Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1901-03-16
The Daughter Of the Mlnse.
FAREWELL TO ELIZABETH BEoDIE.

n
The frs! plrsoagc-h house ever Ell
tered in America bad Elizabeth Brdic in
dominant adjective in our Son"wha rX-
cited Tx az that inc. 1t WIS our first"
crossing of the Atlantic; oar ''iir>t' 81 hit
Of Plymouth ard Salem, he 'trSt" time
I had p.Gachcd or worship 'ch in churches
where tie Chronology" Opens' the Service
and responsive Psalms arc said. !; was
the first time we had breuthcd the tonic
air of country where Free State, Free
Church, and Free School, are glorious
common places, not remote ideals,
national life. One came to the West
with the heart open to every new I'M
preston, whether Of places, institutions,
or persons. And everything was impress
sivc-schoOl and church, street car and
railway, business and governn cnt, the
solidarity Of many raccSr the Persistence
of one republican ideal the eager rush of
the sire; is the blue of Massachusetts,
Bay, the fleet in the ID lawarc, the thun-
dcring forming of Niagara. the calm
breadth Of inland waters.
But We carried away Il distinct n1d low
ing rcmcmhra ice IF one Of the daughters
of the land, still in her high "cho,l youth
but flushed with hopes of the college
career soon to open for her at Bryn
Mawr.
We MI her in her fat hrs and mothers
hon>e-onc of the homes where the Eng
lish pilgrims Of 1899 hlh Il mlrvrlouslv
gracious welcome. TO see her was to
see the New England type Of girlhood at
its best. The grave sweetness of her
mnnbcr--a chiItl'S and yet womHn'~-put
one at ease In a mnmcnt, and made us
feel that this could not be the first time
we had seen her. though we knew it was,
for all that There was moGcSfy in every
tone, look and move mont; yet she seemed
always free as air, always approaching
and appronchablr when anything was
wanted. and noisclcSsly surrounding the
guests with welcome and the sense of
peace.
There was only one child in that wan IN
hOmc-nr>t in Fcdcra street, and her name
WAS "E'izlbeth." We thought hrw pre-.
ciouS that one life must be, and could see
what foad parental hope rested upon its
unfolding powers and traces.
Arrived back in Old England, we placed
the chilo's porlraii with those of othcrS)
on our walls of Rochdalc, and there, day
by day, the silent faces spoke to us OF
scenes and journeys now gathered up in
impcrishabir memory. Tue Puritan maid
en- of New England sometimes seemed to
be talking to us again. We heard her
syllable our mother tongue tn the same
rich Amercani>m as in the mansc. We
English never know the full charm of
homclike quaintne>s Of whlcn our tongue
Is capahl until we listen to the young
voices of New England
But one day the post brought us black
news. There was death at the mansc.
1t came all at once. The first word was
the last Before We knew she had been
i'll, we read the account of he funeral
service. There wa no tim" to wish her
anything. for God had taken her. Wishes
were swallowed up of life
1t was hard for Us to receive such news,
nut we wondered how the fond, stricken
hearts who sent it had lived under such 4
stroke.
We had never once connected dear old
Salem with the shadow Of death. 1t al-
ways seemed 50 full of life, with its
streets, shops, ears, schools, and-not far
off, the blue bay, over which the fathers
came. But now the chid WAS dead,
shades came into the picture. The cars
moancd rs they ran down Essex street,
under the high -branchcd trees. Voices
whispered sad words in the schools to
which She had once taken us. The blue |
went out of the Bay. The very Atlantic |
that brought us back home seemed to
grow dark in the vessels wake, and over
its cXpansr came Il cry-thc souls cry
for the ''Piot," when il must 'closS the
bar"
Salem will always possess for Us Gle |
menis OF public and spiritual interest.
But this death of the only child OF hon |
ored friends has given to Saicm new |
ia>cinttlon at once sacred and homclikc. |
In imug nation, we shall often go to the
grave with those who weep there, the liv-
Ing men aud women; the work, noise.
hustle, enterprise, that make up the life |
of the old city, will not be all OF Salem
for us. We shall feel that Gods acre Is
part of the place, and 1t will be to us
more than ever Il lefty ofpea T." because !
a child o. spotlcss life sleeps there, whom |
we knew and loved The winters viii |
co..c and 90, The glory Of summer days |
will blush and fate, around the dear ones
pillow, while. not far away, the voice Of