The Life and Letters of Elizabeth Prentiss Part 46

I wish you were coming, too. How you would enjoy sitting on the piazza watching the shadows on the mountains! We have had some magnificent sunsets this season. Mr. Prentiss and I drive every night after tea, a regular old Darby and Joan. Generally, I prefer working in the garden to driving, but this time it has been too hot, and we have next to no flowers. It quite grieves me that I have nothing to lay on Grandma Pratt's coffin. However, _she won't care!_ Won't it be nice to get rid of these frail, troublesome bodies of ours, and live without them! I hope I shall see you in heaven, with plenty of room and no rheumatism.

How could you make such a time over that doggerel! [12] Such things are a drug in this house. I thought I had a long letter from you, and it was that stuff! My last book is all printed. My husband kindly corrected the proof-sheets for me; a thing I hate to do. He likes the book better than I do. I always get tired of my books by the time they are done. I read very little; only some few devotional books over and over. I wonder if you have read "Miracles of Faith"? It is a remarkable little book.

Do write and let me know how you and your husband are. We make great account of our afternoon mail.

She alludes in the preceding letter to the guests she was expecting. The entertainment of friends formed a marked feature of her Dorset life; and it called into play the brightest traits of her character. Her visitors always went away feeling like one who has been gazing upon a beautiful landscape or listening to sweet music, so charming was her hospitality.

One of them, writing to her husband a year after her death, thus refers to it:

I seem to see the Dorset hills now with their beautiful cloud-shadows and lovely blue. I can see in my mind your pleasant home and all the faces, including the dear one you miss this summer. What a delightful home she made! The "good cheer" she furnished for the minds, hearts, and bodies of her guests was something remarkable. I shall never forget my visits; I was in a state of high entertainment from beginning to end.

What entertaining stories she told! what practical wisdom she gave out in the most natural and incidental way! and what housekeeping! Common articles of food seemed to possess new virtues and zest. I always went away full of the marvels of the visit, as well as loaded down with many little tokens of her kindness and thoughtfulness.

_To Mrs. Condict, Dorset, Sept. 9, 1876._

What interested me most at the Centennial was in the Main Building, and two things stand out, prominently, in my memory. The first is groups of Swedish figures, dressed in national costume, and all done by the hand of a real artist. Especially examine the dead baby and its weeping mother and rugged old wounded grandfather; it will remind you of the words, "A little child shall lead them." Next in interest to me were the j.a.panese bronzes and screens; next wares from Denmark, b.u.t.terflies and feathers from Brazil. In the art department a picture called "Betty"

in the British division, up in a corner, and in statuary "The Forced Prayer." Both my girls agreed with me in the main; the boys cared most for Machinery hall, and my husband for Queensland, for which I did not care a fig.

Last Sunday was as perfect here as with you. My husband preached at Pawlet, about six miles from here, and I went with him. He preached a very earnest sermon on prayer. My Bible-reading is thronged, and I can't but hope the Holy Spirit is helping my infirmities and blessing souls.

My heart yearns over these women, many of whom have faces stamped with care. There is a cla.s.s here that n.o.body has any idea how to get at.

To meet their case, apostolic work needs to be done. Do you know that Irishmen are buying up the New England farms at a great rate?

_To Mrs. Donaghe, Dorset, Sept. 10, 1876._

The extraordinary heat has worked unfavorably on both my husband and myself; he has been under medical treatment most of the time, forlorn and depressed. I have just pushed through as I could; my Bible-reading, which has been wonderfully attended, being the only work I have done.

The weather is cool now and I feel stronger.

A party of young people, who were coming to call on A., were upset just above us; two had broken legs, others bruises and cuts, and one had both knee-pans seriously injured. We got her here and put her to bed, and then I started off to get the rest; but the surgeon, on arriving, decided they should be removed at once, and got them all safely back to Manchester.

_To Mrs. Condict, New York, Oct. 16, 1876._

Since my last letter I have been to Montreal, fled from and settled down here. My book is out in England, and my husband sat up till midnight, reading an English copy of it, although he had heard me read it aloud when written, and read it twice in proof-sheets. He thinks it will be a useful book. I feel sure you will agree with me in its main points. G.o.d grant it may send many a bewildered mother to her knees! Miss S. called here a few days ago; she has written a book called "The Fullness of the Blessing,"--one object of which is to prove that sanctification is not, can not be instantaneous.... I do hope the book will do good. It seems timely to me, for I shudder when I hear that A. and B. "professed sanctification" on such and such a day. My visit to Montreal gave me indignant pain when I saw crowds kneeling to the Virgin, and not to Christ, in those costly churches and cathedrals.

As to Miss ---- I do not know enough of her to form an opinion of her state; I incline, however, to think that demoniac possession is sometimes permitted. Fenelon, you know, thinks we should not be too eager for spiritual delight. He is entirely right when he says that the "night of faith" may witness a faith dearer to G.o.d than that of sensible delight. I love Job when he says, "Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him," more than I do David when he is in green pastures and beside still waters; it does not require much faith to be happy there.

_Nov. 12th._--I am glad Greylock reached you in safety, and sorry I could not correct its numerous misprints. Your question about Kitty I don't quite understand; I did not mean to say that her parents had no more trouble with her, but they had no more fights growing out of self-will on both sides. I know that there is no end to trouble with obstinate or otherwise naughty children, only if the mother lives close to Christ the fault will be on their side, not hers. You speak, by-the-bye, of my using the word Christ rather than the word Jesus. I do so because it means more to my mind, and because the apostles use it much more frequently. I do hope my book will be a comfort and help to many well-meaning but inexperienced mothers. And I wish I practised more perfectly what I preach. But I have my infirmities and find it hard to be always on my guard.... A. and I are taking drawing-lessons of a very superior French teacher, who offers us the privilege of spending our whole time in her studio, with "conseil."

_The Home at Greylock_ was published the latter part of October. It embodied, as she said, the results of thirty years of experience and reflection. Its views of marriage and of the office of a Christian mother found frequent expression in her other writings and in her correspondence. She placed religion and love alike at the foundation of a true home; the one to connect it with heaven above, the other to make it a heaven upon earth. She enjoined it upon her young friends, as they desired enduring domestic felicity, to marry first of all for love. To one of them, who was tempted, as she feared, to marry out of grat.i.tude rather than from love, she wrote:

We women are exacting creatures; and you can not please us unless we have the whole of you. Oh, if you knew the sacredness, the beauty, the sweetness of married life, as I do, you would as soon think of entering heaven without a wedding garment, as of venturing on its outskirts even, save by the force of a pa.s.sionate, overwhelming power that is stronger than death itself!

How warmly she sympathised with mothers, especially with young mothers, in their peculiar experiences and how great she thought their privilege to be, her writings testify. The same trait is brought out still more fully in her letters. "Only a mother," she wrote, "knows the varied discipline of hopes and fears and joys and sorrows through which a mother pa.s.ses to glory--for this is the mother's pathway, and she rarely walks on a higher road or one that may so lead to perfection." Some of her letters addressed to bereaved mothers have already been given. But if her heart was always touched with grief by the death of an infant, it seemed to leap for joy whenever she heard that in the home of a friend a child was coming or had just arrived. Here are samples of her letters on such occasions.

_To Mrs. ----, Jan 10, 1874._

You little know into what a new world you are going to be introduced!

I wouldn't be a bit frightened, if I were you; it is ever so much more likely that you'll get through safely, than that you will not; and then what joy! You will be a very loving, devoted mother, and I hope this little one will only be the beginning of a houseful. I spoke for ten, but only had six; and our dear Lord had to take two of them back.... I have just run over your letter again, and want to reiterate my charge to you to feel no fear about your future. If you live and have a child, your joy will be wonderful, but if you do not live (here) it will be because you are going to dwell with Christ, which is better than having a thousand children. So I see nothing but bright sides for you.

_To the Same, April 18 10, 1874._

By this time you ought to be able to receive letters; at any rate I am going to write one and you can do as you please about reading it. Well, isn't a baby an inst.i.tution? I am sure you had no idea what a delightful thing it is to be a mother, and that you have had a most bewildering experience of both suffering and joy. I shall want to hear all about the young gentleman when you get strong enough to write an enthusiastic letter about him; nor have I any objection to hear how his mother is behaving under these new circ.u.mstances.

What does your husband think of the upsetting of all home customs and the introduction of this young hero therein? Thank him for sending me the news in good season. I should not have liked it from a stranger. And by-the-bye, don't let your children say parp-er and marm-er, as nine children out of ten do. I daresay you never meant they should, having a little mite of sense of your own. Now this is all a new mother ought to read at once, so with lots of congratulations and thanksgivings, good-bye.

The following is an extract from a letter to another friend, dated Feb.

20, 1875:

Your last letter was so eloquent in its happiness that in writing an article for a magazine on the subject of education, I could not help beginning "The King is coming," and depicting his heralds... I am indeed rejoicing in your joy, and hope the little queen will long sit on the right royal throne of your heart. Keep me posted as to Miss Baby's progress. I know a family where the first son was called "Boy" for years, the servants addressing him as "Master Boy."

Here are the opening sentences of the article referred to:

The King is at hand. Heralds have been announcing his advent in language incomprehensible to man, but which woman understands as she does her alphabet. A dainty basket, filled with mysteries half hidden, half displayed; soft little garments, folded away in ranks and files; here delicate lace and cambric; there down and feathers and luxury. The King has come. Limp and pink, a nothing and n.o.body, yet welcomed and treasured as everything and everybody, his wondrous reign begins.

His kingdom is the world. His world is peopled by two human beings.

Yesterday, they were a boy and a girl. To-day, they are man and woman, and are called father and mother.

Their new King is imperious. He has his own views as to the way he shall live and move and have his being. He has his own royal table, at which he presides in royal pomp. His waiting-maid is refined and educated--his superior in everyway. He takes his meals from her when he sees fit; if he can not sleep, he will not allow her to do so. His treasurer is a man whom thousands look up to, and reverence, but, in this little world, he is valued only for the supplies he furnishes, the equipages he purchases, the castle in which young royalty dwells. The picture is not unpleasing, however; the slaves have the best of it, after all.

The reign is not very long. Two years later, there is a descent from the throne, to make room for the Queen. She is a great study to him. He puts his fingers into her eyes to learn if they are little blue lakelets. He grows chivalrous and patronizing. So the world of home goes on. The King and Queen give place to new Kings and Queens, but, though dethroned, they are still royal; their wants are forestalled, they are fed, clothed, instructed, but above all, beloved. When did their education begin? At six months? A year? Two years? No; it began when _they_ began; the moment they entered the little world they called theirs. Every touch of the mother's hand, every tone of her voice, educates her child. It never remembers a time when she was not its devoted lover, servant, va.s.sal, slave. Many an ear enjoys, is soothed by music, while ignorant of its laws. So the youngest child in the household is lulled by uncomprehended harmonies from its very birth. Affections group round and bless it, like so many angels; it could not a.n.a.lyse or comprehend an angel, but it could feel the soft shelter of his wings. [13]

The following was addressed to a friend, whose home was already blessed with six fine boys:

DORSET, _Sept. 16, 1868._

Dear Mr. B.:--I am just as glad as I can be! I _said_ it was a girl, and I _knew_ it was a girl, and that is the reason it _is_ a girl. Give my best love to Mrs. B., and tell her I hope this little damsel will be to her like a Sabbath of rest, after the six week and work days she has had all along. It is hard to tell which one loves best, one's girls or one's boys, but it is pleasant to have both kinds... I hope your place has as appropriate a name as ours has had given to it--"Saints' Rest"!!--and that you will fill it full of saints and angels; only let them be girls, you have had boys enough.

III.

The Year 1877. Death of her Cousin, the Rev. Charles H. Payson. Illness and Death of Prof. Smith. "Let us take our Lot in Life just as it comes." Adorning one's Home. How much Time shall be given to it? G.o.d's Delight in His beautiful Creations. Death of Dr. Buck. Visiting the sick and bereaved. An Ill-turn. Goes to Dorset. The Strangeness of Life.

Kauinfels. The Bible-reading. Letters.

During the early months of 1877 Mrs. Prentiss' sympathies were much excited by sickness and death among her friends.

"I spend a deal of time," she wrote, "at funerals and going to see people in affliction, and never knew anything like it." And wherever she went, it was as a daughter of consolation. The whole year, indeed, was marked by a very tender and loving spirit, as also by unwonted thoughtfulness. But it was marked no less by the happiest, most untiring activity of both hands and brain. During the month of January she wrote the larger portion of a new serial for The Christian at Work. It would seem as if she foresaw the end approaching and was pressing toward it with eager steps and a glad heart.

_To her eldest Son, New York, Jan. 28, 1877._

The great event of last week was cousin Charles' unexpected death. [14]

Your father and I attended the funeral, in his church, which was crowded to overflowing with a weeping audience. Most of the ministers we know were there. Cousin G. came on Friday night and said nothing would comfort him like hearing your father preach and he promised to do so. I went with him to Inwood, and we have just got back. Your father preached a beautiful sermon and paid a glowing tribute to cousin Charles in it, and I am very glad I went. After the funeral yesterday I came home and put up some chicken-jelly I had made for Prof. Smith, and carried it down to him; there I met Dr. Gould, of Rome, who had seen him, and said he considered his case a very critical one. _Feb. 4th_.--Your father was invited to repeat his lecture on Recollections of Hurstmonceux and Rydal Mount, and did so, yesterday morning, in our lecture-room, which was filled with a fine audience, mostly strangers. What have you on your natural bracket? And have you put up your leaves on your windows?

Mine are looking splendidly. H. is burning one of them with a magnifying-gla.s.s your father gave me at Christmas. The sun does lie delightfully in this room. I must now go to the Smiths. All send love.

Prof. Smith pa.s.sed away peacefully in the early morning on the 7th of February. One of his last conscious utterances was addressed to Mrs.

Prentiss: "I have ceased to c.u.mber myself with the things of time and sense, and have had some precious thoughts about death." Henry Boynton Smith was one of those men who enrich life by their presence, and seem to render the whole world poorer by their absence. He was strongly attached to Mrs. Prentiss; for more than forty years the relation between him and her husband resembled that of brothers; Mrs. Smith was one of her oldest and most beloved friends, and for a quarter of a century the two families had dwelt together in unity. And, then, with one of the saddest and one of the happiest events of her domestic history--the burial of her little Bessie, at which he ministered with Christlike sympathy, and at the baptism of her Swiss boy who bore his name--he was tenderly a.s.sociated. It is not strange, therefore, that his death, as well as the wearisome years of invalidism which preceded it, touched her deeply. What manner of man he was; how gifted, wise and large-hearted; how devoted to the cause of his Lord and Saviour; what a leader and master-workman in sacred science and in the Church of Christ; how worthy of love and admiration--all this may be seen and read elsewhere. [15]

_To Mrs. Condict, Feb. 14, 1877._

Before I go down to the meeting at Mrs. D.'s I must have a little chat with you, in reply to your last two letters. I felt like shrieking aloud when you contrasted your life with mine. But it is impossible to state fully why. Yet I may say one thing; I have had to learn what I teach in loneliness, suffering, conflict, and dismay, which I do not believe you have physical strength to bear. The true story of my life will never be written. But whatever you do, don't envy it. And I do not mean by that, that I am a disappointed, unhappy woman; _far from it_. But I enjoy and suffer intensely, and one insulting word about Greylock, for instance, goes on stinging and cutting me, amid forgetfulness of hundreds of kind ones. [16] Let us take our lot in life just as it comes, courageously, patiently, and faithfully, never wondering at anything the Master does.

I am concerned just as you are about my interest in things of time and sense. But I have not the faintest doubt that if we could have all we want in Christ, inferior objects would fade and fall. But we live in a strange world, amid many claims on time and thought; we can not dwell in a convent, and must dwell among human beings, and fall more or less under their influence. We shall get out of all this by and by. _Feb.

27th._--This winter I am drawing in charcoal under an accomplished teacher; she has so large a cla.s.s that I had to withdraw from it and take private lessons. She has invited A. to a.s.sist her in teaching little ones twice a week, which materially curtails her bill. A. was introduced to one youth, aged five, as _Monsieur_ So and So; he had his easel, his big portfolio, and charcoal, in great style, but only took one lesson, he hated it so. I don't see what his mother was made of. I sympathise with your fear of spending too much time adorning your home, etc., etc. It is a nice question how far to go and how far to stay. But I honestly believe that a bare, blank, prosaic house makes religion appear dreadfully homely. We enjoy seeing our children enjoy their work and their play; is our Father unwilling to let us enjoy ours? In a German book [17] I translated, a little boy is very happy in making a sc.r.a.p-book for a little friend, and G.o.d is represented as being glad to see him so happy. And I don't believe He begrudged your making me that pretty picture, or did not wish me to make yours. (By-the-bye, when you have time, tell me how to do it.) It seems to me we are meant to use _all_ the faculties G.o.d gives us; to abuse them is another thing. I feel that I am having a vacation, and wonder how long it is going to last. I do not know how I should have stood the _tremendous_ change in my life, through my husband's change of profession, if I had not had this resource of painting. O, how I do miss his preaching! How I miss my pastoral work! Dr. Buck is on his dying bed, and longing to go. [18]

_To her eldest Son, New York, March 11, 1877._