on. He was hard hit, and the traces of
the blow were manifest on him. After about a month, he made a journey to
the Isles of Shoals with Franklin Pierce, and in that breezy outpost
of the land he spent some weeks, much to his advantage. This was in the
autumn of 1852, and I recall well enough the gap in things which his
long absence made for me, and my perfect joy when the whistle of the
train at the distant railway station signalled his return. Twenty
minutes had to elapse before the railroad carriage could bring him
to our door; they were long and they were brief, after the manner
of minutes in such circumstances. He came, and there was a moment of
indescribable glory while he leaped from the carriage and faced the
situation on the doorstep of his home. His countenance was glowing with
health and the happiness of home-coming. I thought him, as I always did,
the most beautiful of human beings, by which I do not mean beautiful
in feature, for of that I was not competent to hold an opinion; but
beautiful in the feelings which he aroused in me beholding him. He was
beautiful to be with, to hear, touch, and experience. Such is the effect
of the spiritual sphere of good men, in whom nature and character
are harmonious. My father got his appointment from Washington in the
following March, 1853. His wife had but one solicitude in leaving
America; her mother was aged and in delicate health, and their parting
might be forever in this world. But a month before the appointment was
confirmed, her mother quietly and painlessly died. It was as if she had
wished not to be separated from her beloved daughter, and had entered
into the spiritual state in the expectation of being nearer to her there
than she could be in the world. My mother always affirmed that she
was conscious of her mother's presence with her on momentous occasions
during the remainder of her own life.

June came; the farewells were said, we were railroaded to Boston,
embarked on the Cunard steamship Niagara, Captain Leitch, and steamed
out of Boston Harbor on a day of cloudlessness and calm. Incoming
vessels, drifting in the smoothness, saluted us with their flags, and
the idle seamen stared at us, leaning over their bulwarks. The last
of the low headlands grew dim and vanished in the golden haze of the
afternoon. "Go away, tiresome old land!" sang out my sister and myself;
but my father, standing beside us, gazing westward with a serious look,
bade us be silent. Two