"WENT TO KANSAS" by Miriam D. Colt



"And the first clouds and mountains seem the last:
But, those attain'd we tremble to survey
The growing labors of the lengthened wag;
Th' increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes;
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise."

       SEPTEMBER 2D. -- I was up this morning at early dawn, cooking for our journey, and bringing water to fill all empty vessels, to make the task lighter through the day for sister L. and father, who was having a slight chill. Made myself and children ready again -- got our good neighbor, Mr. Hobbs, to strap our trunks and take our bed of prairie grass from the loft, to be ready to place in the wagon, so that my husband and children can lie on it to ride through the days, and for us to sleep on nights. I then went for my last turn of water, and to pick my spike of flowers, bade farewell to all the windings of my path to the water, and to the trees, vines, grass, and flowers, which had seemed to bow in silent sympathy at my sad lamentations, and listened to the breathings of my prayer -- to these unspoken friends I bade a last adieu. Soon the wagon was seen coming towards the creek, and the other two moving in a straight line on the prairie, with which we were soon to fall in rear. Our trunks were placed in the back end of the wagon, where were stowed a fine lot of watermelons; our bed in front, and our dinner pail so as to have it handy. Children were in a hurry to ride, and teamster to get up with the other wagons. I bade farewell to father, mother and sister L. with a sad heart, and placed my children and self into the wagon; my husband still lingered; it was a time of heart-trial to him to leave his own father, mother, and sister in this wild land, when he had made such earnest appeals to them to leave. Father's tenacious will must bind his wife and daughter.

        We start out upon the world again. Many a dark shade has passed over us since last Spring. We move up along on to the high prairie; I keep my eye on the log cabin we have left; could leave the cabin without a sigh, but for those felt there must breathe many. We make a little descent, it shuts the whole view from my eyes forever!

       Now I will take a look at the picture before me: here are my husband and children, very weak; we move along, at a very slow pace; hundreds of miles are before us, and know not where we shall find a resting place. I must take the burden! How are we to reach the summit of the mountain that rises before us? May Heaven grant strength and courage! We soon fall in rear of the other wagons, presenting quite the appearance of a caravan; while treading along behind are mules, oxen, cows and calves. We move on through the tall grass over the Indian lands. The Indians are riding about on their ponies, all at ease, with the fleetness of deer. We pass Godfrey's, nine miles; stop to bait the oxen; we have passed Big Creek, where my husband was intending to take claims; it was high, and a beautiful prospect presented itself to the eye; we go on down on to lower prairie; six miles more, arrive at Canveal's, (a Frenchman,) and to a camping-ground all in among the wild sunflowers. We have taken our suppers; it is raining, and the dusky shades of night are coming on. My husband has gone to "Monsieur" Canveal's, to see if he can get lodgings for the night. I and my children will sleep in the wagon, Mr. Wheeler and Henly under it; I see that they are beginning to retire in the other two wagons, and under them; my head is aching hard. I over-done this morning, bringing water, and that with the excitement of leaving, has caused it. May Heaven protect, to-night, the sick, anxious, and weary travelers.

       SEPTEMBER 3D. -- Cooked breakfast by camp-fire. My husband took his with "Monsieur" Canveal; had a pleasant time with him; found him to be formerly from Montreal, our once happy home; but said the dogs liked to have eaten him up before he could get to the house last night. It seems necessary to keep a score of dogs in this country; I suppose it is for protection. My husband's good host would not allow him to depart without first shooting down chanticleer for him to take along for his dinner; so when a fire was kindled in a pleasant wood to cook dinner by, I had the fowl disrobed of feathers and skin, all to one pull by a strong man's hand, and soon it was boiling in a kettle set on to the fire. When tender, it was seasoned with nothing but salt, leaving in a good quantity of broth; the kettle was then placed on a log, my husband, Mr. Wheeler, my children and self, composing my family, got around it, with bread in hand, and soon the kettle was empty. It was quite a change in diet for us.

        We passed the Catholic Mission this afternoon. It is said to be the most flourishing school in the Territory. It was founded in 1847. Rev. John Schoenmaker has discharged the duties of Superior in an efficient manner since the commencement, assisted by two Jesuit clergymen and lay teachers. The little Indian boys were out as we passed, in high glee.

        We find ourselves, to-night, on Hickory Creek. But little timber skirts its borders; clumps of bushes scattered along, make a pleasing variety. Have cooked some rice and made some tea for our supper. Our company all feel full of glee; they are picketing their mules and cows, and milking, to have milk for their coffee. My husband tries to be cheerful as he sits by the camp-fire, with his Indian blanket around him. My head aches; I have ridden lying down all day, -- and my heart is sad, very sad.

       SEPTEMBER 4TH. -- Our journeying to-day has been over fine prairies, and through woodlands that just skirted the small streams; but they were complete bowers of vines; all over head, on the trees, were grape vines, bending with the weight of fruit, and all over the ground and shrubs, smaller vines, not so aspiring, and of many kinds, were woven into one complete mat; they were charmingly beautiful, and the deep shade and rich perfume, was cooling and refreshing upon a hot day like this.

        One of Henly's oxen has been lame to-day, which has kept us moving at a slow rate. The wagons are drawn up in the camping form, here on Cow Creek, on the borders of the Cherokee Indian lands, in Missouri. We are now fairly out of Kansas. It is really amusing to look on and see with what ease and home-like feeling, these Southern "Squatter Sovereigns" adapt themselves to an out-door life. They have their cooking utensils, bacon, corn meal, and coffee, all stored in a little addition on the back end of their wagons; and as soon as a halting is made, at noon or night, the fire is struck up, out comes the tea-kettle, and over the fire it goes, or rather is placed on the fire; the tray and corn meal come next, and the bread is soon baking in the Dutch oven; then the bacon is put to frying in the spider, and soon the men, women and children are sitting around on the grass, partaking of the quickly-made meal, with a keen relish. They sometimes put corn bread, bacon and coffee, all into one dish, and call it "bucket soup." The water is very bad here; a green scum covers the top of it; have made tea of it, and cooked some rice in it; my husband and Mr. Wheeler drank the tea, and my darling children are so thirsty they must drink this water, that is so full of disease. I could not bear to taste of the rice; have eaten one of the hard water crackers for my supper, and drank no tea or water. A settler, a mile above, attracted by our camp-fire, has come down to see who we are, and is relating all the bloody war news of Northern Kansas. It is misty and cool to-night; have hung a blanket up at the front end of the wagon to keep out the damp air and the musquetoes. My children are in bed for the night, and so is their papa. I must make a few more notes in my diary, with my candle standing on our provision pail. I could feel glad to-night, to think that we are out of Kansas, were it not for those that me still in that land, and that I must look at the "lengthened way" ???? before us. I often amuse and quiet my children, by telling them of the many good things they shall have when they get home but where is our home?

"If ceaseless, thus, the fowls of Heaven He feeds;
If o'er the fields such lucid robes He spreads;
Will He not care for you, ye faithless, say?
Is He unwise? or are ye less than they?"

        SEPTEMBER 5TH. -- We campers were up with the coming in of morning, -- our camp-fire supplied with coal, which crops out all along on Cow Creek. After our breakfasting, all of us women and girls stood around the fire, in the misty air, just before taking to our wagons, when one of the women said to me:

        "Do you mop?"

        I said, "what?"

        "Do you mop?"

        "Why," said I, "what do you mean?"

        She said, "do you mop your teeth with snuff? most of the Southern ladies do," she taking me to be a Southern lady. I then noticed that she was "mopping" her teeth with a little swab, first dipped into her snuff box. So I learned what she meant by asking me if I "mopped." I then remembered of reading of such a practice among Southern ladies.

        We have passed cornfields, orchards and gardens to-day; have traveled in a road that was fenced off. It seemed so natural, yet so strange, to see so many precursors of civilization. We have also passed a grocery, and our teamster took occasion to have his tin bottle filled with "fire-water," as the Indians call whisky, and has keep sipping it since. He has promised us all day that he would take us to a home to stay to-night, but when we came on to the campground, just before sundown, refused to take us one-fourth of a mile further, to a house. My husband told he was not using us right, and as he agreed; upon which he went into a frenzy of rage, and dealt out oaths like any intoxicated man. It was necessary for me to go somewhere to buy something for our suppers; so I left the children with Mr. Wheeler, and I started off with my husband for the nearest house. Found a good, kind family, by the name of Seeker, who invited us to stay in their house. The good people were getting supper. I could hardly realize that I was gazing upon the home comforts of chairs, tables, good beds, upon bedsteads, and a plenty of good food cooked as though there was a bounteous store of provisions. The good old lady was just taking a loaf of wheat bread, from a Dutch oven, of the capacity of half a bushel; I think I must have looked at it with eagerness, for it was the largest loaf of bread that I ever saw; its whiteness and fresh flavor, being just out of the oven, and its mammoth size, were enough to recommend it to my palate, and I thought it would to the palates of my children, who would be so pleased with some white bread. I was invited to take supper, but declined, feeling thankful that my husband was going to fare so well through the night; took some bread and milk and hurried along, (just stopping to pick a fine cluster of blossoms from a honeysuckle that had interwoven with a grape on a small tree by the side of the road,) back to the wagon just at dark; I found my children sitting on the wagon tongue; I offered Mema some of the rich orange-colored flowers of a finger's length, but she did not want any; I gave this to Willie; he said, "Mamma, Mema cried when you was gone; Willie didn't cry." I then served Mr. Wheeler, my children and self, with bread and milk, all sitting on the wagon tongue. The other two families have been through their round of baking, frying, and making coffee, with the addition of stewing apples, which they took when we passed the orchard.

        It begins to rain hard; Henly is putting the quilts over the top of the wagon, which he brought for that purpose; keeps swearing, to relieve his surcharged system, I supposed, and reaching his hand in for more pins, to pin the quilts on the wagon top. Myself and children have the whole of the inside of the wagon to-night. Mr. Wheeler and our intoxicated teamster have taken to their berth under the wagon. It is raining like a shower.

        SEPTEMBER 6TH. -- It rains hard this morning; all of us travellers are obliged to huddle in here at good Mrs. Seeker's, to cook our breakfast. My husband says he rested well last night on the soft bed, and has partaken of a good breakfast this morning. My Willie is in a chill; I have laid him on to a bed. The rain subsides -- the clouds clear away, the wagons are ready, and the teamsters say, "come let's be off!" I take my Willie for the good bed, and lay him on our bed in the wagon; we are on the move again; Henly is full of invective. Two o'clock; the two families have got the loan of a little vacant house here by the roadside, and they propose stopping the rest of the day and night, to cook and rest; our driver stops too; we had rather go on.

        Our dinner over, Henly, under the influence of liquor, comes up to our wagon, takes out his large knife, begins to whet it on the wheel, and says, "I am a Border Ruffian! now, your blood or your money!" I was useless for my husband to say anything to appease his wrath, for he seemed to be burning with fury against him. He spoke low to me, saying, "you try to quiet him." I said, "I think he thinks that perhaps he won't get his pay for bringing us out, and I had better take the portmonnaie and pay him our fare." I paid him and spoke kindly to him, for I could see that a spark would explode him, -- then we might look out for our blood. The above scare so overcame my husband that he began to have a chill. I went a little way back with him to a house, where they gave him permission to spread his blanket down on the floor, and stay until morning, where he would be out of hearing of the drunken oaths of our ruffian driver. I said to myself, "I must go back, and if there are any battles to be fought, must put on manly bravery and fight them, and stay with my precious children who dare not stir out of the wagon." Bought some provisions and have been cooking in the house with the other families.

        Henley declares that he won't take us another mile, but will put our trunks out here by the side of the road. He has had his bottle filled again, and is treating all the negroes, I guess, on the plantation. Fearing him, I have been and left our money and gold watch with my husband. Am here in the wagon to comfort my children. It is growing dark; can see his disgustful figure gliding here and there, with the negroes, among the clumps of bushes. May an Arm, stronger and higher than mine, be over and around us to-night.

        SEPTEMBER 7TH. -- It was late last night before our drunken driver got quiet. He came to the wagon where I and my children were trying to rest, and began insulting me with his vile words and oaths; I used my greatest effort to appear quiet, and talk calmly, when my heart was bounding with fear, and filled with "holy indignation," and some I guess that was not so holy. He finally went off, cursing me at a great rate, to an old house where Mr. Wheeler had found a lodging place on a pile of flax. This morning his liquor had somewhat evaporated, and our kind fellow-travelers persuaded him to take us ten miles further, where we should be on the road to Booneville, but not so far as I had paid him for, into thirty miles. I went to the house where my husband was; told him Henly was going to take us on a few miles, and that he must get up. The lady of the house made him a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. We bade them good morning, thanking the lady for her kindness, and soon were on our way. Mr. Wheeler, self and children, took our breakfast on the way, in the wagon.

        Arrived here in Carthage, Jasper county, about three o'clock this afternoon; found a room here in the house of a Mr. Wells, whose family seem very kind. Are glad to let our drunken ruffian teamster go along without going any further with him. Have had some supper, made our bed upon the floor, and feel that we can rest.

        SEPTEMBER 8TH. -- It seems good and strange to be in the world again: I can look out, see roads, houses, streets, carriages, and people going this way and that way. It is a long time since I have looked upon such a picture as this. This pleasant little town is the county seat; the court house is just across the green, and a public well is there, where I should think all the folks of the town go for water.

        My husband and children are sick to-day with the chills again. Mr. Wheeler is very weak. Mrs. Wells has a little child sick with the dysentery. I feel under obligation to help her what I can, besides taking care of our own sick ones, she is so very kind.

        SEPTEMBER 12TH. -- Yesterday I gave medicine to stop the chills. To-day they are not having them. I had the headache all day yesterday. Mr. Wheeler is complaining of symptoms of dysentery. I have been busy in the kitchen to-day, cooking for ourselves and Mrs. Wells. The kitchen is hung around with halves of hogs, salted and smoked, which are called bacon; it is very handy to cut from when wanted, and on such hot days a this the grease is dripping from it. I should think the flies would trouble it, but they don't seem to be fond of bacon.

        SEPTEMBER 13TH. -- I never meet a while woman at the public well. This is not the place where free labor is considered honorable. I meet the black man and woman -- the young man and maiden -- the child; -- all are owned by white people, and considered valuable.

        I should think that the good people of this little town never saw a woman dressed in the short dress before; I seem to attract much notice when I go for water; I have heard words from a shop near by, that from their low tones I knew were not intended for my ear; saying, "O God, look at her! look at her!" I would say to myself, "O, have I become the occasion for by-words among the people?"

        Many of the villagers have called to see us; seem interested in our behalf; some have urged us to make this little town our home. One lady, in a very friendly manner, has advised me to lay off my short dress while I remain here, as it is not fashionable. But fashion and show hold so small a place in my mind now, that to please a few fastidious ladies for the few days I may remain here, would not recompense me for the bondage I should submit myself to in wearing long dresses, when I can go so nimbly around in my short, loose, and easy dress, to bring water, pick up chips, bring in wood, milk, to get milk, cook in the kitchen, wait upon the sick, etc., etc. I have found my present mode of dress so well adapted and serviceable in every way for the past three months, that I can well recommend it to all women who are called to labor or to walk, or who wish to ramble about for pleasure. Long dresses will do for afternoons, when all the work is done up, for drawing-rooms, parlors, and the inactive -- but to energetic, active women, who want to live for health, and the good that they can do, I would say, don the Bloomer!

        My husband has just found a teamster that starts in the morning for Boonville; goes with two teams, himself and his boy; -- will take us right along; my husband tried to persuade him to wait a day or two, but he can't be put off; so we must be ready to go in the morning. I am baking bread and doing other cooking for our journey.

        Our good friend, Mr. Wells, has bountifully supplied us with everything we have needed, and now refuses any recompense whatever. We have great reason to be thankful for finding such friends. Mr. Wheeler is still complaining with an attack of dysentery. Mr. Wells' little child is no better. My family have had no chills for two days -- hope the medicine has cured them.

        SEPTEMBER 14TH. -- Took leave of our kind friends at the smart little town of Carthage, this morning. When we stopped at noon for the horses to rest, my husband and self got permission to ramble in an orchard and pick up a few apples; they were not mellow, but we roasted them by our camp fire; the children relished them very much. We shall travel a little faster by horse power than we did by ox power. Our teamster has driven twenty-seven miles to-day. Have taken our supper in a house, but shall sleep in our wagon. My family have stood the ride well to-day, but Mr. Wheeler is quite sick; stays in the house.

        SEPTEMBER 15TH. -- A lovely morning greets us as we start on our way. Mr. Wheeler feels too sick to travel; stops at almost every house to see if he can get in and stay until he shall get better, but does not succeed yet. We are waiting for him now; he is trying again at this nice looking cottage nestling in among beautiful shade trees. A lady stands on the piazza talking with him; she sees children in the wagon, and here comes a little black girl with a basket of nice, red, mellow apples; she looks smiling as she is bidden to thank the kind lady for us. Mr. Wheeler is disappointed again. We sit in the wagon at this pleasant town of Greenfield, waiting for horses to be shod.

        This evening finds us at this, another pleasant little town of Mellville. Mr. Wheeler is very sick; stays in this quiet cottage hotel; my husband stays with him for company. We cannot all afford to stay in a hotel; so our kind driver has driven into this large yard which is attached to the hotel, the gate well locked, and here, under this large, spreading oak tree, I and my children shall sleep in one wagon -- our driver and his little boy in the other. My children are asleep; I have been into the hotel administering to Mr. Wheeler; he is indeed very sick; I think he will stop here until he is better. He is very anxious to have us stay with him, but our scanty funds would evaporate like the dew, if we should live in a hotel; besides, my husband and children are very weak; I feel anxious to proceed on our journey that we may get into some sheltered nook, before the fierce winds of winter shall blow. I will crave Heaven's blessing, then try to sleep.

        SEPTEMBER 16TH. -- We were very sorry to leave our worthy friend Wheeler, this morning, to be sick among strangers; I hope his recovery will be speedy, and soon he will be on his way to friends, as he designed.

        Our driver is cooking his dinner of beef stake by a great fire, here at the edge of a pleasant wood. We serve ourselves with our simple food with very little ceremony. Milk seems to be as free as water in this country; nobody will take a cent for all the milk.

        My Willie is complaining of being sick in his bowels; has some fever; have given him a towel bath, and am careful of his diet.

        We find good water here in the vicinity of the Ozark mountains -- mostly soft. The land lies in swells; the prairies are small; the wood lands have luxuriant growths of oak, elm, ash, hickory, sycamore, black and white walnut. The crab-apple, paw-paw and persimmon are abundant, as also the hazel, pecan and grape.

        We have stopped for the night -- yonder's setting sun finds us thirty-three miles from the little town where we behind his rising this morning. Here is a log house full of children, but the kind folks give part of one bed for myself and my Willie. Mema will sleep in the wagon with her papa.

        SEPTEMBER 17TH. -- Last night was a lovely moonlit night -- the dark forests to the eat of us -- the mountains in the distance -- the trees, garden, fences, and all objects surrounding this place where we staid were bathed in the moon's light, silver halo; I was up and out many times with my Willie in the brightness, when every one about me was living far away in the land of dreams, as quiet as though death had paralyzed every limb; my watchings and anxieties for my child were seen and known by only, as Milton says:

"Millions of spiritual creates" who "walk the earth
Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep."

        We have travelled over rough roads to-day, and have forded the Osage river. The wind is blowing -- dark clouds cover the heavens over -- and a storm is just upon us; kind people open their door, -- we rush in just in time to escape from the pouring rain. I cook rice for my Willie; we take supper with the kind family; they have corn bread, but no wheat bread. Willie says, "please won't mamma let Willie eat the crumbs off mamma's plate?" Precious child! how can I deny him? Still I feel that I must, his bowels are in such a weak state; I must persuade him to eat some of the rice. I learn from Mrs. Cunningham here, that the dysentery prevails all through this country now. It is that disease that is taking hold of my Willie at this time. I shall bathe him and give simple medicine. My anxiety will drive sleep far from me this night.

        We behold bondsmen and women now, every day; have been surprised to see the care and kindness shown them; most of the northern people labor harder than do these negroes.

        SEPTEMBER 18TH. -- Have rode all day, sitting on our bed, with but just a trunk to support my back -- with limbs extended, holding our darling boy on the dark-colored pillows, which are growing still darker from day to day, from the dust of the roads. As we have passed some very stony places in the road, I have raised my arms, so that my child should not receive any jar.

        We find comfortable lodgings and kind people to-night -- have been listening to a recital of their experience in going to Texas. The old lady says they were all sick there, and forty miles from neighbors, in among the Indians; that when the started to come back, she did not expect her husband would live a day; but as they journeyed he began to gain, and when they arrived here at their old home, he was well. They know how to appreciate the comforts that surround them, and to rejoice that the lives and health of their large family have been spared. Her story gives me some hope; my husband and Mema are better as we journey, but Willie is very sick to-night.

        SEPTEMBER 19TH. -- Another long day has passed; I feel relieved to lay my sick boy out of my arms on to a bed. We are stopping with fine people to-night. Mema has been with her papa to the dining room to supper; I have taken some corn bread and milk, or nice hoe-cake, baked on a board down before the fire -- it has relished well. The negro servant comes into my room and asks if "Missus" won't be helped to something more.

        My boy is very sick; takes no nourishment but water. We keep a bottle of fresh water in the wagon as we journey days. I carry him so carefully in my arms that riding doe not seem to make him any worse; he seems anxious to ride -- I take very little rest at night.

        My husband is very anxious to arrive in Boonville; when there we shall reach public conveyance, and on the streamer can have all the freedom we could at our own home (had we one) to take care of our sick boy; and when beyond the Mississippi -- when one past St. Louis, we shall speed away to some port, in quick time.

        SEPTEMBER 20TH. -- Was up at morning's early dawn, making ready for our last day's ride in the lumber wagon. Took leave of our host -- took my sick boy in my arms on pillows, and soon were on our way -- stopped a short time at noon, and then on we came; arrived in this beautiful own of Boonville just as eventide was spreading her gray mantle over all nature. Our kind but red-faced driver drove through the town down to the river's bank, where he intended to camp.

        We had finished our journey in wagons -- must leave the wagon that had given us shelter many days -- where now should we go to find another shelter? Sick, weak, weary -- dirty as we must be, emigrants in reality, after journeying and camping so many days. My husband must go, though weak, in search of a hotel where they would be reasonable, for we must consider our lowering purse, and the mountains still before us. After, I laid my Willie from off my lap down on our bed where his papa had been lying, and told him that we were not going to ride in the wagon any more -- that his papa had gone to find a hotel to take us to; he said, "Please lay Willie down and let Willie rest first; Willie's tired."

        My husband soon returned; said he had found a good hotel. Our driver offered to carry our sick child, wrapped in an Indian blanket, and soon we found ourselves shown into this little room, made comfortable by setting up a stove, here in Bullock's hotel.

        I have laid my little sick boy on to a soft bed, and he is resting his head on white pillows. O, what comforts! what comforts! to the sick, weak, and weary traveler.

        My husband has been to the dining room and taken some tea. I thought I would not appear in my short dress at the table, but our young and kind host took me right along -- said I must go and have some tea -- that none were at the table but their own family. I feel refreshed after my tea.

        Mema is sick with an attack of dysentery to-night. We make preparations for retiring -- a mattress is placed on the carpet for my husband; my children will take the bed, as it will be more convenient for me to take care of them. It is indeed pleasant for us to be left alone to rest, and make calculations for the future. We have been so long strangers to comforts, and the most common necessaries of life, that we know well how to appreciate the cosiness and home-like feeling that clusters in upon us in this little room -- still we are sad, anxious about our two sick children, and wondering how we are to proceed on our journey. We ask heaven's protection, and try to rest.

        SEPTEMBER 21ST. -- Was obliged to go to the breakfast table in my untidy Bloomer, for our driver had not brought our trunks. All up and down the long table I could see that my dress was attracting considerable attention, by the smiles that played upon the countenances of some, while in others, could see their smiles reproved, as their looks betokened deep sympathy for me. But my care-worn anxious heart was so much above the sneering world, that darts from such quivers could not reach me. One gentleman's kindness, who sat opposite me, was pleasant at the time, and who, I have learned, is Dr. Hartt, who, with his family, rooms next to us.

        I am in hopes that Willie is some better; Mema is quite sick. My husband is enjoying the comforts of this hotel home; though he is paying $2 25 per day, it is low in comparison to the rate at other hotels, and we find this a respectable and well-kept house. We shall be very thankful if our children are well enough to take on board for a steamer in the morning, so that we can be on our way. Willie has been wanting to go on a steamboat; has said many times, "Willie will go home with mamma." But he is too sick now to want anything.

        One gentleman boarder has just been in to see us; we find that he once hailed from St. Lawrence county, N.Y.; he expressed much sympathy for us; said he would do all in his power for us, and that we might rest assured that we were among Christian people. I have been obliged to go into the back yard and do some necessary washing for my sick boy, although it is Sunday.

        Our trunks have been brought, our clothes changed -- I saw no derisive smiles when I went to tea this evening. Mema is better. Willie is quiet; has not wanted to be bathed to-day. I said to him, "you know mamma wants to do everything she can for her little boy." He would say, "Willie knows mamma does." Dr. Hartt pronounces him a very sick child.

        SEPTEMBER 22D. -- Watched faithfully and alone last night, as mothers are wont to watch; would not allow my husband to sit up with me; knew that he was not able. Willie is very sick -- but can't think but what he will get well again. I know his face grows pale, and still paler, from day to day, and his eyes of a more heavenly blue -- but we cannot spare our darling boy -- he must "go home with his mamma."

        Mrs. Hartt has called to-day; seems very kind and sisterly; offers to do anything for me; has sent her servant, who has taken all of our washing to do; I felt that it was too much, but she insisted upon taking it.

        SEPTEMBER 23D. -- Watched all night, -- prayer, hoping, fearing. This has been my prayer -- "O grant that I may get my loved ones to some place that I can call home." Mema is quite well again -- Willie is no better.

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