The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1865-11-28
Tuesday Morning, Nov. 2S, 1865.
Adelaide Ann Proctor.
by oHARLEs pICKENs.

Those readers of Miss Proctors poems who
should suppose from their tone that her mind
was Of a gloomy or despondent cast would be
curiously mistaken. She was exceedingly hui
morous, and had a great delight in humor.
Cheerlulness was habitual with her; she was
very ready at sally, or a reply; and in her
laugh las remember wali) there was an unu-
sual vivacity, enjoyment and sense OF drollery.
She was perfectly uncenstrained and unaffect-
ed; as modestly silent about her productions
as she was generous with their pecuniary re-
suit. She was a friend who inspired the
strongest attachments; she was finely SYM
pathetic woman, with a great accordant heart
and a sterling noble nature. No claim can be
set up against her, thank God, TO the posses
sion ofsny OF the conventional poetical quail
ties. She never, by any means, held the opin-
ion that she was among the greatest of human
beings; she never suspected the existence of
a conspiracy on the part of mankind against
her; she never recognized in her best friends
her worst enemies; she never cultivated the
luxury of being misunderstood and unappre-
ciated she would far rather have died with
out seeing line of her composition in print
than that l should have maundered about her
as "the Poet : or "the Poetess." tfnf 4'
G With the RECOLLECTION Of Miss Proctor, as a
mere child, and asa woman, fresh upon me, it
is natural that [ should linger on my way to
But even as the close came upon her, so it
must come here, and cannot be STAYED off.
Always impelled by AN intense conviction
that her life must not be dreamed away, and
that her indulgence in her favorite pursuits
must be balanced by action in the real world
around her, she was indefatigable in her en-
deavors to do good. Naturally enthusiastic,
and conscientiously impressed with a deep
sense Of her Christian duty to her neighbor,
,I.S n L 17rk
objects. Now it was the visitation of the sick
that had possession of her; now it was the
sheltering of the houseless; now it was the
elementary teaching of the densely ignorant;
now it was the raising up of those who had
wandered and got trodden under foot; now
it was the wider employment of her own sex
in the general business of life; now it was all
these things at once. Perfectly unselfish, swift
to sympathize, and eager to relieve, she
wrought at such designs with a flushed ear
nestness that disre9arded season, weather,
time of day or night, food, rest. Under such
hurry of the spirits, and such incessant occu-
patton, the strongest constitution will COM
monty go down, and hers, neither of the
strongest nor the weakest, yielded to the bur-
den, and began to sink.
To have saved her life then, by taking ac-
ton on the warning that shone in her eyes
and sounded in her voice, would have been
impossible, without changing her nature. AS
long as the power of moving about in the old
way was left to her, she must exercise it, or
be killed by the restraint And so the time
came when she could move about no longer
and took to her bed. 4u
p All the restlessness gone then, and all the
sweet patience of her natural disposition puri-
fed by the resignation OF her soul, she lay up
ON her bed through the whole round of chang
es of the seasons. She lay upon her bed
through fifteen months In all that time her
old cheerfulnass never quilted her. In all that
time not an impatient or a querulous minute
can be remembered. atl.-p =. i,as
At length, at midnight on the I'd of Feb,
1864, she turned down leaf of little book
she was reading, and shut it up.
The ministering hand that had copied the
verses into the tiny album was soon around
her neck and she quietly asked, as the clock
was on the stroke of one,-
'Do you think am dying, mamma %. Il o,
b Think you are very, very i'll tonight, my
dear" stafr
@Send for my sister. My feet are SO cold!
Liftmeup.'
Her sister entering as they raised her, she
said, eIt has come at lastr' and, with a bright
and happy smile, looked upward, and depart
ed.
Well had she written,- r'Hsa @'
"Why shoudst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death
Who waits thee at the portal ofthe skies, iil. I
Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,
Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?
Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes
Are blinded by their tears or thou wouldst see b
Thy treasures wait thee in the tar-otf skies. y s..
And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee"
Atlantic Monthly.