwhelming in quantity and excellent in quality.  Fried chicken, creamed codfish. potatoes, hot cream biscuit brown bread, pickles, preserves, apple pie, baked custards, doughnuts, cheese and coffee are all I now remember.  In the desire to honor the wife of the favorite nephew and cousin, I was reminded of a remark made to a beloved pastor, by one of his parishioners when serving him with coffee, on being contained against making it too sweet, said "all molasses is none too good for my minister!"
    The next morning we returned to Brattleboro enjoying exceedingly the mountain drive in the cool sweet air, and listening to the music of the lovely waterfalls of which we passed many.  After spending three weeks there we went to Easthampton Mass. to visit the Sawyers' and found Henry doing well under the admirable training of his stepmother, who had a little son of her own. We remained a few days

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1858.  in their beautiful house and returned to New London. In September with aching heart and blinding tears, I parted from the loved ones again, and turned to the home in the "Golden West," and to the one dearer.  By my own request father and mother did not go down to see us off, feeling it would be easier for them, and certainly for me, to part from them in their own pleasant home. Arnold went to New York with me, and dear uncle Elisha joined us there. The next afternoon we went on board the Steamer when Arnold left us, as he had business to transact before returning but Uncle Elisha waited to see us leave the pier. The steamer had scarcely started, when a cylinder head blew out, compelling us to return, and were informed that as we must be transferred to another ship, so we would not sail until next day. We returned to the Hotel, and sailed next day in the "Rolling Moses" Taylor[?] as she was dubbed from her remarkable capacity for rolling, in a comparatively smooth sea. Uncle Elisha with his usual generosity loaded us with fruits and goodies for our voyage.  On arriving at Panama I made a vain attempt to see Capt. McLane, the Co's Agent there, hoping to induce him to allow me to remain over, until the arrival of the "Gate" and go up with Seymour. Later found he was passenger with us, and he soon came to my room, and introducing himself made quite a call;

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1858.  By his charming, easy manners, he won my admiration and confidence at once, and I had no feeling of his being a stranger  Even if he had not been so delightfully cordial, he would have won my heart from the manner in which he spoke of my dear husband. He said he had made his own first trip as first officer on the ship, when Seymour was a subordinate one, and had ever since taken a warm interest in him from his faithful performance of his duties. He was an exceedingly fine looking man, and continued a warm friend to Seymour. 
    After reaching San Francisco, I went to Benicia to pass the time until Seymour was due, and on coming to the city went to the "International" on Jackson Street, then one of the best hotels.  Mr. Thomas Stoddart, who had been third officer under Seymour several trips came for permission to take Annie to the steamer on its arrival, to see if she would recognize her father. I consented, and when he called for her, it was ostensibly to take an omnibus ride, giving her no idea of his real purpose, but as soon as she reached the deck, she espied her father at the farther end of the steamer and exclaimed "My sees Annie's papa ober dere"! leaving no room for doubt of her recognition, though she had not seen him for seven months, and was only twenty months old when he left her. We went with him on the steamer to Benicia

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1858.  and remained until after his return from his next voyage, when he was transferred to the John S. Stephens, as first officer.  Capt Robert Pierson in command. 
    Annie was much disturbed at finding the hills so brown and sighed for "the g'een g'ass and f'owers" which she so enjoyed at gammy's.  I told her that after awhile the rain would come, and make the ground soft, so that all the little seeds lying there waiting, would come up, and she would see first tiny green beans, and soon after flowers, and all the things planted, fruits and vegetables would grow again; but before this the clouds would grow dark and the sun would not shine. Daily she watched for signs of rain, and when at last, while out at play, a few drops feel on her bare arms she came running in to show them to me, her face aglow with delight, exclaiming "Mamma the rainy season has come, and now all the f'owers will come up, and eby ting"! After a pause, as if thinking said "and Mamma, may be, Adam will come up too". I told her I hoped not, for there was more than enough of him above ground already.  One day she pricked her finger, and cried at sight of the blood; in thinking about it she asked what she was made of, and manifested great disgust on learning she was made of dust, saying

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1858.  My don't like to be made of dust; my rather be made of eggs" of which she often made her breakfast. 
    Not long after in meddling with a knife she cut her finger, and, instead of crying, came running to me, stretching the wound open, regardless of the blood, saying "where is the dust mamma? my don't see the dust"! - She had little faculty and less inclination for amusing herself, and once when fretting because her blocks would not stand as she wished I sat down on the floor, to show her how to build, telling her when they fell, she must build again, and be patient and persevere if she wished to succeed coming over to me, with such an expression of inquiry on her little face she said "mamma where perschere's[?] house is? My knows Percy Garretson[?], but my dont know perschere[?]."
In December, we went to the city for the winter, and boarded at the Rossette house on the corner of Bush and Sansome which a little later was destroyed by fire, and the Cosmopolitan was erected on the site. This building shared the same fate some years later.  Mrs. Keeler whose husband was store keeper on one of the steamers, at one time with Seymour, came out with her little Alice to join him, came to the same house, and we became very warm friends.

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1859.  Alice was seven months younger than Annie, and the two played very nicely together.  We all went to Benicia in March, and boarded for nearly four months for the benefit of the pure country air. Mrs. Garretson making room for us.  In July we returned to the city, Mrs. Keeler having decided to go to house keeping, and for nearly two years I boarded with her first on Minna street and later on Bryant near Second.  In November while living on Minna street a little sister came to Alice, making Annie very jealous, but on the first of December the following year, a dear little brother came to her, on Bryant street. 1860.  Seymour was temporarily in command of the Co's S.S. Columbia, running to various ports on Puget Sound.  She was so much overdue, that fears of her loss were entertained, but to prevent me from worrying told me she was delayed at one of the ports, and could not get over the bar; so there was great rejoicing when she came safely into port. Seymour was surprised to find a little son on his arrival, and of course happy to find us doing well.  1861.  On the first of April, Mrs. Keeler broke up housekeeping. and went to board with her brother in San Jose.  I felt quite adrift, but after looking about, engaged board on Mission street at Captain Fales, a few doors from

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1861.  Second street, north side, but the rebel atmosphere after war was declared, rendered it so extremely unpleasant, I could not comfortably remain, as I did not wish to be drawn into arguments with Clinton Palmer, a hot headed Southerner inclined to be disputatious, and certainly was very ungentlemanly and disagreeable.  It was extremely difficult to keep Annie from his children, as our rooms were exactly opposite, and though I did not allow Annie to enter their premises, Mrs. Palmer did not mind hers coming to my room, - and they could not avoid meeting in the hall.  Annie came to me in great indignation one day, saying "Eddie Palmer calls my a dirty little A, and my isn't dirty at all"! I did not think it necessary to explain that a letter of the alphabet was not in his mind, but something far less agreeable.  Two months was all I could endure quietly, knowing matters would not improve while the war continued, so I took a real little house of six rooms on Silver street near 4th where we remained only three months.  The Co's Agents being seized with an ??? freak, commenced operations by cutting the officers' salaries; as we could only with economy meet expenses on $150 per month, the reduction to $125 rendered living on that impossible under the circumstances.  Father and mother had for some time been urging me to come home for a visit of not less than a year, saying it was too long and trying a trip to be

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1861.  undergone for a less period of time.  I persuaded Seymour to apply for permission for us to go and they gave us free tickets as heretofore. I did not expect to be permitted to go on the steamer with him, but Capt Pearson said if we could get ready at so short notice, he felt certain he could arrange it for us.  So I made preparations accordingly.  There were only three days before sailing, and Seymour was in Benicia so I could have no assistance from him. I commenced packing that evening, and worked until midnight, going to bed, only to lie awake, and calculate what supplies I must have for the children's wardrobe.  Next morning leaving them with my faithful maid of all work, went to three second hand furniture dealers, and arranged for them to come next day an hour apart, to fix on price for purchasing the entire outfit. Then to an old friend who gave me some clothing her children had outgrown, a perfect godsend to me. Mrs. Heath another good friend came with thimble to assist and remained all day rendering invaluable service.  The best offer for my household goods was only $300 on an outlay three months previous of $700, but I could remain in the house until the day for sailing, and walk out, with out even washing breakfast dishes.  This was on Saturday. On Sunday went out to see if I could find any children's clothing stores open and succeeded in making an arrangement for

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1861.  having my order filled and delivered on Monday afternoon. By putting baby again into long clothes for the first of the voyage, I managed to keep him neat, with the slips I bought, and reserve the best of his clothes for the home going.  By Monday Evening, when I had everything in readiness, children asleep, and trunks packed, word came that Capt. Pierson's application had proved unsuccessful, but the Agents would give me free tickets for the steamer following.  I had taxed my energies to the utmost and when Seymour came a few hours later was worn out with grief and disappointment. Though tears could avail nothing, they would not cease for hours, and the parting next morning was doubly painful from blasted hopes of a trip together in which we had mutually indulged, and thoughts of a long separation.  My plans were speedily made.  As I had agreed to give up the house on that date, I went that afternoon to Benicia and stayed with the Garretsons' until the night before sailing when I went by invitation to our friends the Whittiers' on Howard street between First & Second, and sailed next morning on the Sonora[?] Capt Baby in command.
    Baby Charlie took the whooping cough on the way, and when we reached home, was far from being the lovely boy I took from San Francisco. Both children were disfigured from the heat, but their altered appearance did not detract from the warmth of our welcome.  Annie resumed her old place, and my boy was

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1861.  soon the pet of the family, but the especial darling of father and mother. Sarah and Arnold who each had a son before I first left home, had added to their families. Arnold having a little Annie seven months older than mine, and Sarah another son, Jamie, a year younger.  Henry had also married in 1856 and had a son Arthur, about Jamie's age; - so there was quite a family of cousins.  Of Frederic, Sarah's oldest son, I was from the first exceedingly fond - and he was a lovely and most attractive child. 
    In November after Charlie's cough had subsided, I went to Brattleboro taking Annie, as even if I could have dared taking him to a colder atmosphere, I could not expose the children of Seymour's brother Hiram, who were spending the winter there. Hiram had married in December of 1855, Harriet Stoddard an old neighbor in my childhood, and gone to Kansas to live taking Kate and Mary, children by the first marriage, and there were two sons and a daughter by the second. William, Adaline and James. We remained two weeks, and returning passed a very quiet winter, except for the excitement and anxiety over the distracting state of the country, and the progress of the war. The capture of the Confederate Commissioners, Moran and Slidell, appointed to visit England with the object of se-

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1862. curing aid and recognition of the rebel government, created, intense excitement and the feeling was very strong and bitter towards them in every loyal heart, and which did not abate after their release.  Seymour was an ardent patriot, heart and soul in unison with all who were true to the old flag.  So when Moran and Slidell chanced to be passengers on his ship, he was placed in a most embarrassing position.  On being introduced, as they extended their hands, he said, "Gentlemen, as guests on my ship, I will see that your voyage is made as comfortable and agreeable as possible, but you must excuse me for declining to shake hands with those I consider traitors to my country". 
    It was undoubtedly a very impolite step on his part, as Capt. McLean was a Southerner, and thought to be in sympathy with his State, but Seymour said he could not be so hypocritical as to appear to countenance their doings. Even if it cost him a loss of his position.
    On March ninth the entire north was greatly cheered and encouraged after a long series of defeats and misfortunes, by the outcome of the battle between the Merrimac and Monitor. There had been great gloom and depression, and the anxiety was intense. That day - Sunday - father went to the office before service, and left word that if any news came from the seat of war, he wished it sent to him at the church. During the afternoon,

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1862.  sermon he was called out and returning with an Extra gave it to the pastor, requesting him to read the account of the naval battle with its result, to the congregation. Such delight and relief were depicted on every countenance that it seemed difficult to refrain from cheers. As an outlet the pastor said, "let us give thanks" and every head was bowed, and many cheeks met with tears of joy, while Amens were audible all over the church at the conclusion of the prayer.  The discourse was resumed, although the people might have as well been dismissed, as the minds of all were far away fighting that battle over again. 
    On Saturday morning, March 19th {1862/03/19} our second daughter was born.  Father brought Charlie to my bed, and the boy stretched out his little arms, with such a glad "mamma" to me, but when father showed him the little sister, he was for a moment dumb with surprise.  Just then she opened her big blue eyes, and he shouted "oh baby, baby light eyes"! and springing forward, would have put his fingers in them, could he have reached her.  Hugging him close in his arms, father said, "you are welcome Emma, to your black haired little one; but I had rather have one like this, than forty like that." I said "how astonishing! I quite agree with you in preferring one to a multitude."   We called the newcomer, Della Lerow[?] at grandma Farnsworth's request, after the beloved

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1862.  first wife of her eldest son - Hiram.  When she was three weeks old, Annie was taken singularly ill: ten days before while at play, she had slipped on the stairs and fallen down three or four, but complained of nothing except that the jar hurt her head, and we thought no more of it, until the symptoms of brain trouble followed, resulting in concussion of the brain. For days she was very ill, and small expectations of her recovery were entertained.  Dr Sites said "don't pray for her life, she may be an idiot if she lives."  After the crisis passed she slowly rallied but it was months before we felt assured of her ever again being our attractive little Annie again. A very trying time it was for us all; she was so perverse and irritable, and the Doctor said we must not antagonize her in any way; she understood the situation fully, and made all possible use of her power.  Previous to her illness, sister Julie had several times taken her to call on friends and was very proud of her in every way, "she was such a little lady". One day when Annie had been particularly trying and disagreeable, she said, "Annie when you came here, you had the nicest manners, and were the most beautifully behaved child I ever saw: but I cannot say as much of you now"! to which I quietly replied, "it does not speak favorably for the influence of her associations, since she came," at which all present smiled. Father was a perfect slave to my boy, and mother was equally

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1862.  devoted to him. It was always her privilege to prepare his food and daily at eleven o'clock, brought a glass of oatmeal "podgy" freshly made, and after feeding put him to sleep.  Every one pronounced him a lovely child. With his fair skin, rosy cheeks, roguish blue eyes, and rings of golden hair covering his pretty head, I thought him beautiful. Father used to resort to all manner of devices for getting away from him, when he was ready to go down town, but Charlie was always on the alert, so he could not elude him and he often spent the best part of the morning in trying to get away without his crying. I think father rather enjoyed it, with his pitiful plea as he put out his little hands of "camepa"! - He was devoted to his "ganga", and evidently admired as well as loved her.  One day as we sat sewing, while he was playing about the room, he went behind the table, and peeping under the cover said in such a sweet little voice, "oh so dear, pritty ganga! - gashopper"! Father said after a hearty laugh, squeezing the boy in his arms, "there is one grandchild, who knows how to appreciated his grandmother."  The morning previous he had brought in one of those lively insects for Charlie's diversion, which had afforded so much pleasure, that he could in no other way express his loving admiration, and the delight he took in her.
    In June sister Sarah gave birth to a little daughter, an event

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1862  hailed with great delight by us all especially as the other children were boys. But their happiness was of brief duration for in six days God took her to Himself. 
    After our visit in July to the Vermont grandparents, the dear papa became very urgent for our return, and I made arrange to take the steamer leaving New York, September 20th. As Capt. McLane then the Agent in N. Y. was a friend of Seymours I thought perhaps if I saw him myself, I might persuade him to allow me to meet Seymour and go up on the other side with him. Uncle Elisha went with me to the Co's office in Wall street, where I saw Capt. McLane by previous arrangement. I stated my errand also told him I fully realized I was asking a very great favor in proposing that the Co. should set aside its rules for me, and in conclusion said "now Capt McLane don't you think it will be very hard for me to make this long tedious voyage alone with three little children, when my husband is going over this identical route, and would be so happy to take charge of his family?" He laughingly assented and said he would have to arrange matters for me, and after a pleasant chat, I bade him good day with many thanks, and a grateful heart, that my mission had been successful, and with my previous impression that he was a charming man, greatly strengthened.
    Such a busy time in preparation for the voyage, and besides that for the winter wardrobes, so there would be as little as possible for me

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1862.  to do after our arrival.  The time passed swiftly and all too soon for the dear ones we were to leave behind.  We took the night boat to avoid the heat and dust of the train. The two babies were undressed ready for putting into their berth on reaching the boat. Julie with nurse and children were already in the carriage, and Arnold was waiting on the steps for me. I bade the dear parents good bye and passed out to the front door, when a sudden impulse impelled me to return; - obeying it I went back, and kneeling before father said "give me your blessing father." Placing his hand on my head, in a voice trembling with emotion he said "The Lord bless and keep you my child, and lift upon you the light of His countenance" I seem still to hear the solemn tremulous tones.  Without a word I kissed him and I left him with a strong conviction that I had looked my last on his dear face, and getting into the carriage followed by Arnold we drove to the boat where my mind was diverted in settling the children for the night. 
    Fearing capture by the Confederate steamer Alabama, we left New York under ??? but were not molested. We had a pleasant trip: as we neared Colon the anxiety intensified and on the night of the 28th we cast anchor. My beloved was waiting for us, and was soon on board. Annie was wild with excitement and was in his arms as soon as he stepped on deck.  The

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1862.  meeting was indeed a joyful one, and it was a happy family which crossed the Isthmus next morning having remained on board over night.  We found on collecting our baggage that a trunk containing our heaviest clothing was missing and found later that by mistake it had been left on the dock in New York, but it came by steamer following.  Della completed the sixth month of her little life the day we arrived in Panama, and also sailed for San Francisco. The Orizaba of which Seymour had been for some time in command, steamed out of the bay as soon as passengers and freight were on board.  The children gave no trouble on the trip and made friends with every one. Charlie was contented to remain most of the time on deck with nurse, and Della would sit by the hour in the berth babbling to herself and looking at her pretty hands, so that I had little care. Annie wandered all over the ship, quite competent to amuse herself, and we had no fear of her getting into danger or mischief. On arriving at San Francisco, the nurse, who had proved very trying the latter part of voyage, left the ship with the passengers though she had engaged to remain with me, so I had to get along as best I could.  Seymour had engaged a house on Tehama street before leaving port, and next morning sent for the keys, so we made ready to leave the ship. The man came back saying the house was occupied, but if he would call the

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1862.  money he had paid to secure the house would be refunded.  It was exasperating but we had to make the best of it, and remain on board over night again. The next morning when on his way to a house broker's he met an acquaintance who on learning Seymours errand, said he could suit him exactly; his family had gone away for the winter, and his house was ready for a tenant, with a cook already installed, a great convenience certainly, - and he engaged it without delay, at $125 per month, and by evening we were comfortably settled in 43 South Park with Mr. and Mrs Lux close neighbors at 41.  The next day secured a nurse - Seymour sailed again on the 20th of October, feeling that everything was satisfactorily arranged for us.  After the rains set in the house proved very damp, and chilly, and Annie took cold which settled in her ears, threatening her with permanent deafness. 
    When papa returned he brought a beautiful little fawn which soon became domesticated, and followed the children everywhere like a dog; we all became very fond of the pretty pet.   One morning the nurse having brought the baby home asleep brought her in the carriage to the nursery, which opened out of my room, and went downstairs to attend to her duties there. Soon I heard Charlie coming up, but fearing to awaken baby, did

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1862.  not speak, and I also thought he would come directly to me, but seeing his sister alone, the temptation was irresistible.  I quietly peeped through the open door & watch the proceedings knowing she would awaken in any case. Such a pretty picture presented, - I wish we had a photograph of the scene.  Della fair as a lily sweetly sleeping, her long black lashes lying on her pink cheeks, her red lips half parted in a smile, her dainty hands outspread showing dimples at every joint, - and Charlie equally fair, with his long golden curls, and bewitching smile bending over her, in blissful admiration.  Presently she moved a hand and Charlie taking it in one of his own, shook it gently, saying softly, "mornin Dedda! how do Dedda?"  Wide open came the blue eyes, and she smiled sweetly on him: - then he could no longer restrain his ardor, and saying "oh Dedda! my foreet `amb! do oo `ant to det up? well oo sall! oo petsa un (precious one) me, Chardie will kake oo up" and heading over to put his arms about her, the carriage lost its balance, and over went the two babies, carriage and all, as in Rock a bye baby in Mother Goose's rhymes, with the addition of a double wail.  Of course I was there to rescue them, but was so convulsed with laughter that it was with difficulty I righted the carriage and lifted the frightened babies, who were not hurt in the least.  The descent from the sublime to the ridiculous was so sudden.  Nurse hearing the

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1862  shrieks came running up stairs and was so vexed with Charlie for waking baby said he ought to be punished; but I informed her I had my opinion on the subject, and when I wished hers, would ask for it. 
    While Seymour was in port, chancing to meet his old schoolmate and fellow townsman Mr. Frank Brooks, mentioned that he would like to purchase a house within convenient distance of the Co's dock and office.  Mr. Brooks said he was preparing to go east with his family, and would sell his house, and invited him to go and look at it, which he did, and was so pleased in every way, that he made an appointment for me to see it next day.  To me it seemed an ideal home, with lovely vines over hanging the porch at entrance, garden handsomely laid out, and filled with flowers trees and shrubs, and the sunlight flooding the entire premises.  There was also a large planked yard shut off from the front, where the children could play in perfect security, well shaded by beautiful oak and laurel trees, of which there were many all over the grounds. The house was one of two joined in the centre, with entrances on opposite sides, so we were as free from observation of the other occupants, as if living some distance apart. It was built in Boston and brought around Cape Horn in sections, and put to-

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1862.  gether here. It was first occupied by Captain Paterson, then in command of the S.S. Golden Gate. We decided to purchase house and furniture and to be given possession early in January, but when the time arrived I was ill of rheumatic fever, and could not be moved until the last of the month. I was attacked the night before Seymour sailed on December 20th and had four weeks later to be carried down stairs by two men placed in a carriage and driven to our new home at 20 Laurel Place. It seemed impossible to make the effort, I was so helpless, but the Dr. (Bryant) considered my chances for recovery would be greatly enhanced in the sunny cheerful atmosphere there. My old nurse Mrs. Winn[?] was with me during my illness and friends were very kind. Mrs. Whittier constantly bringing or sending me dainties, and Mr. and Mrs. Lux were untiring in their attentions taking Charlie in the commencement of my illness to their own house, and caring for him until we moved; he was just two years old. This was the first of his visits with them, which continued during his life. They were warmly attached to him, and he dearly loved them.
    1863.  When Seymour returned we were nicely settled in our new home. The street took its name from the grove of laurel trees through which it was cut. His pleasure was marred by my feeble condition, I being able to move about a little on crutches, which for weeks I was unable to discard entirely.

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1863.  We had delightful neighbors. In the house adjoining Mr. and Mrs Donald McRuer[?] no children, on the corner below Mr and Mrs. Moore with one little son; Mr. and Mrs Bigelow next above us, then Mr + Mrs Ben Howard neither of these families having children, on the corner the I W. Eatons' with three children. Opposite corner. Capt Levi Stephens wife and two small daughters, next Mr. Samuel Hubbard wife and one little girl, Mr + Mrs Jolie Barton one little boy, Mr + Mrs Jerome Lincoln and little girl, Major and Mrs. Hammond and five children, and on the corner Mr. + Mrs. Meade -  childless.  The Hammonds' were Southerners and extremely bitter against the north, and consequently had nothing to do with most of the neighbors. They lost a baby not long after we moved there, and I so wished to convey my sympathy to them, but on mentioning it to Mrs. Barton she said any message I might send would probably be considered an insult, but I afterwards regretted not having obeyed my natural impulse.  
    Annie was really homesick for the dear New London friends, and when after I was able to go to church, she told me she did not dare to bow her head during the prayer the first Sunday, fearing she would cry, I could fully sympathize with the child. Often Charlie too begged

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1863.  to go to "bampa house," and was always going "tomorrow". The summer passed quietly, but in November came tidings that brother Turner engaged in mining in Austin Nevada, had died suddenly of congestion of the lungs, after only two days illness.  This was not only a grief to me to lose the only one of my family on this coast, but harder still that I must send the tidings to dear father and mother, that would wring their loving hearts. So many letters were commenced, which I had to cast aside they were so blurred by my tears, and I only succeeded by placing a handkerchief across the sheet, to absorb them as they fell. Day and night I followed the the letter across the ocean with payers and tears, dreading the time when it should reach its destination and deal the cruel blow. 
    I sent it enclosed to Sarah, that she might break it to them as gently as possible, but it was a heavy task for her poor girl!  I sent the only information I was able to gain from Cousin Peter Turner who though in that vicinity was not present at his death. Being on "Old Fellow", he was buried by that fraternity, and taken in a cart drawn by oxen about 100 miles through the heavy mud, to Virginia City for burial. A monument was erected over his grave, and there he sleeps awaiting the final call, as peacefully as though lying among his own kindred.

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1863.  Christmas was a sad time for me. but I would not allow my grief to mar the children's happiness, and they hung up their stockings, and had a lovely time over their gifts - 
    1864.  The cup of sorrow was not yet full.  Brother John who enlisted in the Union army, in the Quarter Masters Dept, (a slight lameness preventing his marching with the troops), was taken ill at Alexandria and placed in the Hospital.  Word was sent to father with the assurance that everything was done for his comfort, and should the disease assume an alarming force, they would notify him in accordance with his request to do so by telegraph. He immediately made preparations for leaving home, but a sudden illness delayed him and before he was able to leave his room came word that John was in a very critical condition, his illness having developed into malignant erysipelas.  Mother tried to persuade him to allow Arnold to go in his place, and when he refused to do so, endeavored to gain consent for herself to go with him, but knowing the difficulty of getting through the lines, thought he could get on more rapidly alone. Too ill to undertake such a journey he started but before reaching Washington he was seized on the train with a return of his dreadful attacks of distress in

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1864.  his stomach and he thought he would die. As soon as he reached a Hotel he dispatched a messenger for Mr. Augustus Brandagee, the Connecticut Representative to Congress. and a fellow townsman to obtain for him the necessary passports, - to which he responded at once in person. On seeing his condition he united with the physician in attendance in a protest against his leaving his room, and taking full instructions from father went himself to Alexandria. He died an hour before Mr. Brandagee arrived, and had he gone earlier, would have found him unconscious. Following instructions he had his body embalmed, and sent to New London for interment, as on account of his Union sentiments, his wife was estranged from him.  On receiving a telegram from Mr. Brandagee Arnold went at once to meet father, who had started for home sadly broken by this double shock, from which he never fully recovered. Losing two sons within three months, was indeed a heavy blow. Turner was 40, and John 36 years of age. John was buried with military honors in the family lot in Cedar Grove Cemetery in February 1864. He left two little daughters with his wife in Virginia who are now married and living in Washington D.C.
    About this time I had a nervous shock

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1864.  caused by Charlie's narrow escape from death by having taken an overdose of opium, administered by himself.  He was a mischievous little fellow, and a great climber, so I was extremely careful to keep every thing of an injurious nature beyond his reach.  The nurse had been with me only two weeks, but as she seemed reliable I felt quite easy in trusting the children with her under my superintendence. 
    One morning after having taken Charlie to the nursery to dress him while I was still in my room, she brought him to me perfectly lifeless, and as white as if dead, but could tell nothing of the cause.  I thought him dying and sent for the Doctor.  Taking him in my arms, I ran down to the nursery for restoratives, and just then Annie, lifting a cushion from the lounge, picked up a bottle, exclaimed "oh mamma, here is my bottle of opium - empty." It occurred to me instantly, that here was a solution of Charlie's condition, but how could he have obtained it from the shelf in closet next to ceiling?  I gave him at once the whites of eggs, while waiting for other remedies, followed by warm water and mustard to induce vomiting, and waited for Dr. Holman for whom I had sent at once by the butcher who happened to come just then on horse

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1864.  back, telling him to bring remedies for opium poisoning; as he did not arrive and Charlie was rapidly falling into a comatose state, the remedies I had given having failed to act, I sent for another physician who came but brought no remedies. I felt desperate, and while with nurse's aid I was walking him up and down in the garden to prevent his falling asleep, but in vain. Dr Holman arrived, and worked vigorously over him for what seemed a long time before the poison was ejected. Then after making black coffee himself, he remained two hours, to administer and watch effects, and came in several times during the day.  In the afternoon Charlie attempted to walk about, but staggered and had the appearance of one intoxicated. In the evening croup set in - to which he had never been predisposed, and for hours we were in doubt as to the result. Before our fears for him were relieved, Della had an attack of the same dread disease, - the first and last either ever had. The Doctor thought I had more than my share of worry and anxiety, but congratulated me on the presence of mind in so promptly administering antidotes, as when he arrived, it would have been too late to have saved him  That while the remedies failed to remove the opium, they they prevented it from taking the deadly effect it must

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1864.  without them have done.  I found afterwards that the nurse having risen early to do her own washing while the children were sleeping, discovered the key to closet where liquors were kept, and was overcome by the brandy to which she had helped herself.  Charlie always on the alert had climbed from shelf on a voyage of discovery, and finding the bottle of opium and glycerine Dr. Holman had prepared for Annie's deafness, drank the entire contents. The Doctor said it contained more than sufficient to kill an adult. 
    1864.  In May Annie commenced attending school taught by Madam and Professor Miel, in Starr King's church. She enjoyed it very much especially her French lessons, and also the companionship of the pupils. Carrie Cheever who lived at the head of the street took charge of her in going and coming. The tuition was twenty five dollars for a term of ten weeks. Professor Miel told me he chanced to be at the home of one of his pupils when Annie called to see her little mate who was ill, and he was struck with the ease and grace with which she entered the room: that she had the self possession and dignity of a lady, and Madam said she was the most perfect specimen of child and lady combined she had ever seen. 
    Charlie and Della were devoted to each other, and yet

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1864.  had frequent differences: but were always ready, when the tempest subsided to kiss and make friends. Some chewing gum having been brought them by a visitor, though I did not approve the practice I allowed each to have a piece, thinking they would soon tire of it; they thought it delightful.  Della becoming tired of hers, swallowed it, but Charlie, more prudent, put his aside for future use. Della observed where he put it, and when the notion for chewing again seized her, appropriated it. Charlie on missing it, accused Della of having taken it, and she instantly opened her mouth and showed it but sets her teeth to prevent his taking it from her.  A grand squabble ensues, and it takes some time to settle matters, but five minutes later, they are embracing and crowing like turtle doves.
    Charlie had not been willing to say the Lord's Prayer, but when measles were prevalent, and some of his playmates were seized, his objections seemed removed, but insisted on saying "deliber us from measles." When I explained that evil meant wrong doing, he relented so far as to say "deliber us from ebil measles" evidently considering the sickness came under that head.
    Our friends, Judge Wells, wife and little Willie of Fairfield spent a number of weeks with us this summer,

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1864.  and brought with them an Indian boy Jack, who amused Willie and made himself extremely useful in various ways.  He was said to be the son of a Chief captured in war, and was brought here from Oregon. Mr. Wells paid $40 for him to take care of Willie. 
    Many of these Indians were employed in families Jack was so faithful patient and trusty, always ready to wait on any of us, and amuse the children keeping them busy and happy in watching him make tomahawks, kites whistles, and in building wigwams, anything to interest and please them. He was a model for any child with a fairer skin to copy in obedience and general good behavior. He was then ten years old, but the change of climate, diet, and mode of life was unfavorable to his health, and like all of his race who have come under my observation died early of consumption.  Our pet fawn was from the first antagonistic to him, and when the children were at play in the yard we had to tie Dickie.  One noon while at lunch - a fearful shriek startled us, and hastening to the yard, and found that Dickie having cornered Jack, was butting him with his little horns, and would soon have killed him, had no one gone to his rescue.  We could not understand the cause of his aversion, as Jack was kind to him

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1864.  and he never attacked other children. Sometimes he would slip out when the gate was open for a moment and such a race as was necessary to capture him. He ran like a deer, truly. 
    This summer I was happy in the arrival of Mrs. Canarly from New London. Her husband Capt John Canarly having had the misfortune to lose his ship the Anglo-Saxon, it having been captured by the "Alabama" and burned at sea, not caring to risk a similar experience during the war, came to this coast for employment. He happened to connect with Seymour's ship the Orizaba, and he was at once interested to assist him. On arriving in port, Seymour introduced him at the Office and as there was to be a vacancy on his ship, applied for the position for Capt Canarly: there was considerable opposition, another officer having been intended for the berth but Seymour succeeded in getting the appointment for him.  On his recommendation, after proving his qualifications, he was transferred to the "Golden Age" as first officer with Commodore Watkins, but was virtually commander. Afterwards he was given command and proved most successful during the many years he was in the Co's service. He had left his wife in New London until it was settled whether he would remain on this

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1864  coast, and then sent for her to come out to connect with the Orizaba.  Knowing she was to be passenger with Seymour, I sent an invitation for her to come right to us from the steamer, and remain until her husband arrived from his voyage. Seymour could not persuade her to accept our hospitality, and she insisted on going to a hotel, and not until I went and almost forced her, would she consent to accompany me home.  Not having seen me since she was a child she considered it "an intrusion to quarter herself on people on whom she had no claim, and to whom her husband was under such obligations." I told her we Californians did not regard such things in that light, we were only too glad to welcome her, and so we would waive the subject, and hoped to make her stay with us enjoyable.  We did have a lovely time, the two weeks she spent with us.  I was making Charlie's first boy suits. and she was ready with thimble and needle, and braided his first little pants.  During the twenty six years which followed, she proved a most delightful, devoted friend.  Together we shared mutual joys and sorrows, and though several years have passed since she passed from earth, I still feel the loss of her sweet companionship. 

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1864.  Five years later Captain Canarly also died, leaving three daughters and two sons. Their eldest Lizzie very near the age of my Lottie, is married and at present a near neighbor, with her husband and interesting little girl.  Excuse the long digression. 
    My brother Charlie in command of a merchant ship was married this summer to Elizabeth Sherwood, of Westchester, New York. Our family was much much pleased with his bride, and Charlie in his letters to me exalted her to the skies.  Time proved that he had not over rated her virtues, and we all loved her dearly. I, who from close companionship for months in my family had best opportunities for knowing her worth, loved her as a sister. 
    1864.  On the evening of October 14th our citizens united in a grand torchlight procession, in demonstration of their loyalty to the old flag, and just previous to the re-election[?] of Abraham Lincoln as our President.  Many of the Irish voted for McLellan, the Democratic Candidate, and in the windows of other Democrats not a light shone, making their homes seem darker from the blaze of light in surrounding residences.  It reminded me of the incident in Jewish history when the door posts more sprinkled with blood to guide the death angel on his mission to slay the first born in every house where this sign was absent.

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1864.  On First Street I passed a district club just forming to join the procession, and one side of a transparency was the "Miners Foundry. Nary a broom there," on the other "We're coming father Abraham with 300,000 more." As they raised it an Irishman on the sidewalk commenced groaning. I found my fist doubling involuntarily, and well understood how easy it must be to knock down any one, daring to utter a word disloyal to our government. I felt quite equal myself to sending him into the gutter.  It was impossible to avoid getting excited in those stirring times, and when any tidings from the seat of war came felt obliged to run down after the children were in bed to talk it over, with the Whittiers'.  By way of explanation of the "broom" motto, I should have mentioned that the McLellan party styled themselves the "Broom Rangers." 
    About this time I invited some friends to dine, Judge Wells, among others.  Charlie having been naughty, I put him in my room for punishment, feeling secure of his safety there, and on leaving him said he might come out when he ceased crying.  He soon appeared in the parlor, his face wreathed in smiles, but with an expression which suggested to me that he had been in mischief.  On inquiring what he had been doing, he said

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1864.  he hadn't been eating my pills, which indicated that he had found my medicines, and he finally acknowledged he had eaten "lots." I kept them in a bureau, which had neither knobs or handles for opening the drawers, and kept the key in my possession, so felt safe from little prying fingers. He had opened it, by inserting his finger in the keyhole, and had eaten the contents of four bottles nearly full, of homeopathic pellets, besides a full one of Hepar Sulpur, of extra strength.. Those besides which were for coughs diarrhea rheumatism and indigestion. Mr. Wells suggested would neutralize, and said I need not worry about ill effects.  For a moment I was in despair but on reflection concluded he would not now be living if medicine could kill him, so stripping off his clothes not very gently I fear, applied the whalebone for disobedience, and put him in bed, though I could not refuse the kiss and embrace his loving little heart craved, and leaving him to the care of a kind Providence went down in a very perturbed state of mind, to my guests, and we sat down to our dinner which had been delayed by this untoward incident. 
    His dinner was only a glass of milk as he refused bread, and scorned anything less than "turkey, custard and fruit,"  but the pills made it rather an expensive meal, as it cost about $2.00. 

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    1864.  Goods of every description were extremely high and not knowing how long the war might last, I adhered to my usual practice of replacing articles of clothing as they showed indications of giving out to avoid large expense, and on accumulation, as I never employed a seamstress, and with no sewing machine until later, it was no small task to keep the house, and three children well supplied, especially as I made all Seymour's shirts, mostly linen, and never allowed his stock to go below six dozen - all the pants, cuffs and collars stitched by hand.  He always brought me the materials from Panama, as French goods were much cheaper there than any I could purchase in San Francisco, that is in linens.  For a pair of sheets (cotton) I was obliged to pay $4.25 in gold in this city, greenbacks being then worth only 68 cents I think. 
    To raise money for the prosecution of the War, a Sanitary fair was held on a sand lot on Montgomery street, where the Sick House was erected later. Crowds of people came to the city from nearly every part of the state, and spent their money freely in aid of the good cause. The repeated sale of the sack of flour, donated for the purpose, created great enthusiasm, and was afterwards taken east where the sale was repeated, so that an immense

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1864  amount was realized on that single article.  An enormous cheese was sold in small sections, at an exorbitant price, every one willingly paying it for a taste of the cheese which was so to swell the amount raised for our brave boys.  Articles of various kinds, were on exhibition to add to the attractions, but to Annie nothing equalled in interest, a representation in white sugar of the duel between Senator Broderick and Judge Terry of the Supreme Court, on account of a political quarrel. The entire scene was minutely portrayed. The dying blood stained Senator, being conveyed to the carriage by his seconds: - the attending surgeon: - the men standing around, awestruck, - made a vivid and permanent impression on her probably the more so, from the fact that her uncle Turner took her to see the funeral procession.
    Another fright on account of the children about this time.  I had often charged Charlie never to touch the matches, he seeming to have a fascination for them, telling him tales of little children being terribly burned to impress him, and emphasizing the matter by saying I would certainly punish him severely if he disobeyed.  At the same time I took every precaution to keep them out of his reach, so he need not be tempted.  This day I had given the care of both babies into the servant,

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1864.  while she was doing the chamberwork, and I was occupied in the kitchen.  After a time missing the sound of their prattle, I called to Mary to know if they were with her, and she said they had come down to me sometime before, but of course they had not done so, and a regular search was instituted, through the house, yard, up and down the entire neighborhood until I began to be alarmed and shook with nervous dread of what might happen to two such tots, straying off alone.  Then it occurred to me they might be in the chicken house, and I rushed there, before notifying the police.  As I opened the door of the coop, I heard Charlie chuckling, at my repeated calls, the sound proceeding from the out house, on the upper part of which door, I had caused a hook to be placed to avoid danger of their going there by themselves, with a charge to the servant never to leave it unfastened. In this instance she had neglected to do so.  On attempting to open, found they had locked themselves in, and they did not know how to unfasten the door.  After several ineffectual efforts to burst the door in, I stopped a moment to consider, in an agony of fear lest they might fall into the vault, as it was before the introduction of outside patent closets.  Providence who it is said has

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1864  an especial care over drunkards and little children must have kept watch over my darlings and pitied the anxious distracted mother, for with a renewed effort mustering all my strength the lock gave way, - and what a sight met my eyes!  On the floor and seat were quantities of broken matches, and their little hands were full but not one had they succeeded in lighting  Had they taken fire while were were away looking for them they must have burned to death, before help could have reached them.  I was so overcome at thought of the fearful danger escaped, I could only clasp them with sobs to my grateful heart. Becoming more calm, I gave Della her cup of warm milk, and put her in the crib for her morning nap, and taking Charlie on my lap told him of the great danger he had been in, and only that the dear Father in Heaven to whom we prayed. had taken care of him and his sister. I might be crying over my little children dead, - from his disobedience. He said he remembered what I had promised if he touched matches, and told me how he managed to get them.  Pushing a chair to the table, he climbed on it and by going to the very edge, managed to reach the match safe and got a box and went out there to have some fun. I felt I must keep my word, and make the punishment

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1864.  sufficiently severe to prevent a repetition of the offense. But what a trial!  Lighting a match I touched his dear little forefinger with it, - then cried far longer and more bitterly than he.  I bound it up very tenderly, took him in my arms, and in a sweet sleep, he soon forgot the pain, while for weeks I suffered from the fright and shock.  The punishment was effectual - he never showed the least inclination to play with matches again, and so soon learned perfect obedience in every respect. -     On taking Della up after she awoke from her nap, I found her very pale, and her eyes had a most peculiar expression: she commenced to get rigid and fearing a convulsion, sent Mary for the Doctor, while I proposed to put her in a warm bath. - The haste made in removing her clothing was probably a benefit, as she showed symptoms of nausea, and after repeated retchings threw off her stomach, a solid curd, the size of an egg, so strongly impregnated with the odor of sulphur, that there was no doubt of the cause of her illness.  It had not occurred to me that they might have put the matches in their mouths, or I would have given them an antidote.  Just then Dr. Holman arrived, and said it was a most fortunate thing that it 

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1864.  occurred at Della's nap time, as the warm milk was the antidote he would have administered with the addition of magnesia.  He expressed great sympathy for me in my repeated worries over them.  These two had the reputation among our friends of being the most mischievous as also the merriest, happiest little ones in existence - a part of their inheritance from their dear papa.  Charlie was scarcely three years of age, and Della eighteen months. 
    On Thanksgiving day I attended Starr King's church to hear the patriotic sermon to be anticipated from so loyal a citizen and eloquent a speaker, and a most stirring address it surely was.  The church was crowded to overflowing, and at the close of the discourse "The Battle Hymn of the Republic" was sung, Walter Campbell taking the solo, and the congregation joining in the chorus. No music ever so powerfully affected me the roof seemed almost to rise from the volume of sound and there was an atmosphere of suppressed excitement and enthusiasm, as at the close of each stanza, the chorus rung out with a grand outburst from the hearts as well as voices of the entire audience. A deep solemnity was manifested; and I hardly knew whether I was in the body or out but found the tears pouring out of my eyes

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1864.  and falling on my dress.
    Mrs. Wells was visiting me at the time, and on returning home, insisted on taking Charlie with her.  How could I let such a baby go so far from me? but as he had looked thin and pale of late, concluded to consent, in the hope that the change might be a benefit. Della missed him very much, but Annie thought it "a comfort to have him away for awhile". She told me "she had come to the conclusion that life was a bother": when I asked if she felt ready to die she said "no, as if she did she supposed her doll would be given to Della, and she wished her Julia to have better care, than she would give her." Later she asked if I did not think it a dreadful thing that such a beautiful doll should be burned up with all her lovely clothes, when the world was `stroyed with fire and brimstone.  Della too was very fond of a doll, and quite ready to appropriate Annie's if left within her reach, but not so tender of it as her sister. She was a sweet sunnytempered child, and so anxious to wait on herself in every possible way: at two and a half years could put on all her clothes, except her stockings which would get twisted.  Mrs. Wells wished to keep Charlie over Christmas, but not being willing to separate the children

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1864.  during the holidays, went to Fairfield to bring him home taking Della with me, intending to remain a few only, but on account of her having an ill turn my visit was prolonged to two weeks. 
    As Christmas drew near, there was much speculation as to what "Santa Quas" would bring and fervent prayers expressed their desires.  Friends having hitherto been so liberal in Christmas gifts I waited before getting much, to see what was not supplied.  Charlie wanted a gun, that he might go to war. I told him only men went to war, not such little boys, but he said he had a sword and a drum with sticks, only the head was broken, and if Santa Quas brought him a gun, he would be ready, as a man had promised to give him "sojer quose". In thinking over it he became so excited that stretching himself on the floor and wailed; until he fell asleep, the last long drawn out words being "I want to go to war".
    1865.  Early in this year, the New York Agents of the Co. sent word for all the commanders in their service to write a copy of what each considered a proper Captain's log. The one considered best by the Committee, to be furnished each Captain for general use, and I had the pleasure of learning that Seymour's, was taken for the model log.

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    1865.  Charlie admired his papa very much, and I overheard him telling Della, the steamer barber who came to cut his hair and head to put whiskers on his face so he would look more like him.  He objected to wearing bows, thinking neckties were manly.  A number of the latter having been brought to the house for renovating, he was much pleased with one in particular, and asked if he might keep it.  His father laughingly said "oh that is my bean-catcher Charlie."  When I was putting them up to send to the steamer he repeated his wish for that tie, and looking at it longingly, said I wish papa would give it to me, I want to catch girls too," proving he had caught the meaning of the expression.  Della had her curls cut a few days later, and on going to Mrs. Bartons, was asked what she had done to change her looks so, and she replied I've been to have my pictures tooken," but a more satisfactory explanation was reached when she informed her that the barber had cut off her curls.  Charlie's having been sacrificed earlier. 
    For many items concerning my childrens' earlier years, I am indebted to my dear mother's preservation of letters, which she returned to me, thinking with truth they would recall incidents which had passed out of my memory. 

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I copy here from a letter sent to the dear parents written 1865 April 16th {1865/04/16}.
As I sit down to night to write you, I realize how utterly powerless words are to express the strong emotions of my heart.  When the tidings first reached me, I could not believe that our good noble President was dead, and worst of all by the hand of a dastardly assassin.  I seemed for a time perfectly paralyzed. I had no one with whom I could talk; I could not fix my mind on books or sewing, and my over charged feelings found vent in tears. After a time it occurred to me to drape the windows in black in token of loyalty as well as grief, and had just arranged it when Mrs. Heath came in and we discussed the propriety of ladies equally with gentlemen wearing badges of mourning, and decided we would put them on.  On our way to purchase necessary materials, met two neighbors on the same errand. I have worn to day a double bow of crepe on my left shoulder. Annie the same, and Charlie as his father's representative, a band on his left arm.  Whole families were at church with their badges of mourning, and every church was more or less elaborately draped with symbols of grief, and mourning[?], the old flag being conspicuous. 
    Doctor Cheney read for the morning lesson, the first three verses of Isaiah 43d, also the 46th Psalm.  His text was Lamentations

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1865.  3d - 31st.  He seemed at first unable to proceed: his voice faltered, and his feelings overpowered him while many of the congregation wept in sympathy. With great effort he succeeded in getting through the service. I could follow him heartily, until he spoke of it as a dispensation of Providence, when every feeling of my heart rose in opposition. For some wise purpose God has suffered this foul crime to be perpetrated, but can we call it one of His dispensations, without admitting that Adam's transgression (or the murder of Abel) are in the same category?  Why should our Lincoln have been removed in this shocking manner, instead of by a natural death?  Was he too good and generous to deal with the instigators of this dreadful rebellion? and did our northern people require this sacrifice to stir up and fire more thoroughly their hearts in the cause of emancipation? I feel that I could not only send Seymour, but go myself and take the children if in so doing, I could help my country, and avenge his death.  Our only hope and comfort, is in the same Over-ruling[?] power that has hitherto led and sustained us." 
    19th {1865/04/19} "No one for a long time seemed impressed with his family's affliction, thinking only of the Nation's bereavement. How differently they would soon feel toward his

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1865.  "wife, had she been more in sympathy with him in his heavy burden and responsibility, and had manifested the zeal and loyalty for the north, that she did in more trivial matters.  (Many suspected her of being in sympathy with the South, as her interests were partly there.) The 19th of April, already memorable in our country's history is rendered thrice noteworthy, by the funeral obsequies of our beloved President. Has it occurred to you what a vast body of men to say nothing of women and children are on foot to day in token of grief and respect for our martyred President? And all marching at the same time while he was being conveyed to the tomb, or in returning from it?  Allowing for the difference in time the processions on this coast were forming, while at the east, they were marching or possibly dispersing.  It was a very impressive demonstration here.  By my watch, it was two hours lacking seven minutes in passing the window I occupied. We had two noticeable and unique features in our procession:- a large and respectable body of colored men for one; the other being some of our wealthiest Chinese merchants in three carriages: -the first time they have ever mingled with foreigners on this coast at least, in any public demonstration.    I do not remember having "felt the slightest inclination to write since hearing of

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1865  "the President's death until I saw marching along at slow funereal pace, a little black and white dog, decked in black and white crepe. I laughed at its comical appearance, then cried that I could have done so.  The loss seemed so personal, and my nerves were so shaken.  "Then after the procession had entirely passed, I saw a man preparing his family to start for home.  Placing himself with a baby in his arms at the head of the line, he directed his children to fall in two and two behind him, with his wife leading the last of eight children bringing up the rear.  It was too comical to see that man's proud bearing; probably he intended to impress their young and tender minds with the importance of this great and sad event in our National history." 
    Our little Della was a born worker; when a little more than three years old, she busied herself with her small broom in sweeping sidewalk and steps: was fond of dusting, and begged the cook to allow her to wipe the dishes, and was indulged so far as wiping those in kitchen use, with the spoons, knives and forks.  She always shelled the peas for our dinner, was very quick and energetic in her movements, and far more helpful than her sister, whose tastes lie in a very different direction. 
    Early in July my health being very wretched, I went, by  

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1865.  the Doctor's advice to the country for awhile, leaving Annie and Della at home in Mrs. Heath's care, and taking Charlie who would give me no trouble with me.  On my return Mrs Heath said Della was a perfect sunbeam, in the house, and was charmed with her independence of character combined with such sweetness: she was exceedingly fond of Annie and considered her wonderfully intelligent and original.  Though not fond of letter writing Annie was my regular correspondent, and in very interesting epistles kept me informed of all that went on at home.  Knowing how difficult she found it to fix her attention for the purpose, I fully appreciated her efforts.  Unless personally addressed, she would for hours at a time with a book curl up on the couch, and not speak a word.  The change was of no benefit, and I was forced to take my bed, immediately on my return. Charlie and Della were very happy in their reunion. In his absence, she talked daily of her "by-udders" (brother's) virtues, but on meeting they soon differed.  Though they so often had little disputes and "correls" (quarrels) it made no difference in their love for each other, though Charlie was generally the most ready to forgive and be friends.  During my illness, he came to me one day with tears running down his cheeks, and holding out his hand - on which

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1865.  were three places where Della with her sharp teeth had taken off the skin. I sent for her to come and give an account of her misdoing, but not feeling able to punish her as she deserved, told her how cruel and naughty she was to the little brother who loved her so dearly, and then asked him to excuse her this time if she was sorry, and promised to do so no more.  He was very ready to do so, and putting his arms around her neck, kissed and said I'll `scuse you Della, and what did the little minx do, but with the most loving expression on her saucy little face, clasp him close, saying, "I'll `scuse you too, Charlie." as if he were the offender.  I felt strongly inclined to shake her, and yet was inwardly laughing at the cheekiness.      My children were often a great perplexity, and I fully realized my incompetency, and the great responsibility resting on me in training, especially as I could have no help from their father in his constant absence from home, but they were after all, a world of comfort, and what would the home be without them? 
    On his return in August Seymour brought me a beautiful and unique gift - A broach made from opals, and Brazilian Beetles set in gold, and earrings to match. The opals and beetles were the gift

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1865.  of two passengers, and the setting Seymour's own design. They were greatly admired, and are still in the possession of the family, and are quite unlike any I have seen. 
    I have forgotten to mention that during my last visit at home Seymour was presented by Mr. Haggin (of the firm of Haggin and Teris[?].) who made a trip with him, with six lovely Sevres cups and saucers, which have quite a history, and found when on the steamer that he was using them in his room for serving tea to his guests. 
Two cups, and one saucer had been broken, and I protested against such valuable, delicate china being so recklessly handled - and put them aside saying I would appropriate them, and give him others, which would serve his purpose equally well - They were made in 1803 in the time of the First Consul, to celebrate the peace of Amicus[?], which was of only three months duration. The initials on the medallion Mr. Haggin had removed, and Seymour's initials in monogram in their place - which we all do regret.
    In August, Mrs. Storm[?] whom I had met at the Co.'s Agency at Acapulco, came up passenger with Seymour to spend the winter in the city, and he suggested that I invite her to spend a week with me, after he was again at sea, as she was a stranger and alone.  She gladly came, and at once ingratiated herself into the children's

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1865.  favor, and was ready to assist in anything which occupied me. She  was so depressed at the idea of returning to the boarding house that I invited her  to prolong her visit until near time for the steamer's arrival, but plainly stated that under no circumstances did we wish visitors in the little time he was in port. Coming in after his arrival, she proposed that we board her through the winter; she would sew, look after the children and the house, and relieve me of every possible care. I told her that I would board no one, and that I required no assistance beyond what my very satisfactory cook, and treasure of a nurse could render. The latter was a thoroughly trained English woman of thirty five or more and the most reliable nurse I ever had. Though her manners were agreeable and attractive I had an instinctive feeling that  Mrs. Storm  was not true; there was a glitter in her sharp black eyes that rendered me distrustful, but she was so kind and anxious to render me any service I was ashamed to express to Seymour any suspicion for which I could give no tangible excuse.  Finding I would not yield to her repeated pleadings, she privately worked on Seymour's feelings telling him he had no idea how

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1865. poorly I was; that I exerted myself to keep up to prevent his worrying about me, but that I really needed someone to look after me constantly.  She so wrought on him that he asked as a relief to his mind that I would allow her to remain during his absence, but my consent was reluctantly given.
    On the 8th of October {1865/10/08} we had the heaviest shock of an earthquake ever experienced here; many residences were injured by the cracking of walls, and falling plaster. Our doorbell rang violently, and the couch on which I was lying, moved a foot from the wall, but not an article was thrown down, while on the opposite side of the street our neighbors met with quite a loss in sweetmeats which fell with a crash from the shelves.  As I was quite an invalid several came in to inquire how I had borne the shock and were surprised me quite undisturbed by what  had created a panic in some portions of the city.
    The next Sunday, Della made her first appearance at church (3 1/2 years) going with Charlie and nurse in the omnibus, our only mode for public conveyance. I was in doubt about the propriety of letting her go, she was so restless, but Charlie pleaded, and nurse was positive she would be good, so I consented, and as on their return, the

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1865.  report was so favorable, I warmly commended my little girl.  Next day Mrs. Heath came in, and I told her of Della having been at church, and she laughed and said she thought every one within sight of our pew fully realized her presence.  Of course I inquired what she did, and mentioned the nurse's report.  "Oh" said she "she didn't make a bit  of noise, but  such proceedings! such tricks! she attracted more attention than the minister. Finally having exhausted other sources of amusement she took a notion to clean house, and wetting her glove in her mouth, washed all the wood work within reach, while Charlie convulsed with laughter watched her, and the nurse oblivious to all sublunary affairs was drinking in the gospel truths."  Soon after Annie took her to Sunday School, and when the teacher inquired her name, replied "oh I don't want to tell; you had better ask Annie".  She was  the cutest, glibbest little story teller (perhaps I should put it a little more forcibly) imaginable.  Annie was always truthful, and Charlie never prevaricated after learning the difference between truth and falsehood, though when very small remarked that "it is very hard to `stinguish `tween". Charlie was sometimes horrified at Della's  bare

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1865.  faced stories, and I was puzzled to decide whether she really meant to tell what  was untrue, or was drawing on her imagination.  Annie was more fond of her sister than of her brother, which I could not understand; the dear little fellow was always so ready to wait on, and do anything for her pleasure, but  Della was devoted to him, though loving her sister dearly.  
    Now came to me a great disappointment and trial. Seymour having had the promise of remaining at home through the December trip, we were anticipating great happiness, all by ourselves, but it proved as in other instances that "the best laid plans of mice and men, gang aft astray"- Three days before the steamer was to sail, he was notified that the Captain who was to have relieved him, was very ill, so Seymour must go.  His disappointment was as great as my own, and said it would be a comfort  to have Charlie with him, and a relief to me. At first I could not consent, but on thinking the matter over decided I had no right to deprive him of the pleasure of having one of his family with him, and besides it would be a delightful experience for Charlie. He was so obedient, I knew he would cause his father no uneasiness, and he would have all needful care and attention. There was short time for preparation for the long voyage,

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1865.  but with a suit of navy blue flannel and shirt waists for warm weather, there was no trouble, as washing could be done in Panama. I sent him to the prtists[?] and had two fine ambrotypes taken, and the next morning parted from my husband and only son.  As his fifth birthday would occur ten days later on December first, I sent some little gifts on board to be given him on that day, as a reminder of his mother's loving thought of him.  They had fine weather and nothing to mar the pleasure of either, and Seymour so enjoyed the companionship, and was so proud of him in every respect, that I was more than repaid for the sacrifice in parting with him. The first night out, after he was in bed, he told his father he felt sick, but papa said it was only imagination and he had better go to sleep. Soon after he called "papa, if you will come here, you will find something in the bed", and truly every vestige of the bedding as well as the boy's clothing had to be removed, and a fresh supply brought, that was the last of his sea-sickness.
    On December  eleventh {1865/12/11}, a third little daughter came to us, a great surprise to Charlie on his return. When bending over her, with great tenderness and pleasure

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beaming in his dear little face, I said "do you wish Charlie it  were a little brother"?  Could Dr. Holman bring one big enough for me to play with"? " No dear, only tiny, little ones like this." "Then I had rather have a little sister for me to take care of," and from that day he was perfectly devoted to her, delighting to do anything to amuse and please her, and it was remarkable how soon she learned to appreciate his attentions. He grew so manly in his absence from association with gentlemen who paid such attention to him, and became such a comrade with his father, but attached himself particularly to Mr. Louis McLane brother of the Co's New York Agent, who told Seymour he considered him remarkably intelligent  and amiable. The engineer on the steamer offered him a ten dollar greenback, a kind of money he had never before seen. After feeling it and turning it over doubtfully, he handed it back, saying "I thank you but I like the hard kind better" - much to the amusement of bystanders.
    There was a great discussion over baby's name. Annie wished it to be Nellie. Della insisted on Mary Ann[?], saying  it  was the putterest[?] name of all.  Papa wished her called Emma Weaver, but  I objected to the possibility of becoming old Emma, and as we both like Maude, decided on that 

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1866. with Newcomb, for the second name. She was much the largest of my babies, weighing 10 1/2 lbs. at birth and gained constantly until nearly two months old, she took cold, and developed pneumonia suddenly about two o'clock in the night, and we thought she would die before the Doctor could get here. Fortunately the children's nurse, had been second nurse in an English family, where the head nurse had a knowledge of Homeopathic remedies, and she had learned much by observation, and as I always used these remedies, when they had ordinary ailments, we agreed that Aconite was the one indicated, and administered it in minute doses. Her distress for breath was dreadful to witness. After a time she was somewhat relieved, but what agony to see her convulsive struggles, every breath threatening to be her last, and what gratitude when the spasms passed, and she fell into a quiet sleep. She did not  rally well, and I did not regain strength, so after much urging on the Doctor's part, I consented to have a wet nurse, though it was a great grief to give up so sweet a duty, to another and a stranger. I never allowed her, however to do anything for baby which I could do myself, not intending that she should gain the place in the baby's affections which was my right. So I bathed, dressed

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1866. and put her to sleep, and intended to be at her cradle when she awoke. Nurse grumbled and was jealous, but I held my ground, and the darling seemed to understand and recognize my right, for she would always leave Nurse to come to me, even when taking her food. I do not think mothers in general, can have the feeling I did about giving to another for nourishment, or they would be more persistent in their efforts to raise them on some one of the many foods so carefully prepared at  the present time.  Dr. Holman thought experiments would be very hazardous, she was so frail, but later Dr. Sites my New London physician told me, that "a good cow was in his opinion far better for any child that could not have its own mother".
    My children had a natural propensity for getting into all sorts of mischief; one of which was filling their ears and noses with a variety of articles from buttons to peaches.  Annie when two and a half, crowded a glass button, which had lost its shank, so far into her nostrils, that she was in distress for breath, and it was some time before her father was able to remove it with the aid of a crochet hook.  I wished to punish her, to prevent another such experience but papa thought she had suffered enough to serve as a lesson. The next day in passing through the kitchen on her way

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1866.  to the garden, she saw the fresh bread standing on the table to cool, and no one being present to prevent, she crammed her ears with the soft warm bread, and I with difficulty removed it. Charlie when even younger, filled his ears with peas, and though the Doctor worked a long time failed to get the last one, and, increased my anxiety by saying it might sprout and cause trouble.  A fortunate attack of sneezing eighteen hours later dislodged it to my great relief.  When three years old, Della came from Infant School with her ears crammed with green peaches the size of a pea.  I secured four, but had to send for the Doctor to come with his instruments.  After a long time he succeeded in getting two more, but as the daylight was waning, left the others until morning, when by syringing with oil and warm suds, he removed the last eight in all. On leaving he said "I do think Mrs. Farnsworth that for the frequency and variety of mischief your children get into, they exceed any I ever saw, and am not surprised that you do not feel easy, except when under your own care, or that of a reliable nurse."
    Messages now began to come from the dear father and mother for me to come home for a visit, and not later than the next summer, to remain until after the celebration

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1866.  of their golden wedding, in April of 1868. That seemed a long way off, but I commenced thinking about it.
    Seymour having obtained permission to take Annie with him in her vacation on a trip to Panama, they sailed the last of June.  From her birth she had been my constant companion. I missed her sadly, but had no anxiety about her in any way, knowing her father would take every care of her, and she would have a delightful time. Her birthday occurring on the return voyage, she gained her father's permission to celebrate it according to her own wishes, saying she thought it would give pleasure to others as well as herself.  After hearing her plans, he instructed the steward to give her all the assistance she required, and as she had already ingratiated herself into his favor, he readily entered into her plans.  Lady Dun, an English actress on board, who was attracted by her sociability and originality, volunteered her services, and together they arranged for tableaux, and other amusements, Annie taking the lead.  After luncheon, the dining saloon, was tastefully decorated with flags, and many of the passengers were present at the entertainment  Every one was amused, as well as surprised at her performances, and Lady Dun told her father, she would like to

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1866.  train her for the stage.  We had of course very different  views and aims for our little daughter. (10 years old) Years after, while on a visit  home, learned from a gentleman who was present, of the wonderful talent the Captain's daughter possessed in the arrangement, and acting of tableaux, he not anticipating that it would reach her mother's ears.  The world is not so large after all.
    A family by the name of Martin from Oakland were passengers on the same trip, and the son somewhat older than Annie, fell desperately in love with her, and was so jealous of her frequent mention of a neighbor's son, that he declared he would shoot him. That his ardor was not cooled by separation, was evident from his sending some months later a letter to her under cover to her father, filled with protestations of undying love, and a declaration of his intention to marry her when she was old enough.  I was at father's when Seymour sent me the letter saying he left it to my discretion as to giving it to Annie.  I did not choose to have my little girl's head filled with such ideas, considering there was ample time for her to think of lovers when her judgment  matured.
    Mother continued to write urgent messages for me to

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1866. come home, but I only gave encouragement that I would possibly be there in time for the golden wedding. But she and father thought it a long time to wait, and appealed to Seymour, who wrote that even if he could make up his mind to part with us, he felt they were too far advanced in years, to have the quiet of their house disturbed by the addition of a family of noisy children after having brought up such a family of their own. If, however, they could rent for us, a furnished house near them, where they could see as much, or as little of us as they desired, he might consent to our coming.  I considered the matter ended for the present, as in a small city like New London, it was quite improbable such a house could be obtained.  To my surprise the next steamer brought letters saying that an old neighbor living on Washington Street, a block and a half away from them, wished to pass the winter at the South, and would rent their house giving possession at our pleasure, and her cook would remain in our service, if I wished. It really seemed as if Providence favored my going, and now all my plans were made with reference to the breaking up of our house. The trip was not expected to be unallayed pleasure, with the care and responsibility of four children, and the preparations of the wardrobes

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1866.  for so many for such a long voyage, was no small matter, but I looked forward to the year at home with all the dear members of my family with confident expectations of such rest as I could find no where else this side of Heaven.
    In talking one day with Dr. Holman, I remarked that my life had been so widely different from what I could possibly anticipated as a girl, when so free from care. Here I had not only sole charge and responsibility of the children, paying bills, taxes, care of house, even to setting a hitching post, which I had that day been overseeing, but I was exempt from one thing. I was not required to pay a poll tax. He said it was too much for any woman, but it was wonderful how circumstances developed the character.
    The days flew by, and the time hastened for Seymour's last visit prior to the breaking up of our happy home, which to us, was a sore trial. On going to a real estate broker, after his arrival, to advertise our house for rent, furnished, Seymour found a party looking for just such an opportunity, and was ready to take it immediately on our vacating. On arranging to meet at the broker's office next morning, he said he would sign a lease for a year at $100. per month for rent.

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1866. He was however taken ill, but sent round to have the house ready, as also the lease which he would sign when able to come to the city, to which Seymour consented, on being assured by the broker, that his word was as good as his hand, and we left with this understanding. But his illness proved to be pneumonia, and his physician protested against the climate of the city for him, and without signing the lease, he sub-let our house to Mr. Crittenden, who installed Laura D. Fain (the notorious) with her child in it.
    On Seymour's return, he found there was considerable feeling that such a character should be brought into the neighborhood and Seymour felt it was a desecration of our sweet house, and notified the broker that she must vacate. Mr. Crittenden refused to be responsible for the rent, and we had no legal hold on the man who had promised to sign the lease, - a lesson not to trust any one however honorable they were considered in business matters, unless it is in unmistakable black and white. The house was vacant for a month when Mr. Whittier took it for three months, at $90 per month, during the completion of his house corner of Howard and 20th Streets, after which  it was occupied during our entire absence at same rental to Mr. Water ? Hobart.

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    1866.  To return to the day of our departure. We had early breakfast, and Seymour left for the Custom House to clear the ship and attend to other duties. A friend remained in the house to assist the cook in putting house in order for the new tenants.  At 10 o'clock the carriage came, the luggage having gone earlier, and after seeing the children and nurse in the carriage, I stood at the gate, with full eyes looking back at our sweet home, and then at our children, wondered if I would bring them all back again. A pang shot through my heart at the suggestion of a break in the precious circle.
    Like all children they were delighted with the change the trip with papa, and looked forward eagerly to seeing the dear grandparents and cousins. Charlie especially counted on the fishing excursions grandpa had written he was planning for their mutual enjoyment.  Papa and Dennis (his man, who was devoted to us all), were awaiting our arrival, and we were soon settled in our quarters on the "Constitution."  The pleasure of the trip was somewhat marred by a violent cyclone which though lasting only twelve hours, threw me about in my berth, so I was bruised and lame for days. I recovered by the time we reached Panama. Trying

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1866.  as the tropical heat always is to me, I dreaded reaching there as we must then part with the dear husband and father.  He went across the Isthmus, and saw us installed in our staterooms, and then came the sorrowful parting. Could we have foreseen the many sad changes before our reunion, my heart would have failed me for the journey.  Probably it is well that we cannot look into the future, and indeed it must be, for our courage would falter: a loving Father has in wisdom withheld the knowledge from us.  Even He prayed that the bitter cup might pass.
    The children remained in good health, and were not as usual disfigured from the intense heat. The morning before our arrival in New York, as they went out with nurse for breakfast, I congratulated myself on the lovely flock, I could present to the family at home; but alas! a few hours later my pride had a dreadful fall. Charlie and Della came on deck to me, each with a great triangular gouge out of their hair, in the middle of their foreheads. Had the author of the mischief, a little Jewish girl, been near me, I fear I would have laid a heavy hand on her in my wrath, at their disfigurement, but she wisely kept out of sight. I took Charlie to the barber, and had the rest of his lovely wavy hair shortened to render

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1866. the loss of the rest less obvious, but nothing could help Della.  As we expected to arrive early in the morning, I laid  out at night in the nursery, the fresh clothing for each, and gave those they discarded to the children in the steerage. On dressing Maude in the morning, her shoes were missing; someone admiring the pretty patent leather ankle ties, had appropriated them, and the dear baby had to complete the journey in her stocking feet.
    As soon as the steamer reached the pier, Arnold and Charlie came on board.  The moment  I saw their faces I knew that they brought grievous tidings, and truly. Our dear father passed away on September 24th after an illness of only three days, just one week previous. I was so overwhelmed with grief, I can only remember that Captain Gray, with whom I had made previous trips came to my stateroom to express his sympathy, and readiness to aid in accelerating our departure. I can recall nothing of the journey home, except the trivial incident of the little half hose constantly slipping from Maude's restless little feet.  My thoughts were with my dear heart-broken mother, and I strove to control my grief, on meeting, that I might not increase her grief by my own. I went quietly in, to be clasped in

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1866. a close embrace, but without a word, only suppressed sobs.  But the children soon claimed attention and diverted us temporarily. Later, when we could talk quietly, it gave me comfort to learn that almost to the last my dear father thought of me and mentioned with regret that I would arrive too late to see him again in life.
    Brother Charlie arrived from his voyage to find a telegram awaiting him informing him of father's extreme illness and reached him just as he drew his last breath. It was suggested that his remains be kept until my arrival but dear uncle anxious to spare me said "don't have her come first thing to a funeral", and I fully appreciated his kind thoughtfulness, preferring to remember him, as when he laid his hands on my head in blessing.  So they laid him to rest in Cedar Grove Cemetery where four of his children were sleeping.  He had requested that his funeral services be conducted from the house in a very simple unostentatious manner, but several of the prominent citizens represented to Arnold that fathers many friends could not gain admittance at the house, and wishing to show their respect and esteem, urged that he should be taken to the church, where all could be present.  Also said that as one of the oldest most honored citizens, identified with the religious and commercial interests, it

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1866. was eminently fitting that they should have an opportunity of paying the last tribute of respect due to his memory.  Dear mother could not refuse, feeling after the presentation of such arguments, father himself would not have objected. 
    His will was not opened for a month later, as mother knowing its contents preferred waiting until the time prescribed by law. Then we all assembled one morning in mother's room, and Arnold opened it, and in a subdued tone made us acquainted with its provisions. To each of his children living at the date of the will he gave $10,000, and to brother John's two daughters each $2,000 - John having already received $6,000.- $1,000 to the church, and the remainder given entirely to mother during her life, and then to be divided equally among the six children or their legal survivors.  His estate was appraised at $175,000, but exceeded that amount considerably.  Mother had a beautiful memorial window placed in the church back of the pew, so long occupied by the family, and where he had so long and faithfully served as senior deacon.
    Charlie at once devoted himself to his grandma, and watched every opportunity for waiting on her, or rendering her  a service; and it touched her to see how eagerly he 

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1866.  anticipated her wishes.  A few days after we arrived the snow commenced falling, and on hearing mother express regret that a load of firewood just brought, should be left exposed to the storm, Charlie immediately volunteered to put in all the small sticks, but mother said being hickory, it was all too heavy for him, and also that he could soil his clothes. He said he would only carry small sticks, and would put on one of Annie's sleeved aprons, and was so anxious to help, that I proposed his trying to prove what he could do. While at work a man came along looking for work, and Charlie kept busy until the last stick was in the cellar. The next day when he gave to her the change after some purchase he had made for her, she handed him a quarter, he asked what else she wished for him to do. She replied "that is for you Charlie; you were such a good boy to help grandma yesterday." I will never forget the grieved expression on his little flushed face, as turning to me, he laid his head on my shoulder and sobbed as if his heart would break. It was some time before he could control himself sufficiently to explain the cause. At last he burst out with "I couldn't take money from dear grandma! she hasn't any father to do things for her, and I want to help her all I can!" Mother took him in her arms, and wept with him: from that day

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1866.  the bond between them was closer than ever, and his devotion to her was equal to that for his baby sister.  
    Mother now regretted our having rented the house, but it proved to have been a wise thing.  About the middle of October we occupied it, and soon arranged our belongings satisfactorily having ample room, with everything for our comfort, but nothing too nice for daily use. The distance was so short I could easily walk home every day, and the different members of the family were constantly in and out. Sometimes I remained for several days with mother, the children coming at their pleasure, and nurse would bring Maude in often twice a day, when out for the air.
    Brother Arnold was watchful to see that I was supplied with everything needful in housekeeping, and always ready to serve me night or day.
    The children hung up their stockings on Christmas Eve. After the older ones were asleep, and the presents arranged on chairs and mantel, each one's separately, Maude awoke and I took her in to see the display.  On seeing the pretty books and toys, her baby face beamed with delight, and clasping her little hands exclaimed "oh my"! the only words for expressing pleasure her limited vocabulary afforded. The next morning,

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1866. Charlie said she must must have the first ride on his new sled, and brought the clothes basket which was secured to it, and with Maude in it, he drew her all about the chambers, several times: it was difficult to say which of the two most enjoyed it.
    All the winter he went several blocks every morning to get for her the milk from one cow, though his fingers ached so from the cold, the tears from his eyes often, but never a word of complaint, and he was unwilling that anyone else should do it for his darling sister. When nurse asked him why he did not wear his mittens he said " do you think I am going to spoil them, when grandma was so kind to knit them for me?" Mother on hearing of it told him they were given to make him comfortable, and when those were worn out, she would have others ready to replace them.
    1867.  On New Year's Day, I went to mother's intending to return home at night, but she persuaded me to remain. A snowstorm was in progress and the next day there was good sleighing, so I waited until near night, when I went home in a sleigh, my first ride of the kind in many years. Soon after tea, Julie came in at mother's suggestion, to stay overnight with me, thinking I would be lonely, not considering herself.  We had been in bed

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1867. only a short time when the fire bells rung and on going to the window saw flames shooting up from the City Hotel on State Street: it proved to be quite a destructive fire.  Right in the midst of it, a physician's services were required, and Arnold, who possessed the happy faculty of being at hand, when needed, came in to see if we were alarmed, and he went for the Doctor.  At five o'clock in the morning January third a fourth daughter was added to my flock, but so unlike any other babies, who had been very plump: this one so thin and bony, with eyes and nose too large for the pinched face, and wailing from morning until night and vice versa, - always hungry, and never satisfied, her food causing constant distress. The Doctor gave me no encouragement that she would live long, saying she was born with disease of the  mesentery[?] glands from which a child rarely recovered.  The nurse engaged to me was still with cousin Grace Arms, who was critically ill of puerperal fever, so I had for a time to accept the services of a poor substitute. I did not worry about Maude, having full confidence in her nurse who seemed devoted to her, and whose sole business was the care of her and the nursery.  But when my baby was a week old, through her  inattention my

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1867.  little Maude, slipped out of sight and going to the back hall fell down the stairs: the cook took her up, but as she did not breathe, took her to the pump and dashed cold water on her face, which partially restored her, and the blood commenced flowing from a wound near the temple, which she received from a toy she had in her hand, and which broke in falling. Hearing the commotion and Charlie's cry of " oh, Maude, Maude"! I attempted to go to her, but my nurse begged me not to imperil my life by so rash an act, and assured me she would report to me at once. Doctor was of course immediately summoned, and administered proper remedies, and advised that she should be kept in the air as much as the weather would permit, and enjoined necessity for perfect quiet and avoidance of all excitement for us both. On Wednesday the fifth day she was seized with a convulsion when in her bath, at 10 in the morning, which lasted so long, that at seven in the evening he told me I must prepare to give my darling up.  The shock was too great. I was seized with a chill, and burning fever which developed into puerperal. - after she had lain unconscious twelve hours, the Doctor said he thought she would pass away in that state, but I could not give her up. Three long hours after, she began to moan, and show signs of distress, and for three weeks she

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1867.  lingered in torture, passing from convulsion to another, so that in mercy to her, I prayed God to take her out of her suffering.  On the night after her first attack dear mother was with me, and endeavored on hearing the Doctor's opinion to comfort and soothe me, by reminding me of the promises which had sustained her in times of deepest trial, but my heart rebelled at the thought that through the carelessness of the very one I had trusted my baby should suffer so.  Ten days before she passed away, her father unexpectedly arrived from San Francisco on business with the Co. and found a distressed household, not only in his own home but dear mother was ill of typhoid fever, and Della who was with her was just recovering from pneumonia which they concealed from me, only telling me, mother had a severe cough, which the severity of the weather prevented her from exposing herself, and of course I could understand Della's being kept away to ensure quiet, what could be obtained with the wailing baby, which the Doctor wished the good Lord would take to Himself, and relieve my worry and anxiety. Maude, poor little one.  Who could tell what agony she was suffering.  No child will cry for the pleasure of it, and her moans mingled with Lottie's cries, pierced my

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1867.  heart. I was seldom allowed to see Maude, being told that it would only add to my distress, and as she was unconscious, would not recognize me.  Friends were exceedingly kind, and sister Sarah was our good angel dividing her time between mother's house and mine, Julie being entirely occupied with her and Della.
    Cousin Ann Latham too, was ever ready to assist, coming in the day to sit by me and relieve me and at night to watch with Maude.
    On the fifth of February nearly four weeks after the fearful fall, God took my darling out of her suffering into His own care and keeping.  Not with submission only, but with thankfulness I resigned to His arms my lovely, precious baby.  Later I learned from the Doctor what cause I had for gratitude for her release, as her spine was so injured she would have been a cripple had she lived, and she probably would not long have survived the injury to the brain.  When they told me she was dead, I begged that she might be brought to me, promising to be very calm. Raising me in bed they placed the little lifeless form no longer responsive to my caresses, in my arms for a few moments only: and oh how bitter it was to feel that if the nurse had not been recreant to her trust my precious baby might still have been with us.

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1867.  Once more they brought her to me; now, in her little white casket, looking too pure and lovely to be committed to the cold, damp grave.  It was so hard to give her up, such a magnificent specimen of babyhood. The Doctor said with such a physique she should have lived to very great age.  The undertaker not thinking it possible that his man had taken correct measures for the casket, on learning her age sent him a second time, and report being the same, came himself before he was satisfied, even then a second one was ordered as the first cramped the beautiful shoulders: she required though only fourteen months the size for a child of three years.
    The snow was so heavy on the ground, that a snow plough was necessary to clear a way for the carriages at the Cemetery, where in my father's lot, they laid our sweet baby, beside the little sister for whom in childhood I had grieved so deeply. My poor Seymour, with Annie, Charlie and a large circle of friends, saw the little casket deposited in the snowy grave, and the family returned to our sad home. On entering Charlie came to me, and laying his head on my shoulder, wept so bitterly that I strove to comfort him, and folding him in my arms, told

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1867.  him we should be glad our darling would never suffer any more, and was far happier in the loving care of the dear Savior, than we could hope to make her. As soon as he could control himself to speak, he said as if it were the thing which most distressed him: "Mamma, there is no room for me by little Maude!", with a fresh burst of tears.  Oh, how his words pierced my heart! Was it a presentiment on his part and a warning to me, that he too was to be taken? My only way for soothing him, was by assuring him that, if necessary, a place should be made for him beside her, but said "how could I live without you, my precious boy"? For answer he kissed me repeatedly, and for a long time remained quietly resting his head on my shoulder until expressing a fear that he would tire me, drew a chair beside me where he could hold my hand, a deep sigh often escaping him.  I have often wished I could know what were the thoughts coursing through his active brain during that long silence.
    That night Maude's nurse left us, to the relief of every member of the family; as she never seemed to feel herself in the least responsible for the accident, and I learned later that she was not trustworthy when left in care of the dear baby during those dreadful nights which followed,

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1867.  when she took her turn in watching. Sister Sarah on going into the room found her with a novel in her hand, giving cold beef tea to the baby. I never reproached her, feeling as I never expected to see her again and if her own conscience did not accuse her of negligence what I might say would have no effect, and could not restore my darling. It was not surprising that I did not speedily recover after such a prolonged strain, both mental and physical, and I had an intense longing to see dear mother, who was still too ill to come to me. To my suggestion that I go for a few days visit to her, as Seymour had to go to New York on business the Doctor gave instant approval, saying I would run no risk for so short a distance in a close carriage. Very tender was our meeting, and for hours I laid beside her on the bed, clasping her thin hand, little inclined then to talk, but there was such comfort in her touch, and the sight of her dear face. I returned home greatly cheered and strengthened, and enabled gradually to resume my family cares and duties.
    Oh, the inestimable blessing and comfort of a good, christian mother!

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1867.  At the expiration of six months, our lease having expired, we were quite ready to leave the house so fraught with sad memories, and went with the children to Brattleboro to visit the grandparents. In our absence, improvements were commenced in the house, which father had contemplated, especially for mother's comfort and convenience, and were only in part completed on my return in June. I left Annie and Charlie in Brattleboro until the house should be in readiness for them.  A large fine room was added opposite the back parlor, looking on the street, where all her belongings were placed, and where she could sleep, when too lame to go over the stairs.  The children came home soon after the 4th of July, in care of a conductor whom we had known for years.  I have failed to mention that while we were all together in Brattleboro; Seymour with us, his brother Hiram came on from his Kansas home, the first time they had met in many years, and as it proved was their last meeting.
    In May, Seymour returned to San Francisco in one of the new steamers just completed and resumed his command.
    Mother now insisted that we now should come to her,

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1867.  though I knew so may children would unavoidably make confusion, but they never seemed to tire or worry her.  Della had been placed at school at once, when we returned early in June, but I did not enter the others, as the term was so nearly ended when they came.  Della had a very annoying trick of running away, which gave much trouble; her only excuse being, when questioned as to her reason for not coming directly home from school was "cause I wanted to", in the most indifferent manner, as if she had a perfect right to direct her own movements.  Charlie was so worried over her delinquencies, that he constituted himself a sort of policeman to keep track of her, and as soon as the clock struck at noon, flew from his post at the gate, up to the schoolhouse to meet and bring her home, and the same way at four in the afternoon. In this way he prevented her going to visit her mates, and saved her from punishment. Having been sent one afternoon of an errand which detained him beyond that hour a few minutes, he went to meet her but the bird had flown, and among the many playmates, it was useless to attempt to find her, so he came sadly home, and watched at the gate until nearly six for her

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1867.  return.  I talked to her of her disobedience, and of the worry she caused her brother, but without making apparently the slightest impression. I said, "now you know your punishment for this; you may go to bed, as soon as you have your supper," which in such cases was only bread and butter.  "I don't wish any supper, I am not hungry".  "Very well, then you may go to bed at once".  "That is just what I want to do, I'm so tired". - and off she went, in the most cheerful mood, though poor Charlie was so grieved.  He went to mother who was hulling the first strawberries of the season from our garden, the ripening of which the children had daily watched, and said "may Della have my berries grandma?" Knowing his fondness for the fruit, she was touched by his unselfishness, and said why my dear little boy, there are berries enough for all, but you know she must go without as part of her punishment, and we are all sorry". Then he went up and sat outside her door, (as she was not allowed to have company,) after a very light supper, remaining there until his own bedtime, fearing she would be lonely.
    On August first, he went with his uncle Charlie to see a game of football, and came home very bright and happy, and went to bed apparently in perfect health.

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1867. His room opened out of mine, and about midnight I was awakened by his moaning. On going to him, he complained of pain in his stomach. I gave the usual remedies which failing to relieve him, sent early in the morning for Dr. Sites, an unmistakable case of dysentery having developed.  As bowel troubles were his specialty, I had full confidence he could not be in better hands, and though he assured me I had no reason for anxiety, I could not throw off the dreadful fear that like a pall settled on my heart, on hearing his first moan. 
    On Saturday, my day for writing to his father, I told Dr. I must have his candid opinion, as I could not keep from him the truth, and he reiterated his opinion that there was no cause for alarm. So I wrote as cheerfully as I could, but with the terrible dread oppressing me. I scarcely left my boy, day or night, and dear mother was unremitting in her devotion. The dear little fellow so often expressed anxiety lest we tire ourselves in waiting on him, and when I took him in my arms as a change and rest from the bed, he would not let me hold him long, fearing he was too heavy for me. I was alarmed at his evident loss of strength each day; still the Doctor manifested no anxiety, assuring me he

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1867.  often had cases run for three weeks before showing improvement, especially in soldiers coming from the war on sick leave. 
    On Tuesday towards night, after lying quietly for some time, he suddenly opened his eyes, and with more energy than he had shown for some time, said "mamma, what is regeneration"? I explained  the Bible teaching of the new birth, which meant a change of heart, and a desire to serve and please God, and asked if he felt that God had given him a new heart, to which he replied with confidence, "yes, mamma".  Though I had before no doubt of his acceptance with the Savior who said "Suffer the little children to come unto Me, a fresh pang smote my heart, for I felt that he was to take this precious lamb of my flock to His fold.  That night he failed rapidly, and at intervals his mind wandered. On Wednesday typhoid symptoms manifested, such as picking at the bed clothes and fancying spiders were crawling on those about him. That night sister Sarah and cousin Ann Latham came to care for him, and as Lottie had been ill of same disease, I devoted part of the time to her.  Towards noon on Thursday, as I was bending over him, he aroused a little, and put up his lips to kiss me, and as I clasped him in my arms, he attempted to put his about

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1867.  my neck.  As I laid him back on his pillow, his face lighted with an expression of seraphic sweetness, and fondest love.  Mother turned away weeping, and I. Can I ever forget it?
    About three in the afternoon, a sudden change came, which I felt meant death, though the Doctor who was soon with us, by no means gave up hope.  I had always thought if my children were ill even fatally, I could do for them until the last, even to dressing them for the casket, but this shock rendered me absolutely helpless.  They laid me on a couch near him, where for hours I remained perfectly conscious, but so paralyzed with grief, I had no power to utter a word, or open my eyes.  Just at his usual bedtime, I heard him faintly repeating "Our Father, who art in Heaven", which was all his failing strength permitted, and soon after he called "Mamma" - the last as well as the first word he uttered.  Mother came to me and said, " Charlie will not be long with us Emma, and Arnold and Henry will lay you on the bed beside him." She placed his little hand already growing cold in mine, the touch seemed to break the horrid spell, and I wailed in agony, that my darling, my only boy, the pride of his father's heart, the idol of my own, was going from us.  The family, and the servants with whom he was a favorite

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1867. were gathered in the room and hall, and the laundress herself a mother, coming to the bedside said "doan't yez take on so! doan't yez see ye are holding him back?  He can't go while yez greet[?] so!"  A little fluttering sigh and my darling had gone forever from my arms to rest in those of the Father in Heaven to he had appealed with his dying breath.
    Before leaving for the night I asked James to read the account of the death of King David's child, which he followed with a fervent prayer for comfort in this sore trial. They dressed him in a suit of pure white linen, which I knew would have been his own wish.  I had already commenced making it at his request just before his illness, little thinking when he handed the frills I was hemming, that never until he was beyond earthly ken, would they be finished to deck him for the grave.  Lying in his casket so peacefully sleeping, unconscious of the anguish which rent my heart, I wondered if our loved ones who have passed on, have any knowledge of what transpires on this earthly sphere. The Brattleboro grandparents were sent for, but only grandma came.-          Another grave was opened, in father's lot, wide enough to admit of his beloved sister being placed beside him, her grave being re-opened for the removal of her little casket. A heavy thunder shower was in progress during

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1867.  the sad ceremony, but to which I paid little heed, my heart was in the grave. 
    Of the days and weeks which followed, I have only a vague recollection: principally of the telegram sent, which would bring anguish to his poor father's heart, (the deeper that he must weep alone), and a feeling of thankfulness that I had other children to render life endurable, and the care of whom would steady my distracted brain.           When grandma Farnsworth went home I sent most of his clothing to a little cousin, feeling it would have been Charlie's wish, but there were some articles I could not part with, and packed them away with little Maude's.
    Over the little grave, later I had placed a rustic cross of white marble entwined with ivy. On the arms are the names "Maude" - "Charlie".  On the base the inscription - "They were lovely and pleasant in their lives, and in death they were not divided".
    Friends were so kind, and I had sweet messages from many, but none so appealed to my stricken heart, as that of a dear cousin of mother's, (and Ann Latham's mother) On coming to my room, while my boy was lying in the parlor in his casket, she folded me in her motherly arms, and said "My dear child, I have been through, and know 

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1867.  all about it, and haven't a word to say". She knew so well that words were powerless at present. The dear woman had given to her country her only son, who in early manhood, at the siege of Fort Hudson, while leading a charge fell pierced in the temple by a rebel bullet.  
    One letter from a gentlemen in Brattleboro, Mr. Ferdinand Tyler, an old friend of the family, who became much attached to my boy during his visit there, was a comfort to me.  After expressing deep sympathy for my loss, he wrote of his admiration for his manly traits, his politeness, prompt attention when addressed, and ready anticipation on one's wants, before they were expressed, and said he had never seen a child who so interested him.  Poor man! his only child Major John Tyler was also killed in the Civil War.  
    Many told me I should not have expected to keep my boy: such children were only lent for a short time. They never lived to grow up. I did not seem to have had a fear that he could die after having escaped the ills of infancy, and so many perilous experiences.
    Soon after, came a message from the dear grief stricken father, urging our return, as soon as the season on the Isthmus would render it safe for us to travel. He felt he must have the comfort of the remainder of his family when he was in port.

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1867. Soon after Charlie's death, a lady artist from Massachusetts came to New London, bringing some oil painting she had some for some parties there, and my attention was called to them.  They were so life like I decided to have Maude and Charlie painted from ambrotypes, and she succeeded beyond my expectations. I had Seymours painted also, when mother persuaded me to sit for mine, as I never was able to get a satisfactory likeness in daguerreotype or ambrotype. So I allowed the artist to experiment, but she had such trouble, especially with eyes and mouth, when finished there was a diversity of opinions: no on considered it perfect like the others, but passably good, and mother said it was more like me than anything  we had.  Dr. Sites said the trouble was with the mouth, my lips never being closed, except when I sat to the artist.  I hardly knew afterwards if I had been wise in having the children's done, as night after night before framing, I took them to my room, and shed tears over them to the loss of necessary sleep, and in the morning carried them down to the sitting room where I could constantly have them before my eyes, until I realized I was indulging in a selfish grief, which might lead the living to feel they were less dear than those whom God had taken.

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1867.  Late in November, we left the precious mother and friends though mother insisted this time in going to New York with us, Julie, Arnold and Uncle Elisha swelling our family party. We passed the night at the Astor House as it was comparatively near the steamer, and there bade mother adieu as easier for us both than parting on the steamer. The trip was uneventful, but there was a mingling of dread and pain with pleasure in meeting my dear husband. He was awaiting us at Colon, and with the children and small articles of baggage to look after, as an excuse for concealing my emotions, succeeded in getting ashore without breaking down.  Not until we were on the other side and quietly settled with the children asleep in their staterooms, with the ship under weigh, did we venture to speak of the darlings whose presence had brightened the preceding trip, and to unburden our hearts, and weep together.
    On the Saturday night before our anticipated arrival in San Francisco, the passengers at dinner congratulated themselves, and each other on the prospect of breakfasting at home, or with friends the next morning, but they were doomed to disappointment. Before reaching Cape St. Lucas fearing the children might take cold from the sudden change of temperature at that point, their father had them

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1867.  change from their deck staterooms to more sheltered ones off dining saloon, while I remained with him on deck, as I could be summoned at any moment if needed.  About midnight I was awakened by tossing of the ship, and noise in the rigging, and finding Seymour was absent, dressed to go to the children when he could go or send someone with me, as the motion was too great to attempt it alone. He soon came in to say that as soon as he could leave the deck he would take me below. The storm was rapidly increasing in violence, and I could only keep my seat by clinging with both hands to my berth.  With the 2nd officer on one side, and Seymour on the other, each grasping a life line in one hand, they saw me across the deck. Clinging to the stair-rail, I swayed back and forth, several times before I could gain foot-hold, and finally succeeded in getting over the stairs, and supporting myself by chairs and stanchions reached the children. They were awaked by the noises, but seeing me calm, and apparently undisturbed, did not become frightened like most of the passengers.  Really I could not wonder at their terror, for such shrieks, groans, even yells,

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1867.  from the rigging were hideous beyond conception, and seemed at times like cries of human agony.
   Our course was reversed, and all night we were running out to sea to get out of the circle of the cyclone; our only hope of escaping engulfment in its terrible clutches.  The tempest raged until noon of the next day; all this time I had seen nothing of Seymour, though he often sent Denis[?] to bring messages, and see after our comfort. Few of the passengers expected to see home again, and expressed surprise that with my children I could be as calm in such peril.  When asked if I felt no fear, I replied that my trust in the ability and the seamanship of the Captain was perfect, and beyond that in a Higher Power: having confidence that He was guarding us, and that if we perished, we that is my family would all go together; not one left to grieve for the other.
    Lottie was so restless, wanting to be on the floor which was impossible, on account of the violent motion; nurse was too sea-sick to render any assistance, but fortunately the children were good sailors.  I became so weary from loss of sleep, and the constant effort to keep baby on my lap, that getting a rope through one of the waiters[?], I tied her in the bed of an upturned table to each of the legs, so she could not slip, and there she remained with her playthings for some time very contentedly to my

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1867.  great relief.  Before night the storm had spent its force, and we were again heading for San Francisco.  On Monday  morning we reached our desired haven, although the seas were running tremendously high and breaking over the Fort as we entered the Golden Gate.  Among the passengers were the Stevens family, our neighbors, who suffered sadly from sickness as well as fear.  Great anxiety had been felt in the city for the safety of the ship, as they knew we must be in the teeth of the storm, from the direction of the wind. Though very grateful for our deliverance from the perils of the deep, it was with sorrowful hearts we re-entered our home where everything so vividly reminded us of our loss. But however sad the heart may be, the duties of life demand attention and before we were fairly settled, the baby with all my care took cold, and for twenty-four hours she was in the grip of pneumonia with small chances for life.  Means[?] were blest, and the crisis passed; and it was surprising to see how rapidly she recovered, when the fever left her.  When this dear little one came Maude was so young, I regarded her almost as an intruder, and fearing Maude might not get the requisite care from a nurse, intended

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1867.  taking her under my immediate charge, feeling she would appreciate it more than the baby who was not old enough to require amusement. But a wiser than I sent my Lottie to occupy my time, and fill as far as possible the void so soon to be made by the removal of my two darlings.  As she grew older, she ceased her continual crying, and contrary to the Doctor's predictions seemed to outgrow the conditions which at first threatened to end her life, and developing a sweet loving nature, was a comfort and pleasure to us al  with her pretty tricks and winsome ways. 
    1868  Annie and Della re-entered school after the New Year opened, and life outwardly resumed its usual course, but oh how sadly was it changed for me!  I missed my children my boy in particular, who had been so thoughtful and considerate far beyond his years, and I longed for him every day of my life.  I prayed for reconciliation to the will of God, knowing and believing, that for some wise purpose, he had been taken from me, but resignation was not at once to be attained, and I found it so hard to submit to the blow in true submission.  We cling to the idols we have made of the precious ones He has lent for a time, and rebel when He chooses to take them again.

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1868.  But after many years of sorrowful experiences I have learned not only to accept it as His will, but to rejoice that my darlings so early fought the battle of life and gained the victor's crown. For them no more suffering: they are forever safe, with the dear Savior who on earth took little children in His arms and blessed them.
    To this state of feeling I did not attain until nearly two years after Charlie left us, when I had a singular vision or experience - whatever it may be termed.
    Sitting one afternoon in my accustomed place in the nursery, such a hunger for the sight of my boy filled my heart, when suddenly I felt a little soft hand on each cheek, drawing my head upwards, and kisses, oh so sweet! I at once recognized my Charlie's touch: it was precisely what he used often to do: leaving his play he would steal softly upstairs, and come behind me my back being at the door, and press warm kisses on my cheeks, "just to see if mamma wanted anything, and was all right."  As he came around where I could see him I expressed my joy at his coming, and he was so ethereal, and transcendently beautiful! I said "oh my darling I have so longed for, and missed you; are you glad to come back to me"? Without replying to my question, he

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said slowly," I saw mamma how you grieved, and could not be happy, so I asked God to let me come back to comfort you, but I left such a beautiful house up there"  My heart smote me, and I cried, "oh my Father, forgive the selfishness that would keep my child from the joys of Heaven, and take him again to thy own safe care and keeping."  The vision faded, but I was forever comforted.  Some have told me it was a dream, I know it was not, for the sewing indicated no cessation of my work.  Whatever it may have been, I believe a pitiful Father sent it to still my longings, and give me peace and rest, and to Him I rendered grateful thanks.
    I would not have written so fully of these sad events, as they occurred within your recollection, but Della singularly has only a faint memory of the little sister and brother who was so devoted to her, and the younger ones none whatever, and I wish you all to know that however bitter and heartbreaking the trials, which are inevitably the portion of us all, His promises are true, and abiding:  "Earth has no sorrows, that Heaven cannot heal".
    1868.  During this summer, Percy Garretson who had four years previously married Mr. Otis K. Freeman in the P.M.S.S.Co. employ, came to the city and occupied the house nearly opposite us. They had a lovely little girl, nine months older

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1868 than Lottie, and we were delighted to have them for neighbors.   Brother Charlie also arrived on his ship by way of Bombay and Manila, and as his next voyage,  was to be over nearly the same route, instead of to New York, as he hoped, he sent for his wife to join him here, and make the trip with him.  So we had their company for some weeks, while the vessel was being fitted and loaded for sea. I became much attached to her on my last visit east, and a closer intimacy strengthened the bond.  Her calm, equable temperament, was just what my brother with his quick impetuous nature, needed as balance.
    We had warm friends in the Conro[?] family, with whom our friends Mr. and Mrs. Heath boarded, and with all, our children were great favorites. The father, mother and three sons, were exceedingly fond of little girls having none in their family circle.  The memory of the many visits with them, are among Annie's and Della's happiest recollections. The father died after eight years of helpless, invalidism from paralysis.  Fred, the youngest son was killed by a railroad accident, Cassias[?] the eldest, who married Fannie Cheney, the daughter of our old pastor, died of fever in Mexico, and George the only one remaining, married a widow with a little son, and lives in Alameda

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but has always been a semi-invalid.  He has three daughters.  The dear mother, one of the excellent ones of the earth, lives with him, and is justly beloved by all who know her.
    1868.  Our friends Mr. H. B. Forbes and family, who had for a long time been living on their ranch in Cloverdale, returned this fall, and rented a house on Essex Street  nearly opposite ??? Place.  The last of their stay on the ranche was rendered very painful and distressing from the tragic death of Mrs. Forbes only brother, who was gored to death by a bull.     There were five children two sons, Stanley and Cleaveland, and three daughters, Florence, Kitty and Angela.  Being near the ages of my children they played together and were in the same class in Sunday School; though they had frequent association, promiscuous visiting was not permitted, each mother preferring to have her children under her personal supervision as a rule.  The attachment to them by no means diminished as the years passed, and my interest in them has been equal to that for my own nieces and nephews, with few exceptions.
    1869.  This spring the county authorities of Brattleboro having made a survey for a new county road, decided that the most satisfactory one would cut through the Farnsworth homestead. The old people objected to being forced to leave the home

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1869.  so endeared to them by 55 years of occupancy, where they had raised their family, but their feelings were not considered; the land was condemned for public use, and they were given until November to vacate.  The price paid for their home was $2700.  The dear grandma grieved and worried so, that her health failed and inflammation of the spleen developed from an injury to her side in being thrown several years previous from a sleigh.  She said from the first that she would be carried out before the time for giving up their home, and so it proved for she died on the 13th of October, aged 80 years.  Her last words were, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me", they comfort me", the latter words she repeated with emphasis. Her life had been a long and useful one: ever ready to do a kindness, and lend a helping hand, which her sweet sunny nature made it pleasant to receive, she was justly esteemed by all the townspeople.
    The day of her death and the following one were marked by exceptionally heavy rains throughout New England, causing extensive damage, and delaying trains for days, from washouts, and destruction of bridges.  The great dam in the brook near the house gave way.
 
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1869.  and flooded that locality. Fearing the house would be carried away, by the torment, Hiram had his mother's remains removed to a shop farther up the hill, until the waters subsided. The danger passed, and she was taken from the home so dear to her and laid beside her two daughters in the cemetery where she had so often passed her summer afternoons. On account of the damage to roads, none of my family were able to be present at her burial, some attempted, but were forced to turn back.  Mrs. Sawyer was with her at the last, and with her husband rendered the services her own children would have performed gladly. 
    When the house was sold, the old people acceded to Seymour's proposition of assuming the charge of them during their life, though he made it at his mother's suggestion, not feeling confidence that in his father's hands, it would not be judiciously managed.  The money was placed in the Bank there in Seymour's name, to be drawn upon when needed, Col. Sawyer being appointed agent. After mother's death, father had a stone placed at her grave, and informed us, he had also ordered his own, and it was ready, when required, except for date of his decease, and that the bills were paid.  For several months he boarded with a niece in Brattleboro, and then went to

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1869.  his nephew George Colburn in Chesterfield, where he could have the companionship of old friends and relatives, and where he died in October  of 1878, aged 88 years.  The property did not suffice to meet the bills at the last, there being a balance due of over one hundred dollars, so the relatives idea that Seymour would make a good thing of taking the money, and charge of his parents, proved untrue. He insisted not only on his everything comfortable in clothing, but a warm room in winter, and paid liberally for the care.  In 1898 we learned from a cousin that the stone had never been set at his grave, though we were assured that everything had been duly attended to and all bills paid.  So many years had elapsed, that there was no way of learning anything about the matter - the man who did the work being dead.  So I ordered a stone cut and set, and have not only the receipted bill for same, but the assurance of the cousin of his having seen that it is in place.
       In August my beloved sister Julia, came out for a visit to us, but could not overcome her fear of the sea, sufficiently to make the trip by steamer as I hoped, knowing she would enjoy the tropical scenery greatly. I was overjoyed to see her, and she soon settled into

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1869.  our ways, and made warm friends.
    In October Charlie and Lizzie again came into port, and were surprised and delighted to find Julie with us.  Their stay was short, and after a voyage to London returned to New York to await the completion of a ship in process of building at Bangor, of which he was to have command.
    In November Seymour persuaded Julie to make a trip to Panama, though with great trepidation and fear she went on board the steamer. After being a few days at sea, she concluded it was not worthwhile to spend her nights in watching for accidents and undressed and slept in her berth like a sensible girl. The return voyage was rendered unexpectedly enjoyable from the unusual number of congenial passengers.  Among those with whom she made acquaintance were Mrs. Eldridge, our agent's wife with two little daughters, Mr. and Mrs. W. I. Kip Jr. and two boys of three years, and three months respectively, and last but by no means least, the sister of my dear Mrs. Forbes Mrs. Thompson with her husband, two daughters, and son, Kate twenty, Charlie seventeen, and Emily thirteen. There was a round of lunch parties, during the winter where we all met, and had lovely times together.  After a visit of three months, the Thompsons returned to their house in Bordentown,

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1870.  New Jersey, and only a few weeks after their arrival, Mr. Thompson was seized with pneumonia and died early in May.
    I had frequently urged mother to visit us, and as our friends the Whittiers were soon to return from their old house in Maine, they urged her to make the trip in their company. As she could have a drawing room for her exclusive use she could travel with little inconvenience and discomfort.  I could scarcely sleep after learning that she was actually coming, counting the days with eager impatience, after they left New York, but was unable to go with Julie to meet her, as although convalescent, I was still very weak from an attack of congestion of the lungs. (During my illness our neighbor Mr. Ben Howard passed away.)  The dear precious mother came in due time, but it was difficult to believe the evidence of my own eyes: that she was really under my own roof, and after lying awake for hours at night, stole quietly into her room to reassure myself, and found her quietly sleeping.  I dared not kiss her, lest I should disturb her rest.  Our friends of course became much interested in, and paid her cordial attention; she was very happy with us, especially enjoying a visit with Mrs.

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1870. Lux, at her Baden home, a new phase of country life to her.
    Whether from the excitement of seeing her, or from getting overtired, the Doctor could not determine, but I had a relapse, and was more seriously ill than at first.  The Doctor insisted on my going out of the city to a softer air, as soon as I was able to travel. I strongly opposed being separated from mother, and my family, but was forced to yield to their importunities.  A boarding place was engaged at St. Helena, the Doctor thinking the air from the pines might be healing to my lungs.  Mother accompanied me but the intense heat so exhausted us both, that after two weeks we returned to the city and remained until after Seymour sailed on his next voyage. Mrs. Stone, a dear friend and excellent physician of the old school, as also a most superior woman intellectually, was much interested in finding a satisfactory place for me, and recommended Menlo Park.  Julie went with me there, leaving mother with the children. In the soft balmy atmosphere there, my lungs were immediately relieved, and I constantly improved, but after a month the hotel closed, on account of the re-opening of schools, and return of their guests to the city, and we were compelled to seek another boarding place, and went to San Jose,                                

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1870.  to the family of Cal Younger[?], just on the outskirts of the city, where mother and the children with Julie took turns in staying with me, until late in September, returning in time to greet Seymour on his next arrival, thankful to have so far recovered, as to be allowed to remain at home.  It was so delightful to be once more re-united in our own home.
    Sister Julie always delicate, was a martyr to neuralgia, and in her attacks Lottie who was devoted to her, constituted herself nurse, though only three years old, as soon as she was allowed to enter the room, which was of course until the worst of the suffering was relieved.  She insisted on smoothing her face, and holding her head, and I often wondered to see Julie submit to what to me seemed rather rough treatment of a tender head - Lottie had a very sweet, affectionate nature, and enjoyed the office of nurse, her sick dolls receiving the most loving attention.
    I had promised mother if she would come out, I would consent to her proposal to take Della back to spend the winter with her, and circumstances occurred which decided us to send Annie also,      

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1870.  to enter a boarding  school near mother's taught by the daughter and daughter-in-law of our old neighbor Mrs. Perkins.  She would be able to pass Sundays with mother, and Della would be less likely to be homesick.  This having been settled, mother realized how very lonely it would be for me with only Lottie for company in Seymour's absence, and she persuaded him to consent to my going also, when I could bring Della back in the spring.  It was decided that Annie and Della go overland with mother and Julie, and for me to go by steamer with Lottie, as permission was granted for us to go with Seymour, which would give me time after their departure, to get the house in order to rent before his return from Panama.
    The seventh of November the day fixed for their leaving us, dawned dark and dreary, and the rain poured in torrents when the carriage came to take them to the train, and although anticipating a speedy reunion, our hearts were heavy at parting. As dear mother was going out of the house, she turned, and putting her arms about me, said "I wish Emma you were going, as we might have our Thanksgiving dinner together." I replied "my

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1870. Thanksgiving will be, when I hear that you are all safe at home".  As if having a presentiment that we might never meet again, she said with great emphasis, I want you to remember, my dear child, whatever may happen, I shall always be thankful to have seen you with Seymour and your children, in your pretty home".
    After they left, I would not allow myself time for grieving, but at once commenced preparations for the voyage, while Margaret and Jane cleaned and put the house in order for the next tenants.  They progressed finely, and by Friday November 18th everything was in readiness, and after taking the key to the agent, with Lottie went to Mrs. Forbes to spend a few days. After that to board with our old friend Mrs. Keeler, who had been left in very straightened circumstances at the death of her husband some years previous. There I awaited Seymour's coming, and we sailed from San Francisco on the third of December.  Before leaving, I received a letter from Julie telling of their arrival, all well except mother who took a heavy cold the day they started, there having been no

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1870.  fires on the train, and was very ill after reaching home from pneumonia, but the danger seemed passed.  Mrs. Whittier who came to see me, said oh don't go! you may have the same experience as before!  I could not bear the suggestion, and replied, "that is not probable, hardly possible, for lightning seldom strikes twice in the same place."
    We had a delightful time in Panama, dining with Mr. and Mrs. Corwine[?] (the Co's Agent,) at their pleasant home, going to the different islands in the bay, and visited also the South American Steamer commanded by Captain Dow, with whom I made my first trip on the Pacific ocean.  In returning from this excursion a sudden squall came up, and it was wonderful to me, to see how quickly the sea was lashed into fury.   Lottie showed no signs of fear.   When we reached our ship it seemed impossible for us to get on board, but my confidence in Seymour's ability to manage was implicit. Pitching and tossing our boat seemed an egg shell on the raging waves. Taking Lottie in his arms, he called to the first officer  "Mr. Nolan stand ready" and as the sea lifted us, tossed her, Mr Nolan catching her, as if she were a ball; but I could not be so managed. Seymour

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1870.  said "now Emma when the next wave comes where you can jump onto the landing, do so without fear", and though my heart was in my mouth, I would not disappoint my sailor husband, and obeyed orders. When the "now" was given, and landed safely on my feet, Mr. Nolan being ready to prevent my falling from the impetus.   I decided I did not care to make other excursions, and it was our last, the New York steamer being about due. The mail brought me a letter saying mother had given them a severe fright, having had a slight paralytic shock, but it soon passed  and she seemed no worse after it.
    As he was necessarily occupied on his own ship, while the passengers were going on board, he could not cross the isthmus with us, and sailed before the steamer for New York finished coaling, and remained on board  two days before the San Francisco passengers arrived.  We were fortunate in having an old acquaintance, Captain Maury[?] in command, and of course received every attention. Off Cape Hatteras we ran into a heavy gale, with snow and sleet. In the middle of the night, our boilers gave out, and we were forced to "lie to" four hours for

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1870.  repairs, and as we depended on steam for heating the ship, we suffered greatly from cold. After she was again under way, and we were beginning to feel comfortable, the machinery gave out a second time, and we were delayed another four hours.  I put Lottie to bed with her clothes on, wrapping her in blankets, and piling pillows all around her, until she could not move.  The cold was so intense that icicles formed on the beards of those on deck formed from the moisture of their breath.  At last on the tenth of January, we reached New York in safety, and as soon as the plank was out, Charlie who arrived on the seventh from sea, Arnold, Sarah, and Lizzie came on board.  My first thought on seeing them, that mother was surely better, or Sarah would not have left her.  Free from suffering forever, she was in truth, but oh, the agony of knowing that never more in this world, would I see her dear face, or hear again her voice.  Her death was very sudden and a terrible shock to the entire family.  Only the morning before she passed away, the Doctor had told her she no longer required his professional services, and he would only call on her as a friend, and she needed only good care and nursing. About three o'clock on the morning of December

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1870.  twenty first a sudden change came, and Sarah who was sitting by her in temporary absence of the nurse, had only time to speak to Mr. Newcomb, who was lying on a couch in the room, to call the girls quickly.  There was a slight effort for breath, and before any one could reach her bedside, her spirit took its flight.  God in infinite love and mercy has spared her the struggle she had so dreaded, and without suffering had taken her to Himself.
   She had been dead three weeks when I arrived, so that had I come directly instead of remaining in Panama, I would have been too late to have seen her in life.  How could I go home, and not find her, the Angel of the household there to welcome me!  Sorrowfully we journeyed to meet my children and the family so bereaved, and sad were the greetings.  By hard experience in the school of affliction, I had learned the lesson of patient, if not cheerful submission, and that although the heart may be burdened with grief, life's duties cannot be shirked; we must take them up and bear our cross, with God's help, as best we may.  They told me how fair and beautiful she was, so peacefully sleeping in her casket, and of the

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1871.  crowds who came to look on the face of the friend who had always a kind word and pleasant smile in greeting; and of the many weeping poor, who told of the deeds of kindness and charity she constantly bestowed; but of which she never made mention. Several poor widows in the church, whose needs in various ways she regularly supplied of which no one but Arnold knew, and he only when in leaving for California, she made him her almoner.
    My presence was comfort to them all, especially to Julie and Louise, who only for my coming would have been obliged to make different arrangements, and break up the home. Now we could remain together in the house until the estate was settled, and a final disposition  made of the home where our beloved parents passed from this life to a better.
    For a month I was very ill from the shock and grief, but it was a consolation that my stay in Panama had not prevented my seeing her, and the two weeks with Seymour was a great pleasure to us both, though we little anticipated the long separation before us.
    How true it is that misfortunes and troubles seldom come singly.  Early in June, Seymour came very unexpectedly for treatment of his eyes, having severely strained them at

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1871.  at sea, in using his marine glasses in the fog.  He went immediately on reaching New York to the Infirmary for examination by Doctor Knapp, considered as the finest specialist in diseases of the eye, and made arrangements for placing himself under his treatment, before coming to New London.  After a month there, he was allowed to come home and continue the remedies, and returning to N.Y. twice a week for examination: this course was pursued for months.  The sight of one eye was totally destroyed, the other being finally restored. I spent considerable time with him, as he was so totally unable to do anything for his own entertainment, but the travelling back and forth in the hot weather proved very injurious to me.
    In August a most painful swelling of the parotid glands appeared, and the suffering was so agonizing that anesthetics were constantly used to benumb the pain. Under these distressing circumstances, our son Julian came to us.  He seemed so frail, the Doctor thought he could not live, but no one seemed to feel much interest in him, my condition was so critical, and for weeks my life was in jeopardy.  The morning after his birth, the swelling on my

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1871.  neck was lanced, and again on the following day. The nature of the abscess was very unusual: probably a result of the poison from an abscess on the back of my lungs, after my illness the previous year, not being entirely eliminated, and was very like in its appearance and course to that which later terminated President Garfield's life.  Many physicians were called, but the case baffled their skill. Puerperal fever complicated the difficulty, and the question was not as to my recovery, for no one expected that, but how long my strength would admit a prolongation of agony.  For three days I was in a state of unconsciousness, except for a  moment in the afternoon of the first day, when I heard them talking of me with as little interest as if they were speaking of a stranger. Sarah said " Doctor, it seems to me that we are letting her die, without an effort to save her; do you think she will ever recover consciousness?"  He replied "We are doing all in our power; possibly she may rally a moment at the last, but will probably pass away in this comatose condition." On the morning of the fourth day, I slowly regained consciousness, and my first question was "is there any word of Charlie"? We were feeling very anxious at his prolonged absence, without tidings. His wife was in New York,

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1871. with the little daughter born two months after he sailed daily and anxiously awaiting his return.
    While unconscious of anything around me, I had a most remarkable experience.  I felt myself sinking, sinking into an unfathomable abyss; then for a time all was chaos. Suddenly I saw before me a vast ocean, the waters black and turbid, and out of the darkness, a phantom like ship, coming under full sail towards me, and I thought it was to bear me away.  In agony I cried, "oh God! how can I leave my husband and little children? who will care for them when I am gone?  Spare me yet a little longer."  Then in tones soft and full on assurance, came a voice saying, "Fear not, I am with thee; yea I will uphold thee with the right hand of My righteousness.  The Lord is thy Rock, thy strong tower, thy fortress, and thy deliverer.  I will never leave thee nor forsake thee.  When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.  My grace is sufficient for thee," with a multitude of other sweet promises, until all my fears vanished, and casting my care on Him, I seemed wrapped in such peace, with a sense of resting in the Everlasting arms,

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1871. as can I think be realized by few, who have not passed the Border land. I am confident that for me, death is divested of all terror.   With reluctance I came to life;  only God knows for what purpose; but trusting in His wisdom and goodness (and how can I ever doubt it after this experience?) slowly rallied and after many weeks gradually resumed my duties.  In November before I was able to leave my room, Seymour's eyes were so much improved, that he returned to San Francisco, Lizzie and baby Marion accompanying him. Letters from Charlie had been received telling of the perilous experiences and narrow escapes, having been dismasted in going around Cape Horn, and receiving injuries which required six weeks time in port for repairs.  Soon after leaving port, he encountered another gale, and in the blackness of night was run into by another vessel and cut so nearly in two, that he never expected to see home again, but finally succeeding, two months more were occupied in repairs.  As his cargo would be again for India, he wished Lizzie to come out to San Francisco, and go to sea with him.  In leaving New York, while on the way to the train, a trunk containing all the baby's clothing, handsome gifts, and other valuable articles, was either lost or stolen from the Express wagon, and never recovered. Fortunately the valise

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1871. containing articles necessary for the trip was in the carriage with her, but she was forced to purchase a wardrobe for baby immediately on arriving as poor little Marion like Flora McFlimsey[?] had nothing to wear.  The Express Company in settling, allowed her just one half the appraised value.  Nearly four months she looked and waited for Charlie's coming, and she resolved that never again would she allow him to go to sea without her. This time they went to Antwerp, and returned to San Francisco.
    1872.  Annie had been placed in the spring at the Oread[?] Institute at Worcester Massachusetts, under Rev. Harris R. Greene principal, the same school where Julie completed her studies.  As she was contented, and doing well we decided to leave her there, rather than interfere with her educational course.  The uncles and aunts volunteered to look after her during vacations, and I left her feeling quite comfortable, and satisfied she would be well cared for.  The middle of June was fixed for our return to San Francisco, and arrangements were made breaking up the one where we had passed through so much of trial and suffering, as also where we had enjoyed so much in the society of our dear parents.

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1872. Louise was to make her home with Sarah on Granite Street and Julie temporarily, and the house and furniture to pass into other hands.  The morning we left, the family gathered there for the last time. Sad, and yet widely different was this from all previous partings, and it was a relief when the carriage came to take us to the train, Arnold and Julie going with us, and dear Uncle Elisha, doubly dear from our recent loss, which he felt most keenly. That was my last visit to New London for a period of fourteen years. Seymour met us at Aspinwall as usual, and we made the trip in good time, going to the Grand Hotel, as our own house was occupied, until we could arrange our plans.  While there Julian was taken very ill from a change of food, and the brain being involved, we feared for a few days we were going to lose him.  On his improvement, the Doctor advised that we take him out of the city as soon as possible, and we engaged board with Captain Walsh in Benicia. The day we planned to leave Della was seized with inflammatory rheumatism which delayed us several days.  After a month in the country, the children having quite recovered, we were glad to get away from the mosquitoes, and returned to the city, and to Dr. Estin's[?]

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1872.  corner of Folsom and Third streets where Mrs. Lux had kindly engaged board for us, as being convenient for me to superintend the refitting of our house after an absence of nearly two years. It was ready for us by the middle of September, and there we awaited with impatience the arrival of the dear head of the family.
    In October Charlie with his wife and baby, again came to us, and we had a delightful three weeks with them, Seymour having returned soon after their arrival.  I never liked the "Una"[?] as she had been unfortunate from the time she left Bath, where she was built, having leaked so badly in going to Boston where she was to finish loading, that her cargo had to be taken out to stop the leak. I begged him if he must go to sea, to take another ship, for he might not always escape as he had hitherto done the series of disasters which had followed him ever since he had been in her; but he laughed at my fears; said she was as safe as any ship. So they sailed for London, thence to Calcutta, from which port we had letters, Lizzie writing that she longed for a home on the land and Charlie had promised that this should be his last voyage, as

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1872. he would seek business on land.
    In November I was taken very ill of rheumatic fever, and for nine long weeks was helpless, and while in this condition came tidings of the wreck of Seymour's ship the "Sacramento": fortunately there was no loss of life.  This great misfortune aggravated my sufferings for I knew too well all that it involved, and what my poor husband was enduring.
    Mr. Forbes having resigned his position in the Co. Capt Eldridge was sole agent.  When it was decided to change the route of the steamers, to lessen the distance he being an experienced navigator, protested against taking such large ships among the islands, and predicted disaster, alas that with my poor Seymour's ship his predictions proved true.  The night was clear, and having laid out the course, Seymour retired feeling no anxiety, when suddenly he was startled by the cry of "breakers ahead!" and rushed on deck to see his ship plunging into the cruel, roaring breakers. Orders were promptly given, and as promptly obeyed, to back the engines, but too late! the ship was already too firmly grasped in the clutches of the strong, swift current, and she rushed rapidly into the submerged reef.  A boat was dispatched to the nearest port, and

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1872. a telegram sent to the San Francisco agent, and the passengers, baggage, and stores were removed, and preparations made for their comfort on the island until they could be taken off.  Seymour remained by the ship, superintending removal of stores, machinery, and everything movable, until she commenced breaking up, when nothing more could be done; then with a sad heavy heart turned his face homeward. But such a dreary homecoming for the poor man who needed every attention, to find his wife too helpless even to embrace him, or move her arms from the pillows where they lay like logs.  Truly he could say with one of old, " All thy billows have gone over me".  How he was changed! Three weeks of grief and anxiety had taken all the brightness from his face, and so broken his spirit, that he seemed years older; and he never recovered his former cheerfulness.  The rules of the Company required his suspension until an investigation was made, and when a letter came signed by the President dismissing him from their service for disobedience of orders, these orders being "to keep his ship afloat", he quite broke down and seemed to have no power to rally from the cruel blow, which he considered not only a misfortune but a disgrace. Friends tried to cheer him, and much indignation was

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1873.  expressed, at the Co's treatment of so faithful and popular a commander, and a petition signed by the most prominent citizens representing millions of capital, urging his reinstatement was sent to the President in New York, but availed nothing.  Captain McLane was no longer in power, and under the new regime, their laws were like those of the Medes and Persians.
    A command was immediately tendered him in Govdall[?] and Nelson's line of steamers running north, which he declined with an expression of thanks and appreciation of their kindness and confidence, saying he never again would go to sea.  He was a very proud spirited man, and not only was his pride hurt, but his heart was broken. For weeks it was difficult to get him to go out of the house, or convince him that anyone cared to see him, and he brooded over his misfortune, and loss of position, saying it would have been better for us all, if he had perished at sea, as we then would have had the benefit of his life insurance, until I seriously feared for his reason. I tried to persuade him to look for other business but he said he was too old to fit himself for anything not connected with his profession, or to take up anything new.  I suggested that as the coal business required less experience than many other occupations, he might find some dealer who would take a partner,

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1873. and I would furnish the necessary capital, but he would not consent either to make inquiries himself, or allow me to take any steps in the matter.  So I daily studied the advertising columns of the papers, and after a time found one in the coal business requiring a small amount of capital, which he consented to look into, and found Mr. John Middleton ready to admit him as equal partner, thinking that with the increase in patronage, Seymour's extensive acquaintance would be likely to bring, they would be able to make a success.  I did not regard the partnership favorably, feeling positive that so small a business could not yield sufficient income to support our family, and again urged that he allowed me to see a prominent well established dealer who had no partner, but he was persistent in his own purpose, and went in with Mr. Middleton.  It was extremely aggravating to me, when only a few weeks later, I saw in the paper a notice that the very dealer I had proposed seeing, had taken a partner, and I had every reason to believe he would have gladly have accepted Seymour.  In October he went into partnership with Mr. Middleton at 14 Post Street.  
    I think I have not mentioned that the year following mother's death, brother Henry with his family removed to

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1873. Kansas City Missouri, drawn thither in hope of making his fortune by investing in land. The result was disastrous: the grasshoppers produced a famine which affected business generally: hard times the consequence, and as a result my brother had to foreclose his mortgages on lands which under the circumstances were a drag in the market, and taxes being enormous, he was financially ruined. Leaving Arthur his only son of fourteen as clerk in a dry goods house there, Henry with his wife and three little girls returned to New London, where he still resides. 
    This summer, a party consisting of Uncle Elisha, Addie and Ella Coe, sisters Sarah and Julia, cousins Alice and Elisha Turner, spent some months travelling in Europe, and Annie passed her vacation with friends in Philadelphia. We decided to have her come home, and Julie accompanied her, arriving here in December.  We were also looking forward to the return of Charlie and his family, whom Julie had not seen for more than two years. All winter we looked in vain, and as we knew they expected to sail from Calcutta on the 14th of October, and no word or report in shipping news reached us, we were extremely anxious for their safety, and I could not help mentioning how the message last received from them that it was to be their last voyage affected me at the time, when I remarked that I wished they had not

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1874. written of such intention, and a fervent prayer went up from my heart for their safe voyage.
    In the spring an Art School was opened, and Mr. Virgil Williams, being the instructor, and Annie was the ninth pupil enrolled for membership. Matilda Lutz[?] who has since gained reputation as an animal painter was also a pupil.  Annie remained there for more than two years, and from unwise zeal and interest in her work, neglected her noon day meal, causing indigestion with its train of evils, and she was forced to discontinue her studies.
    In the summer Julian fell from the dining room window, a distance of seven or eight feet, and although he complained of no injury except to his knees, he put his hands to his head, which I feared was jarred by the shock, and faithfully treated him according to the directions given me by Dr. Sites after Annie's injury from a fall.  Julie devoted herself to him, amusing and keeping him quiet, and he seemed well, until on the fifth day, Julie left him sitting in a rocking chair, to go to the bureau for something he wished and before she could get back, he stood in the chair which rocked and threw him on the back of his head.  Soon after he had a slight convulsion, but except for a slight fever, there was apparently

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1874. no farther ill effects.
    In the fall my health being wretched from rheumatism which affected my heart, I went with the Wells family to Bartlett Springs for the mineral waters.  Two days before leaving the city was thrown into a state of intense excitement by the death from drowning of William C. Ralston, a prominent citizen of presumably great wealth. The circumstances attending his death induced the belief that it was suicidal. He had many warm friends who had they known of his financial embarrassments, would willingly have lent him a helping hand.
    After an absence of a month, I returned, having visited several springs on finding the altitude at Bartlett's too great for free breathing, but derived no benefit from the change.  Still no tidings from brother Charlie. I became so nervous that at every ring of the doorbell, I felt cold shivers run through my frame - a dark cloud hung over their fate.
    In the great boom of mining stocks, I invested $3000. in Con[?] Virginia at $100 per share, and as the stock advanced in price I had bright hopes of realizing a handsome sum for my family.
    Soon after this we were notified by the Underwriters that having given up all hope of the "Una's" return, they had come

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1874.  to the  conclusion that she foundered in the Hongly[?] River the night after leaving port, as a terrible typhoon swept that coast at that very date, and they were prepared to settle the ship's accounts. But I could not abandon hope, and weeks and months passed before I could believe that they were lost, though often at night, while trying in vain to sleep, I could see little Marian in her mother's arms struggling in the imprisoned waters of their cabin and Charlie on the deck going down with his ship. That they perished in the sea we must believe, a cruel fate for my dear generous hearted brother and his sweet wife and child. 
    During my absence in 1867, Seymour had taken out an endorsement policy of $10,000 in the Equitable Life Ins. Co. of New York payable in 15 years, which he had promptly paid semiannually. Not being able to meet this heavy expense he was forced to get a paid up policy, a friend attending to the business for him. When it was brought in I at once noticed that it was not registered, and was told they did not register paid up policies.  I remarked that it was a very unsatisfactory way of doing business.  Scarcely two years passed before the Co. failed, and the business was placed in the hands of a Receiver.  In the settlements we received about $1000. for more than $6000 we had paid to the Co. and was told that had my policy

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1874.  been registered a larger percentage would have been paid us - very aggravating certainly.
    In the meantime Seymour had taken out a life policy for $3000. in the Mutual Life of New York for which Mr. Forbes had the Pacific Coast Agency, but which after his illness we were obliged to get a paid up policy for that also. I have since wondered why I did not apply to Uncle Elisha who would readily have loaned me the amount necessary to meet the annual payments, but I dislike to borrow when I saw no way of repaying.
    1875. This summer Lottie in riding horseback at the Whittier's was injured by the turning of the saddle throwing her over with her foot in the stirrup, head downwards, where she hung, until the coachman could reach and release her. She was quite ill from the rush of blood to her head, and from this injury I attribute the serious attacks from which she for years suffered.
    This fall Julie returned east, but it never more could be home to, and she realized there more than anywhere else the great and irreparable loss she, more even than the rest of the family had sustained, as we with the exception of Louise who was permanently with Sarah, had our own homes and families to occupy our time and affections.

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