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Half a Century by Jane Grey Cannon Swisshelm

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* * * * *

"God so willed:
Mankind is ignorant! a man am I:
Call ignorance my sorrow, not my sin!"

"O, still as ever friends are they
Who, in the interest of outraged truth
Deprecate such rough handling of a lie!"




It has been assumed, and is generally believed, that the Anti-slavery
struggle, which, culminated in the Emancipation Proclamation of 1862,
originated in Infidelity, and was a triumph of Skepticism over
Christianity. In no way can this error be so well corrected as by the
personal history of those who took part in that struggle; and as most of
them have passed from earth without leaving any record of the education
and motives which underlay their action, the duty they neglected becomes
doubly incumbent on the few who remain.

To supply one quota of the inside history of the great Abolition war, is
the primary object of this work; but scarcely secondary to this object
is that of recording incidents characteristic of the Peculiar
Institution overthrown in that struggle.

Another object, and one which struggles for precedence, is to give an
inside history of the hospitals during the war of the Rebellion, that
the American people may not forget the cost of that Government so often
imperiled through their indifference.

A third object, is to give an analysis of the ground which produced the
Woman's Rights agitation, and the causes which limited its influence.

A fourth is, to illustrate the force of education and the mutability of
human character, by a personal narrative of one who, in 1836, would have
broken an engagement rather than permit her name to appear in print,
even in the announcement of marriage; and who, in 1850, had as much
newspaper notoriety as any man of that time, and was singularly
indifferent to the praise or blame of the Press;--of one who, in 1837,
could not break the seal of silence set upon her lips by "Inspiration,"
even so far as to pray with a man dying of intemperance, and who yet, in
1862, addressed the Minnesota Senate in session, and as many others as
could be packed in the hall, with no more embarrassment than though
talking with a friend in a chimney corner.
























































































Those soft pink circles which fell upon my face and hands, caught in my
hair, danced around my feet, and frolicked over the billowy waves of
bright, green grass--did I know they were apple blossoms? Did I know it
was an apple tree through which I looked up to the blue sky, over which
white clouds scudded away toward the great hills? Had I slept and been
awakened by the wind to find myself in the world?

It is probable that I had for some time been familiar with that tree,
and all my surroundings, for I had been breathing two and a half years,
and had made some progress in the art of reading and sewing, saying
catechism and prayers. I knew the gray kitten which walked away; knew
that the girl who brought it back and reproved me for not holding it was
Adaline, my nurse; knew that the young lady who stood near was cousin
Sarah Alexander, and that the girl to whom she gave directions about
putting bread into a brick oven was Big Jane; that I was Little Jane,
and that the white house across the common was Squire Horner's.

There was no surprise in anything save the loveliness of blossom and
tree; of the grass beneath and the sky above; and this first indelible
imprint on my memory seems to have found this inner something I call me,
as capable of reasoning as it has ever been.

While I sat and wondered, father came, took me in his loving arms and
carried me to mother's room, where she lay in a tent-bed, with blue
foliage and blue birds outlined on the white ground of the curtains,
like the apple-boughs on the blue and white sky. The cover was turned
down, and I was permitted to kiss a baby-sister, and warned to be good,
lest Mrs. Dampster, who had brought the baby, should come and take it
away. This autocrat was pointed out, as she sat in a gray dress, white
'kerchief and cap, and no other potentate has ever inspired me with such
reverential awe.

My second memory is of a "great awakening" to a sense of sin, and of my
lost and undone condition. On a warm summer day, while walking alone on
the common which lay between home and Squire Horner's house, I was
struck motionless by the thought that I had forgotten God. It seemed
probable, considering the total depravity of my nature, that I had been
thinking bad thoughts, and these I labored to recall, that I might
repent and plead with Divine mercy for forgiveness. But alas! I could
remember nothing save the crowning crime--forgetfulness of God.

I seemed to stand outside, and see myself a mere mite, in a pink
sun-bonnet and white bib, the very chief of sinners, for the probability
was I had been thinking of that bonnet and bib. It was quite certain
that God knew my sin; and ah, the crushing horror that I could, by no
possibility conceal aught from the All-seeing Eye, while it was equally
impossible to win its approval. The Divine Law was so perfect that I
could not hope to meet its requirements--the Divine Law-giver so alert
that no sin could escape detection.

Under that cloud of doom the sunshine grew dark, and I did not dare to
move until a cheery voice called out something about my pretty bonnet,
and gave me a sense of companionship in this dreadful, dreadful world.
Rose, a large native African, had spoken to me from her place in Squire
Horner's kitchen, and I went home full of solemn resolves and sad

This is probably what evangelists would call my conversion, and it came
in my third summer. There was a fire in the grate when mother showed Dr.
Robt. Wilson, our family physician, a pair of wristbands and collar I
had stitched for father, and when they spoke of me as not being three
years old--but then I had in my mind the marks of that "great

To me, no childhood was possible under the training this indicates, yet
in giving that training, my parents were loving and gentle as they were
faithful. Believing in the danger of eternal death, they could but guard
me from it, by the only means of which they had any knowledge.

Before the completion of that momentous third year of life, I had
learned to read the New Testament readily, and was deeply grieved that
our pastor played "patty cake" with my hands, instead of hearing me
recite my catechism, and talking of original sin. During that winter I
went regularly to school, where I was kept at the head of a
spelling-class, in which were young men and women. One of these, Wilkins
McNair, used to carry me home, much amused, no doubt, by my supremacy.
His father, Col. Dunning McNair, was proprietor of the village, and had
been ridiculed for predicting that, in the course of human events, there
would be a graded, McAdamized road, all the way from Philadelphia to
Pittsburg, and that if he did not live to see it his children would. He
was a neighbor and friend of Wm. Wilkins, afterwards Judge, Secretary
of War, and Minister to Russia, and had named his son for him. When his
prediction was fulfilled and the road made, it ran through his land, and
on it he laid out the village and called it Wilkinsburg. Mr. McNair
lived south of it in a rough stone house--the manor of the
neighborhood--with half a dozen slave huts ranged before the kitchen
door, and the gateway between his grounds and the village, as seen from
the upper windows of our house, was, to me, the boundary between the
known and the unknown, the dread portal through which came Adam, the
poor old ragged slave, with whom my nurse threatened me when I did not
do as she wished. He was a wretched creature, who made and sold hickory
brooms, as he dragged his rheumatic limbs on the down grade of life,
until he found rest by freezing to death in the woods, where he had gone
for saplings.

I was born on the 6th of December, 1815, in Pittsburg, on the bank of
the Monongahela, near its confluence with the Allegheny. My father was
Thomas Cannon, and my mother Mary Scott. They were both Scotch-Irish
and descended from the Scotch Reformers. On my mother's side were
several men and women who signed the "Solemn League and Covenant," and
defended it to the loss of livings, lauds and life. Her mother, Jane
Grey, was of that family which was allied to royalty, and gave to
England her nine day's queen.

This grandmother I remember as a stately old lady, quaintly and plainly
dressed, reading a large Bible or answering questions by quotations from
its pages. She was unsuspicious as an infant, always doubtful about
"actual transgressions" of any, while believing in the total depravity
of all. Educated in Ireland as an heiress, she had not been taught to
write, lest she should marry without the consent of her elder brother
guardian. She felt that we owed her undying gratitude for bestowing her
hand and fortune on our grandfather, who was but a yoeman, even if "he
did have a good leasehold, ride a high horse, wear spurs, and have
Hamilton blood in his veins." She made us familiar with the battle of
the Boyne and the sufferings in Londonderry, in both of which her
great-grandfather had shared, but was incapable of that sectarian
rancor, which marks so many descendents of the men who met on those
fields of blood and fought for their convictions.

In April, 1816, father moved from Pittsburg out to the new village of
Wilkinsburg; took with him a large stock of goods, bought property, built
the house in which I first remember him, and planted the apple tree
which imprinted the first picture on my memory. But the crash which
followed the last war with England brought general bankruptcy; the
mortgages on Col. McNair's estate made the titles valueless, and this,
with the fall of his real estate in Pittsburg, reduced father to
poverty, from which he never recovered.



My parents were members of the Covenanter Congregation, of which Dr.
John Black was pastor for forty-five years. He was a man of power, a
profound logician, with great facility in conveying ideas. To his pulpit
ministrations I am largely indebted for whatever ability I have to
discriminate between truth and falsehood; but the church was in
Pittsburg, and our home seven miles away, so we seldom went to meeting.
The rules of the denomination forbade "occasional hearing." Father and
mother had once been "sessioned" for stopping on their way home to hear
the conclusion of a communion service in Dr. Brace's church, which was
Seceder. So our Sabbaths were usually spent in religious services at
home. These I enjoyed, as it aided my life-work of loving and thinking
about God, who seemed, to my mind, to have some special need of my
attention. Nothing was done on that day which could have been done the
day before, or could be postponed till the day after. Coffee grinding
was not thought of, and once, when we had no flour for Saturday's
baking, and the buckwheat cakes were baked the evening before and warmed
on Sabbath morning, we were all troubled about the violation of the

There was a Presbyterian "meeting-house" two miles east of Wilkinsburg,
where a large, wealthy congregation worshipped. Rev. James Graham was
pastor, and unlike other Presbyterians, they never "profaned the
sanctuary" by singing "human compositions," but confined themselves to
Rouse's version of David's Psalms, as did our own denomination. This
aided that laxness of discipline which permitted Big Jane, Adaline and
brother William to attend sometimes, under care of neighbors. Once I was
allowed to accompany them.

I was the proud possessor of a pair of red shoes, which I carried rolled
up in my 'kerchief while we walked the two miles. We stopped in the
woods; my feet were denuded of their commonplace attire and arrayed in
white hose, beautifully clocked, and those precious slices, and my poor
conscience tortured about my vanity. The girls also exchanged theirs for
morocco slippers. We concealed our walking shoes under a mossy log and
proceeded to the meeting-house.

It was built in the form of a T, of hewn logs, and the whole structure,
both inside and out, was a combination of those soft grays and browns
with which nature colors wood, and in its close setting of primeval
forest, made a harmonious picture. Atone side lay a graveyard; birds
sang in the surrounding trees, some of which reached out their giant
arms and touched the log walls. Swallows had built nests under the
eaves outside, and some on the rough projections inside, and joined
their twitter to the songs of other birds and the rich organ
accompaniment of wind and trees.

There were two sermons, and in the intermission, a church sociable, in
fact if not in name. Friends who lived twenty miles apart, met here,
exchanged greetings and news, gave notices and invitations, and obeyed
the higher law of kindness under protest of their Calvinistic
consciences. In this breathing-time we ate our lunch, went to the
nearest house and had a drink from the spring which ran through the
stone milk-house. It was a day full of sight-seeing and of solemn, grand

Of the two sermons I remember but one, and this from the text "Many are
called but few are chosen," and the comments were Calvinism of the most
rigid school. On our way home, my brother William--three years older
than I--was very silent and thoughtful for some time, then spoke of the
sermon, of which I entirely approved, but he stoutly declared that he
did not believe it; did not believe God called people to come to him
while he did not choose to have them come. It would not be fair, indeed,
he thought it would be mean.

That evening, when we were saying the shorter catechism, the question,
"What are the decrees of God?" came to me, and after repeating the
answer, I asked father to explain it--not that I needed any explanation,
but that William might be enlightened; for I was anxious about his soul,
on account of his skepticism. Enlightened he could not be, and even to
father expressed his doubts and disapprobation. We renewed the
discussion when alone, and during all his life I labored with him; but
soon found the common refuge of orthodox minds, in feeling that those
especially loved by them will be made exceptions in the general
distribution of wrath due to unbelief.

One day I went with him to hunt the cow. We came to a wood just north of
the village, where the wind roared and shook the trees so that I was
quite awe-stricken; but he held my hand and assured me there was no
danger, until he suddenly drew me back, exclaiming:

"Oh see!" as a great tree came crashing down across the path before us,
and so near that it must have fallen on us if he had not seen it and
stepped back. Even then he refused to go home without the cow, and
taking up a daddy-long-legs, he inquired of it where she was, and
started in the direction indicated, when we were arrested by the voice
of Big Jane, who had come to search for us.

On reaching home, we found a new baby-sister, Elizabeth. Soon after her
birth, in April, 1821, father moved back to Pittsburg, and lived on
Sixth street, opposite Trinity Church, on property belonging to my
maternal grandfather. There was no church there at that time, but a
thickly peopled graveyard, which adjoined that of the First Presbyterian
Church, on the corner of Sixth and Wood. These were above the level of
the street, and were protected by a worm-fence that ran along the top of
a green bank on which we played and gathered flowers.

Grandmother took me sometimes to walk in these graveyards at night, and
there talked to me about God and heaven and the angels. I was
sufficiently interested in these, but especially longed to see the
ghosts, and often went to look for them. We had a bachelor uncle who
delighted in telling us tales of the supernatural, and he peopled these
graveyards with ghosts, in which I believed as implicitly as in the
Revelations made to John on the Isle of Patmos, which were my favorite

When the congregation concluded to abandon the "Round Church," which
stood on the triangle between Liberty, Wood and Sixth streets, and began
to dig for a foundation for Trinity, where it now stands, there was
great desecration of graves. One day a thrill of excitement and stream
of talk ran through the neighborhood, about a Mrs. Cooper, whose body
had been buried three years, and was found in a wonderful state of
preservation, when the coffin was laid open by the diggers. It was left
that the friends might remove it, and that night I felt would be the
time for ghosts. So I went over alone, and while I crouched by the open
grave, peering in, a cloud passed, and the moon poured down a flood of
light, by which I could see the quiet sleeper, with folded hands, taking
her last, long rest.

It was inexpressibly grand, solemn and sad. There were no gaslights, no
paved street near, no one stirring. Earth was far away and heaven near
at hand, but no ghost came, and I went home disappointed. Afterwards I
had a still more disheartening adventure.

I had gone an errand to cousin Alexander's, on Fifth street, stayed
late, and coming home, found Wood street deserted. The moon shone
brightly, but on the graveyard side were heavy shadows, except in the
open space opposite the church. I was on the other side, and there was
the office of the Democratic paper, and over the door the motto "Our
country, right or wrong." This had long appeared to be an uncanny spot,
owing to the wickedness of this sentiment, and I was thinking of the
possibility of seeing Auld Nick guarding his property, when my attention
was attracted to a tall, white figure in the bright moonlight, outside
the graveyard fence.

I stopped an instant, in great surprise, and listened for footsteps, but
no sound accompanied the motion. It did not walk, but glided, and must
have risen out of the ground, for only a moment before there was nothing
visible. I clasped my hands in mute wonder, but my ghost was getting
away, and to make its acquaintance I must hurry. Crossing the street I
ran after and gained on it. It passed into the shadow of the engine
house, on across Sixth street, into the moonlight, then into the shadow,
before I overtook it, when lo! it was a mortal woman, barefoot, in a
dress which was probably a faded print. Most prints faded then, and this
was white, long and scant, making a very ghostly robe, while on her head
she carried a bundle tied up in a sheet. She had, of course, come out of
Virgin alley, where many laundresses lived, and had just passed out of
the shadow when I saw her. We exchanged salutations, and I went home to
lie and brood over the unreliable nature of ghosts.

I was trying to get into a proper frame of mind for saying my prayers,
but I doubt if they were said that night, as we were soon aroused by the
cries of fire. Henry Clay was being burned, in effigy, on the corner of
Sixth and Wood streets, to show somebody's disapproval of his course in
the election of John Quincy Adams. The Democratic editor, McFarland, was
tried and found guilty of the offense, and took revenge in ridiculing
his opponents. Charles Glenn, a fussy old gentleman, member of our
church, was an important witness for the prosecution, and in the long,
rhyming account published by the defendant, he was thus remembered:

"Then in came Glenn, that man of peace,
And swore to facts as sleek as grease;
By all his Uncle Aleck's geese,
McFarland burnt the tar-barrel."

It was before this time that Lafayette revisited Pittsburg, and people
went wild to do him honor. The schools paraded for his inspection, and
ours was ranged along the pavement in front of the First Presbyterian
church, the boys next the curb, the girls next the fence, all in holiday
attire, and wearing blue badges. The distinguished visitor passed up
between them, leaning on the arm of another gentleman, bowing and
smiling as he went. When he came to where I stood, he stepped aside,
laid his hand on my head, turned up my face and spoke to me.

I was too happy to know what he said, and in all the years since that
day, that hand has lain on my brow as a consecration.



In the city we went regularly to meeting, and Dr. Black seemed always to
talk to _me_, and I had no more difficulty in understanding his sermons,
than in mastering the details of the most simple duty. The first of
which I preserve the memory was about Peter, who was made to illustrate
the growth of crime. He began with boasting; then came its natural
fruit, cowardice, in following his master afar off; next falsehood, and
from this he proceeded to perjury. It did seem that a disciple of Christ
could go no further; but for falsehood and perjury there might be excuse
in the hope of reward, and Peter found a lower deep, for "he began to
curse and to swear." A profane swearer is without temptation, and serves
the devil for the pure love of the service. What more could Peter do to
prove that he knew not Jesus?

In the communion service is a ceremony called "fencing the tables,"
which consists of an appeal to the consciences of intended communicants.
Dr. Black began with the first commandment and forbade those living in
its violation to come to the table, and so proceeded through the
decalogue. When he came to the eighth, he straightened himself, placed
his hands behind him, and with thrilling emphasis said, "I debar from
this holy table of the Lord, all slave-holders and horse-thieves, and
other dishonest persons," and without another word passed to the ninth

Soon after we returned to the city, sister Mary died of consumption, and
father's health began to fail. I have preserved the spinning wheel on
which mother converted flax yarn into thread, which she sold to aid in
the support of the family, but soon the entire burden fell on her, for
father's illness developed into consumption, from which he died in
March, 1823.

In spite of all the testamentary precautions he could take, whatever of
his estate might have been available for present support, was in the
hands of lawyers, and mother was left with her children and the debts.
There were the contents of his shop and warehouse, some valuable real
estate in Pittsburg, which had passed out of his possession on a claim
of ground-rent, and a village home minus a title.

William was a mechanical genius, so mother set him to making little
chairs, which he readily sold, but he liked better to construct fire
engines, which were quite wonderful but brought no money. He had a
splendid physique, was honorable and faithful, and if mother had been
guided by natural instinct in governing him, all would have been well;
but he never met the requirements of the elders of the church, who felt
it their duty to manage our family affairs. So he was often in trouble,
and I, who gloried in him, contrived to shield him from many a storm.

At this time there was a fashionable _furor_ for lace work. Mother sent
me to learn it, and then procured me pupils, whom I taught, usually
sitting on their knee. But lace work soon gave way to painting on
velvet. This, too, I learned, and found profit in selling pictures. Ah,
what pictures I did make. I reached the culminating glory of artist
life, when Judge Braden, of Butler, gave me a new crisp five dollar bill
for a Goddess of Liberty. Indeed, he wanted me to be educated for an
artist, and was far-seeing and generous enough to have been my permanent
patron, had an artistic education, or any other education, been possible
for a Western Pennsylvania girl in that dark age--the first half of the
nineteenth century.

Mother made a discovery in the art of coloring leghorn and straw
bonnets, which brought her plenty of work, so we never lacked comforts
of life, although grandfather's executors made us pay rent for the house
we occupied.



During my childhood there were no public schools in Pennsylvania. The
State was pretty well supplied with colleges for boys, while girls were
permitted to go to subscription schools. To these we were sent part of
the time, and in one of them Joseph Caldwell, afterwards a prominent
missionary to India, was a schoolmate. But we had Dr. Black's sermons,
full of grand morals, science and history.

In lieu of colleges for girls, there were boarding-schools, and
Edgeworth was esteemed one of the best in the State. It was at
Braddock's Field, and Mrs. Olever, an English woman of high culture, was
its founder and principal. To it my cousin, Mary Alexander, was sent,
but returned homesick, and refused to go back unless I went with her. It
was arranged that I should go for a few weeks, as I was greatly in need
of country air; and, highly delighted, I was at the rendezvous at the
hour, one o'clock, with my box, ready for this excursion into the world
of polite literature. Mary was also there, and a new scholar, but Father
Olever did not come for us until four o'clock. He was a small, nervous
gentleman, and lamps were already lighted in the smoky city when we
started to drive twelve miles through spring mud, on a cloudy, cheerless
afternoon. We knew he had no confidence in his power to manage those
horses, though we also knew he would do his best to save us from harm;
but as darkness closed around us, I think we felt like babes in the
woods, and shuddered with vague fear as much as with cold and damp. When
we reached the "Bullock Pens," half a mile west of Wilkinsburg, there
were many lights and much bustle in and around the old yellow tavern,
where teamsters were attending to their weary horses. Here we turned off
to the old mud road, and came to a place of which I had no previous
knowledge--a place of outer darkness and chattering teeth.

We met no more teams, saw no more lights, but seemed to be in an utterly
uninhabited country. Then, after an hour of wearisome jolting and
plunging, we discovered that the darkness had not been total, for the
line of the horizon had been visible, but now it was swallowed up. We
knew we were in a wood, by the rush of the wind amid the dried white oak
leaves--knew that the road grew rougher at every step--that our driver
became more nervous as he applied the brake, and we went down, down.

Still the descent grew steeper. We stopped, and Father Olever felt for
the bank with his whip to be sure we were on the road. Then we heard the
sound of rushing, angry waters, mingled with the roar of the wind, and
he seemed to hesitate about going on, but we could not very well stay
there, and he once more put his horses in motion, while we held fast and
prayed silently to the great Deliverer. After stopping again and
feeling for the bank, lest we should go over the precipitous hillside,
which he knew was there, he proceeded until, with a great plunge, we
were in the angry waters, which arose to the wagon-bed, and roared and
surged all around us. The horses tried to go on, when something gave
way, and our guardian concluded further progress was impossible, and
began to hallo at the top of his voice.

For a long time there was no response; then came an answering call from
a long distance. Next a light appeared, and that, too, was far away, but
came toward us. When it reached the brink of the water, and two men with
it, we felt safe. The light-bearer held it up so that we saw him quite
well, and his peculiar appearance suited his surroundings. He was more
an overgrown boy than a man, beardless, with a long swarthy face, black
hair and keen black eyes. He wore heavy boots outside his pantaloons, a
blouse and slouch hat, spoke to his companion as one having authority,
and with a laugh said to our small gentleman:

"Is this where you are?" but gave no heed to the answer as he waded in
and threw off the check lines, saying: "I wonder you did not drown your

He next examined the wagon, paying no more attention to Father Olever's
explanations than to the water in which he seemed quite at home, and
when he had finished his inspection he said:

"They must go to the house," and handing the light to the driver he took
us up one by one and carried us to the wet bank as easily as a child
carries her doll. He gave some directions to his companion, took the
light and said to us:

"Come on," and we walked after him out into the limitless blackness,
nothing doubting. We went what seemed a long way, following this
brigand-looking stranger, without seeing any sign of life or hearing any
sound save the roar of wind and water, but on turning a fence corner, we
came in sight of a large two-story house, with a bright light streaming
out through many windows, and a wide open door. There was a large stone
barn on the other side of the road, and to this our conductor turned,
saying to us: "Go on to the house." This we did, and were met at the
open door by a middle-aged woman, shading with one hand the candle held
in the other. This threw a strong light on her face, which instantly
reminded me of an eagle. She wore a double-bordered white cap over her
black hair, and looked suspiciously at us through her small keen, black
eyes, but kindly bade us come in to a low wainscoted hall, with broad
stairway and many open doors. Through one of these and a second door we
saw a great fire of logs, and I should have liked to sit by it, but she
led us into a square wainscoted room on the opposite side, in which
blazed a coal fire almost as large as the log heap in the kitchen.

She gave us seats, and a white-haired man who sat in the corner, spoke
to us, and made me feel comfortable. Up to this time all the
surroundings had had an air of enchanted castles, brigands, ghosts,
witches. The alert woman with the eagle face, in spite of her kindness,
made me feel myself an object of doubtful character, but this old man
set me quite at ease. We were no more than well warmed when the wagon
drove to the door, and the boy-man with the lantern appeared, saying,

"Come on."

We followed him again, and he lifted us into the wagon, while the
mistress of the house stood on the large flag-stone door-step, shading
her candle-flame, and giving directions about our wraps.

"Coming events cast their shadows before," when they are between us and
the light; but that night the light must have been between them and me;
for I bade good-bye to our hostess without any premonition we should
ever again meet, or that I should sit alone, as I do to-night, over half
a century later, in that same old wainscoted room, listening to the roar
of those same angry waters and the rush of the wind wrestling with the
groaning trees, in the dense darkness of this low valley.

When we had been carefully bestowed in the wagon, our deliverer took up
his lantern, saying to Father Olever:

"Drive on."

He was obeyed, and led the way over a bridge across another noisy
stream, and along a road where there was the sound of a waterfall very
near, then up a steep, rocky way until he stopped, saying,

"I guess you can get along now."

To Father Olever's thanks he only replied by a low, contemptuous but
good-humored laugh, as he turned to retrace his steps. All comfort and
strength and hope seemed to go with him. We were abandoned to our fate,
babes in the woods again, with only God for our reliance. But after a
while we could see the horizon, and arrived at our destination several
minutes before midnight, to find the great mansion full of glancing
lights and busy, expectant life.

The large family had waited up for Father Olever's return, for he and
his wagon were the connecting link between that establishment and the
outside world. He appeared to great advantage surrounded by a bevy of
girls clamoring for letters and messages. To me the scene was
fairy-land. I had never before seen anything so grand as the great hall
with its polished stairway. We had supper in the housekeeper's room, and
I was taken up this stairway, and then up and up a corkscrew cousin
until we reached the attic, which stretched over the whole house, one
great dormitory called the "bee-hive." Here I was to sleep with Helen
Semple, a Pittsburg girl, of about my own age, a frail blonde, who quite
won my heart at our first meeting.

Next day was Sabbath, and I was greatly surprised to see pupils walk on
the lawn. This was such a desecration of the day, but I made no remark.
I was too solemnly impressed by the grandeur of being at Braddock's
Field to have hinted that anything could be wrong. But for my own share
in the violation I was painfully penitent.

This was not new, for there were a long series of years in which the
principal business of six days of every week, was repentance for the
very poor use made of the seventh, and from this dreary treadmill of sin
and sorrow, no faith ever could or did free me. I never could see
salvation in Christ apart from salvation from sin, and while the sin
remained the salvation was doubtful and the sorrow certain.

On the afternoon of that first Sabbath, a number of young lady pupils
came to the Bee-hive for a visit, and as I afterwards learned to inspect
and name the two new girls, when I was promptly and unanimously dubbed
"Wax Doll." After a time, one remarked that they must go and study their
"ancient history lesson." I caught greedily at the words, ancient
history. Ah, if I could only be permitted to study such a lesson! No
such progress or promotion seemed open to me; but the thought interfered
with my prayers, and followed me into the realm of sleep. So when that
class was called next forenoon, I was alert, and what was my surprise,
to hear those privileged girls stumbling over the story of Sampson?
Could it be possible that was ancient history? How did it come to pass
that every one did not know all about Sampson, the man who had laid his
Lead on Delilah's wicked lap, to be shorn of his strength. If there is
any thing in that account, or any lesson to be drawn from it, with which
I was not then familiar, it is something I have never learned. Indeed, I
seemed to have completed my theological education before I did my
twelfth year.

One morning, Mrs. Olever sent for me, and told me she had learned my
mother was not able to send me to school, but if I would take charge of
the lessons of the little girls, she would furnish me board and tuition.
This most generous offer quite took my breath away, and was most gladly
accepted; but it was easy work, and I wondered my own studies were so
light. I was allowed to amuse myself drawing flowers, which were quite
a surprise, and pronounced better than anything the drawing master could
do--to recite poetry, for the benefit of the larger girls, and to play
in the orchard with my pupils.

With the other girls, I became interested in hair-dressing. I had read
"The Children of the Abbey," and Amanda's romantic adventures enchanted
me; but she was quite outside my life. Now I made a nearer acquaintance
with her. She changed her residence; so had I. She had brown ringlets; I
too should have them. So one Friday night, my hair was put up in papers,
and next morning, I let loose an amazing shower of curls.

The next thing to do was to go off alone, and sit reading in a romantic
spot. Of course I did not expect to meet Lord Mortimer! Miss Fitzallen
never had any such expectations. I was simply going out to read and
admire the beauties of nature. When I had seated myself, in proper
attitude, on the gnarled root of an old tree, overhanging a lovely
ravine, I proceeded to the reading part of the play, and must of course
be too much absorbed to hear the approaching footsteps, to which I
listened with bated breath. So I did not look up when they stopped at my
side, or until a pleasant voice said:

"Why you look quite romantic, my dear."

Then I saw Miss Olever, the head teacher, familiarly called "Sissy
Jane." In that real and beautiful presence Miss Fitzallen retired to her
old place, and oh, the mortification she left behind her! I looked up, a
detected criminal, into the face of her who had brought to me this
humiliation, and took _her_ for a model. My folly did not prevent our
being sincere friends during all her earnest and beautiful life.

She passed on, and I got back to the Bee-hive, when I disposed of my
curls, and never again played heroine.



Measured by the calendar, my boarding-school life was six weeks; but
measured by its pleasant memories, it was as many years. Mother wrote
for me to come home; and in going I saw, by sunlight, the scene of our
adventure that dark night going out. It was a lovely valley, walled in
by steep, wooded hills. Two ravines joined, bringing each its
contribution of running water, and pouring it into the larger stream of
the larger valley--a veritable "meeting of the waters"--in all of
nature's work, beautiful exceedingly.

The house, which stood in the center of a large, green meadow, through
which the road ran, was built in two parts, of hewn logs, with one great
stone chimney on the outside, protected by an overshot in the roof, but
that one in which the log-heap burned that night was inside. One end had
been an Indian fort when Gen. Braddock tried to reach Fort Pitt by that
road. The other end and stone barn had been built by its present
proprietor. A log mill, the oldest in Allegheny county, stood below the
barn, and to it the French soldiers had come for meal from Fort
Duquesne. The stream crossed by the bridge was the mill-race, and the
waterfall made by the waste-gate. It was the homestead of a soldier of
the Revolution, one of Washington's lieutenants--the old man we had
seen. The woman was his second wife. They had a numerous family, and an
unpronounceable name.

At home I learned that, on account of a cough, I had been the object of
a generous conspiracy between mother and Mrs. Olever, and had been
brought home because I was worse. Our doctors said I was in the first
stage of consumption, that Elizabeth was to reach that point early in
life, and that our only hope lay in plenty of calomel. Mother had lost
her husband and four vigorous children; there had been no lack of
calomel, and now, when death again threatened, she resolved to conduct
the defense on some new plan.

She had gained legal possession of our village home, and moved to it.
Our lot was large and well supplied with choice fruit, and the place
seemed a paradise after our starved lives in the smoky city. My apple
tree still grew at the east end of the house. There was a willow tree
mother had planted, which now swept the ground with its long, graceful
branches. There were quantities of rose and lilac bushes, a walled
spring of delicious water in the cellar, and a whole world of wealth;
but the potato lot looked up in despair--a patch of yellow clay. Mother
put a twelve years' accumulation of coal ashes on it, and thus proved
them valuable both as a fertilizer and a preventive of potato-rot,
though at first her project met general opposition.

William did the heavy work and was proud of it. He was in splendid
health, for his insubordination had, from a very early age, saved him
from drugging either mental or physical. The lighter gardening became
part of my treatment for consumption. By having me each day lie on the
floor on my back without a pillow, and gentle use of dumb-bells, mother
straightened my spine and developed my chest--my clothes being carefully
adapted to its expansion. Dancing was strictly forbidden by our church,
but mother was educated in Ireland and danced beautifully. She had a
class of girls and taught us, and with plenty of fresh air, milk and
eggs, effectually disposed of hereditary consumption in her family. But
while attending to us, she must also make a living, so she bought a
stock of goods on credit, opened a store, and soon had a paying
business. In this I was her special assistant. But the work supplied to
William did not satisfy the holy men of the church, who furnished us
advice. He still made fire engines, and a brook in a meadow presented
irresistible temptation to water-wheels and machinery. One of his
tilt-hammers made a very good ghost, haunting the meadow and keeping off
trespassers. He had a foundry, where he cast miniature cannon, kettles
and curious things, and his rifle-practice was a neighborhood wonder. He
brought water from the cellar, and did other chores which Pennsylvania
rules assigned to women, and when boys ridiculed him, he flogged them,
and did it quite as effectually as he rendered them the same service
when they were rude to a girl. He was a universal favorite, even if he
did hate catechism and love cake.

So mother's conscience was worked upon until she bound him to a cabinet
maker in the city. To him, the restraint was unendurable, and he ran
away. He came after dark to bid me good-bye, left love for mother and
Elizabeth, and next morning left Pittsburg on a steamboat, going to that
Eldorado of Pittsburg boys--"down the river."

For some time letters came regularly from him, and he was happy and
prosperous. Then they ceased, and after two years of agonizing suspense,
we heard that he had died of yellow fever in New Orleans. To us, this
was dreadful, irreparable, and was wholly due to that iron-bedstead
piety which permits no natural growth, but sets down all human loves and
longings as of Satanic origin.

Soon after our removal to the village, grandfather's estate was
advertised for sheriff's sale. Mother had the proceedings stayed, the
executors dismissed, and took out letters of administration, which made
it necessary for her to spend some portion of every month in the city.
This threw the entire charge of house and store on me. As soon,
therefore, as possible, she sent me to the city to school, where I
realized my aspiration of studying ancient history and the piano, and
devoured the contents of the text-book of natural philosophy with an
avidity I had never known for a novel.

In April, 1830, I began to teach school, the only one in Wilkinsburg,
and had plenty of pupils, young men and women, boys and girls, at two
dollars and one dollar and a half a term. Taught seven hours a day, and
Saturday forenoon, which was devoted to Bible reading and catechism. I
was the first, I believe, in Allegheny Co., to teach children without
beating them. I abolished corporeal punishment entirely, and was so
successful that boys, ungovernable at home, were altogether tractable.
This life was perfectly congenial, and I followed it for nearly six
years. Mother started a Sabbath School, the only one in the village, and
this, too, we continued for years.

One of the pupils was a girl of thirteen, daughter of a well-to-do
farmer, who lived within a mile of the village. Her father had been
converted at a camp-meeting and was a devout Methodist. The first day
she attended, I asked her the question:

"How many Gods are there?"

She thought a moment, and then said, with an air of satisfaction:


I was shocked, and answered in the language of the Catechism:

"O Margaret! 'There is but one only living and true God.'"

She hung her head, then nodded it, and with the emphasis of a judge who
had weighed all the evidence, said:

"I am sure I ha' hearn tell o' more nur one of em."

A young theological student came sometimes to stay over Sabbath and
assist in the school. He led in family worship, and had quite a nice
time, until one evening he read a chapter from the song of songs which
was Solomon's, when I bethought me that he was very much afraid of
toads. I began to cultivate those bright-eyed creatures, so that it
always seemed probable I had one in my pocket or sleeve. The path of
that good young man became thorny until it diverged from mine.

I was almost fifteen, when I overheard a young lady say I was growing
pretty. I went to my mirror and spent some moments in unalloyed
happiness and triumph. Then I thought, "Pretty face, the worms will eat
you. All the prettiest girls I know are silly, but you shall never make
a fool of me. Helen's beauty ruined Troy. Cleopatra was a wretch. So if
you are pretty, _I_ will be master, remember that."



In the year 1800, the Covenanter church of this country said in her
synod: "Slavery and Christianity are incompatible," and never relaxed
her discipline which forbade fellowship with slave-holders--so I was
brought up an abolitionist. I was still a child when I went through
Wilkins' township collecting names to a petition for the abolition of
slavery in the District of Columbia. Here, in a strictly orthodox
Presbyterian community, I was everywhere met by the objections: "Niggers
have no souls," "The Jews held slaves," "Noah cursed Canaan," and these
points I argued from house to house, occasionally for three years, and
made that acquaintance which led to my being sent for in cases of
sickness and death, before I had completed my sixteenth year. In this, I
in some measure took the place long filled by mother, who was often a
substitute for doctor and preacher.

Looking back at her life, I think how little those know of Calvinists
who regard them merely as a class of autocrats, conscious of their own
election to glory, and rejoicing in the reprobation of all others; for I
have never known such humble, self-distrustful people as I have found in
that faith. Mother, whose life was full of wisdom and good works,
doubted, even to the last, her own acceptance with God. She and I
believed that "a jealous God," who can brook no rivals, had taken away
our loving husband and father; our strong and brave son and brother,
because we loved them too much, and I was brought up to think it a great
presumption to assume that such a worm of the dust as I, could be aught
to the Creator but a subject of punishment.

During the spring of 1831, mother said to me:

"Sabbath week is our communion, and I thought you might wish to join the

I was startled and without looking up, said:

"Am I old enough?"

"If you feel that the dying command of the Savior, 'do this in
remembrance of me' was addressed to you, you are old enough to obey it."

Not another word was said and the subject was never again broached
between us, but here a great conflict began. That command was given to
me, but how could I obey it without eating and drinking damnation to
myself? Was mine a saving faith, or did I, like the devils, believe and
tremble? I had been believing as long as I could remember, but did not
seem to grow in the image of God.

The conflict lasted several days. Sleep left me. The heavens were iron
and the earth brass. I turned to Erskine to learn the signs of saving
faith, but found only reason to suspect self-deception. I could not
submit to God's will--could not be willing that William should be
lost--nay, I was not willing that any one should be lost. I could not
stay in heaven, and know that any one was enduring endless torments in
some other place! I must leave and go to their relief. It was dreadful
that Abraham did not even try to go to poor Dives, or to send some one.
My whole soul flew into open revolt; then oh! the total depravity which
could question "the ways of God to man." I hated Milton. I despised his
devils; had a supreme contempt for the "Prince of the Power of the Air;"
did not remember a time when I was afraid of him. God was "my refuge and
my shield, in straits a present aid." If he took care of me, no one else
could hurt me; if he did not, no one else could; and to be accepted by
him was all there was or could be worth caring for; but how should I
find this acceptance with my heart full of rebellion?

One afternoon I became unable to think, but a white mist settled down
over hell. Even those contemptible devils were having their tongues
cooled with blessed drops of water. The fires grew dim, and it seemed as
if there was to be a rain of grace and mercy in that region of despair.
Then I preferred my petition, that God would write his name upon my
forehead, and give me that "new name" which should mark me as his; that
he would bring William into the fold, and do with me as he would. I
would be content to spend my whole life in any labor he should appoint,
without a sign of the approval of God or man, if, in the end, I and
mine should be found among those "who had washed their robes, and made
them white in the blood of the Lamb."

I fell asleep--slept hours--and when the sun was setting, woke in
perfect peace. My proposition had been accepted, and wonderful grace,
which had given what I had not dared to ask, assurance of present
acceptance. I should have all the work and privation for which I had
bargained--should be a thistle-digger in the vineyard; should be set to
tasks from which other laborers shrank, but in no trial could I ever be
alone, and should at last hear the welcome "well done."

I arose as one from a grave to a joyous resurrection; but kept all these
things in my heart. Personal experiences being altogether between God
and the soul, were not considered fit subjects for conversation, and
when I came before the session applying for church, membership, no
mention was made of them, except as a general confession of faith.

Rev. Andrew Black addressed the table at which I sat in my first
communion, and said:

"The Lord's Supper has been named the Eucharist, after the oath taken by
a Roman soldier, never to turn his back upon his leader. You, in
partaking of these emblems, do solemnly vow that you will never turn
your back upon Christ, but that you will follow him whithersoever he
goeth. Let others do as they will, you are to follow the Lamb, through
good and through evil report, to a palace or to a prison; follow him,
even if he should lead you out of the church."

This was in perfect harmony with my private agreement, and no other act
of my life has been so solemn or far-reaching in its consequences, as
that ratification of my vow, and it is one I have least cause to repent.

However, it brought a new phase to an old trouble. How should I follow
Christ? I could not do as he had done. I could not go to meeting every
Sabbath, and society every Friday; and if I did, was that following
Christ who never built a meeting-house, or conducted any service
resembling those now held? I read the life of Jonathan Edwards, and
settled back into the old Sabbath-keeping rut. Resolving to do my best,
I prayed all week, for grace to keep the next Sabbath. I rose early that
trial-morning, prayed as soon as my eyes were open, read a chapter,
looked out into the beautiful morning, thought about God and
prayed--spent so much time praying, that Elizabeth had breakfast ready
when I went down stairs. While I ate it, I held my thoughts to the work
of the day, worshiping God; but many facts and fancies forced themselves
in and disturbed my pious meditations. After breakfast, I went back to
my room to continue my labor; but mother soon came and said:

"Do you intend to let Elizabeth do all the work?"

I dropped my roll of saintship, and went and washed the dishes. Had I
been taught that he who does any honest work serves God and follows
Christ, what a world of woe would have been spared me.



Quiltings furnished the principal amusement, and at these I was in
requisition, both for my expertness with the needle, and my skill in
laying out work; but as I had no brother to come for me, I usually went
home before the evening frolic, which consisted of plays. Male and
female partners went through the common quadrille figures, keeping time
to the music of their own voices, and making a denouement every few
moments by some man kissing some woman, perhaps in a dark hall, or some
woman kissing some man, or some man kissing all the women, or _vice
versa_. Elders and preachers often looked on in pious approbation, and
the church covered these sports with the mantle of her approval, but was
ready to excommunicate any one who should dance. Promiscuous dancing was
the fiery dragon which the church went out to slay. Only its death could
save her from a fit of choler which might be fatal, unless, indeed, the
dancing were sanctified by promiscuous kissing. If men and women danced
together without kissing, they were in immediate danger of eternal
damnation; but with plenty of kissing, and rude wrestling to overcome
the delicacy of women who objected to such desecration, the church gave
her blessing to the quadrille.

My protest against these plays had given offense, and I chose to avoid
them; but one evening the host begged me to remain, saying he would see
that I was not annoyed, and would himself take me home. The frolic was
only begun, when he came and asked permission to introduce a gentleman,
saying: "If you do not treat him well, I will never forgive you."

There was no need of this caution, for he presented a man whose presence
made me feel that I was a very little girl and should have been at home.
He was over six feet tall, well formed and strongly built, with black
hair and eyes, a long face, and heavy black whiskers. He was handsomely
dressed, and his manner that of a grave and reverend seignior. A Russian
count in a New York drawing room, then, when counts were few, could not
have seemed more foreign than this man in that village parlor, less than
two miles from the place of his birth.

He was the son of the old revolutionary soldier, with the unpronouncable
name, who lived in the beautiful valley. This I knew at once, but did
not, for some time, realize that it was he who rescued us from the black
waters on that dark night, carried us to safety and light, and left us
again in darkness. This incident, so much to me, he never could
distinguish among the many times he had "helped Olever and his seminary
girls out of scrapes," and he never spoke of these adventures without
that same laugh which I noticed when Father Olever thanked him.

He had elected me as his wife some years before this evening, and had
not kept it secret; had been assured his choice was presumptuous, but
came and took possession of his prospective property with the air of a
man who understood his business. I next saw him on horseback, and this
man of giant strength in full suit of black, riding a large spirited
black horse, became my "black knight."

My sister hated him, and my mother doubted him, or rather doubted the
propriety of my receiving visits from him. His family were the leading
Methodists of the township; his father had donated land and built a
meeting-house, which took his name, and his house was the headquarters
of traveling preachers. There was a camp-meeting ground on the farm; his
mother "lived without sin," prayed aloud and shouted in meeting, while
the income and energy of the family were expended in propagating a faith
which we believed false. A marriage with him would be incongruous and
bring misery to both. These objections he overruled, by saying he was
not a member of any church, would never interfere with my rights of
conscience, would take or send me to my meeting when possible, and
expect me to go sometimes with him. He proposed going up the Allegheny
to establish saw-mills, and if I would go into the woods with him, there
should be no trouble about religion. So there seemed no valid objection,
and two years after our introduction we were married, on the 18th of
November, 1836.

Then all was changed. I offended him the day after by shedding tears
when I left home to go for a visit to his father's house, and his sister
had told him that I cried while dressing to be married. These offenses
he never forgave, and concluded that since I cared so little for him, he
would not leave his friends and go up the Allegheny with me. His
services were indispensable at home, since his brother Samuel had gone
into business for himself, and the next brother William was not
seventeen, and could not take charge of the farm and mills. His mother
was ready to take me into the family,--although the house was not large
enough to accommodate us comfortably--the old shop in the yard could be
fitted up for a school-room. I could teach and he could manage the

In this change, he but followed that impulse which led the men of
England, centuries ago, to enact, that "marriage annuls all previous
contracts between the parties," and which now leads men in all civilized
countries to preserve such statutes. It is an old adage, "All is fair in
love as in war," but I thought not of general laws, and only felt a
private grievance.

By a further change of plan, I was to get religion and preach. Wesley
made the great innovation of calling women to the pulpit, and although
it had afterwards been closed to them generally, there were still women
who did preach, while all were urged to take part in public worship. My
husband had been converted after our engagement and shortly before our
marriage, and was quite zealous. He thought me wonderfully wise, and
that I might bring souls to Christ if I only would. I quoted Paul: "Let
women keep silence in churches, and learn of their husbands at home." He
replied, "Wives, obey your husbands." He laughed at the thought of my
learning from him and said: "What shall I teach you? Will you come to
the mill and let me show you how to put a log on the carriage?"

It was a very earnest discussion, and the Bible was on both sides; but I
followed the lead of my church, which taught me to be silent. He quoted
his preachers, who were in league with him, to get me to give myself to
the Lord, help them save souls, by calling on men everywhere to repent;
but I was obstinate. I would not get religion, would not preach, would
not live in the house with his mother, and stayed with my own. His
younger brothers came regularly to me for lessons with my sister, and I
added two idiotic children bound to his sister's husband, to whose
darkened minds I found the key hidden from other teachers. His brothers
I adopted from the first, in place of the one I had lost, and they
repaid my love in kind; but books soon appeared as an entering wedge
between their souls and religion, which formed the entire mental pabulum
of the family.

I believe there was not at that time a member of the Pittsburg
Conference who was a college graduate, few who had even a good, common
school education, while two of those who preached in our meetinghouse
and were frequent guests in the family, were unable to read.

My husband's father was old and feeble, and had devised his property to
his wife, to be divided at her death between her sons. My husband, as
her agent, would come into possession of the whole, and they thought I
might object to the "prophet's chamber;" but it required no worldly
motive to stimulate these fiery zealots to save a sinner from the toils
of Calvinism. It is probable many of them would have laid down his life
for his religion, and when they got on the track of a sinner, they
pursued him as eagerly as ever an English parson did a fox, but it was
to save, not to kill. In these hot pursuits, they did not stand on
ceremony, and in my case, found a subject that would not run. My kith
and kin had died at the stake, bearing testimony against popery and
prelacy; had fought on those fields where Scotchmen charged in solid
columns, singing psalms; and though I was wax at all other points, I was
granite on "The Solemn League and Covenant." With the convictions of
others I did not interfere, but when attacked would "render
a reason." My assailants denounced theological seminaries as
"preacher-factories"--informed me that "neither Dr. Black nor any of his
congregation ever had religion," and that only by getting it could any
one be saved. My husband became proud of my defense, and the boys grew
disrespectful to their religious guides. Their mother became anxious
about their souls, so the efforts for my conversion were redoubled.

From the first the preachers disapproved of my being permitted to go to
my meeting, and especially to my husband accompanying me. He refused to
go, on the ground that he had not been invited to commune, and as I sank
in the deep waters of affliction, I did so need the pulpit teachings of
my old pastor, which seemed to lift me and set my feet upon a rock. One
day I walked the seven miles and back, when the family carriage went to
take two preachers to an appointment; three horses stood in the old
stone barn, and my husband at home with his mother. This gave great
offense as the advertisement of a grievance, and was never repeated.

During all my childhood and youth, I had been spoiled by much love, if
love can spoil. I was non-resistant by nature, and on principle,
believed in the power of good. Forbearance, generosity, helpful service,
would, should, must, win my new friends to love me.

Getting me into the house with my mother-in-law, was so important a part
of the plan of salvation, that to effect it, I was left without support
or compensation for my services as teacher, tailor, dress-maker, for my
husband's family. He visited me once or twice a week, and ignored my
mother's presence, while she felt that in this, as in any church-joining
conflict, only God could help me, and stood aloof.

To me the sun was darkened, and the moon refused her light. I knew "that
jealous God" who claimed the supreme love of his creatures, was
scourging me for making an idol and bowing down before it--for loving my
husband. I knew it was all just and clung to the Almighty arm, with the
old cry, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him." To my husband I
clung with like tenacity, and could not admit that my suffering was
through any fault of his.

The summer after my marriage, mother went for a long visit to Butler,
and left us in possession of her house. My husband bought a village
property, including a wagon-maker's shop, employed a workman and sent
him to board with me. He also made some additions to a dwelling on it,
that we might go there to live, and the workmen boarded with me, while
my mother-in-law furnished provisions and came or sent a daughter to see
that I did not waste them. Her reproofs were in the form of suggestions,
and she sought to please me by saying she had "allowed James" to get
certain things for me; but he did not visit me any oftener than when
mother was at home, and when she returned in the autumn, the potatoes
were frozen in the ground, the apples on the trees, and the cow stood
starving at the stable door.

Then I learned that I had been expected to secure the fall crops on
mother's lot, and this was not unreasonable, for I had married a
Pennsylvania farmer, and their wives and sisters and daughters did such
work often, while the "men folks" pitched horseshoes to work off their
surplus vitality. Lack of strength was no reason why a woman should fail
in her duty, for when one fell at her post, there was always another to
take her place.

Up to this time mother had left me to settle my troubles, but now, she
told me I must turn and demand justice; that generosity was more than
thrown away; that I never could live with my husband and bear his
neglect and unkindness and that of his family. I must leave him, defend
myself, or die. That I should have been expected to gather apples and
dig potatoes, filled her with indignation. She advised me to stay with
her and refuse to see him, but I shuddered to think it had come to this
in one short year, and felt that all would yet be well. So I went to
live in the house he provided for me, his mother furnished my supplies,
and he came once a week to see me.

Here let me say, that in my twenty years of married life, my conflicts
were all spiritual; that there never was a time when my husband's strong
right arm would not be tempered to infantile gentleness to tend me in
illness, or when he hesitated to throw himself between me and danger.
Over streams and other places impassible to me, he carried me, but could
not understand how so frail a thing could be so obstinate.



During all my girlhood I saw no pictures, no art gallery, no studio, but
had learned to feel great contempt for my own efforts at picture-making.
A traveling artist stopped in Wilkinsburg and painted some portraits; we
visited his studio, and a new world opened to me. Up to that time
portrait painting had seemed as inaccessible as the moon--a sublimity I
no more thought of reaching than a star; but when I saw a portrait on
the easel, a palette of paints and some brushes, I was at home in a new
world, at the head of a long vista of faces which I must paint; but the
new aspiration was another secret to keep.

Bard, the wagon-maker, made me a stretcher, and with a yard of
unbleached muslin, some tacks and white lead, I made a canvas. In the
shop were white lead, lampblack, king's yellow and red lead, with oil
and turpentine. I watched Bard mix paints, and concluded I wanted brown.
Years before, I heard of brown umber, so I got umber and some brushes
and begun my husband's portrait. I hid it when he was there or I heard
any one coming, and once blistered it badly trying to dry it before the
fire, so that it was a very rough work; but it was a portrait, a daub, a
likeness, and the hand was his hand and no other. The figure was
correct, and the position in the chair, and, from the moment I began it,
I felt I had found my vocation.

What did I care for preachers and theological arguments? What matter who
sent me my bread, or whether I had any? What matter for anything, so
long as I had a canvas and some paints, with that long perspective of
faces and figures crowding up and begging to be painted. The face of
every one I knew was there, with every line and varying expression, and
in each I seemed to read the inner life in the outer form. Oh, how they
plead with me! What graceful lines and gorgeous colors floated around
me! I forgot God, and did not know it; forgot philosophy, and did not
care to remember it; but alas! I forgot to get Bard's dinner, and,
although I forgot to be hungry, I had no reason to suppose he did. He
would willingly have gone hungry, rather than give any one trouble; but
I had neglected a duty. Not only once did I do this, but again and
again, the fire went out or the bread ran over in the pans, while I
painted and dreamed.

My conscience began to trouble me. Housekeeping was "woman's sphere,"
although I had never then heard the words, for no woman had gotten out
of it, to be hounded back; but I knew my place, and scorned to leave it.
I tried to think I could paint without neglect of duty. It did not occur
to me that painting was a duty for a married woman! Had the passion
seized me before marriage, no other love could have come between me and
art; but I felt that it was too late, as my life was already devoted to
another object--housekeeping.

It was a hard struggle. I tried to compromise, but experience soon
deprived me of that hope, for to paint was to be oblivious of all other
things. In my doubt, I met one of those newspaper paragraphs with which
men are wont to pelt women into subjection: "A man does not marry an
artist, but a housekeeper." This fitted my case, and my doom was sealed.

I put away my brushes; resolutely crucified my divine gift, and while it
hung writhing on the cross, spent my best years and powers cooking
cabbage. "A servant of servants shall she be," must have been spoken of
women, not negroes.

Friends have tried to comfort me by the assurance that my life-work has
been better done by the pen, than it could have been with the pencil,
but this cannot be. I have never cared for literary fame; have avoided,
rather than sought it; have enjoyed the abuse of the press more than its
praise; have held my pen with a feeling of contempt for its feebleness,
and never could be so occupied with it as to forget a domestic duty,
while I have never visited a picture gallery, but I have bowed in deep
repentance for the betrayal of a trust.

Where are the pictures I should have given to the world? Where my record
of the wrongs and outrages of my age; of the sorrows and joys; the
trials and triumphs, that should have been written amid autumn and
sunset glories in the eloquent faces and speaking forms which have
everywhere presented themselves, begging to be interpreted? Why have I
never put on canvas one pair of those pleading eyes, in which are
garnered the woes of centuries?

Is that Christianity which has so long said to one-half of the race,
"Thou shalt not use any gift of the Creator, if it be not approved by
thy brother; and unto man, not God, thou shalt ever turn and ask, 'What
wilt thou have me to do?'"

It was not only my art-love which must be sacrificed to my duty as a
wife, but my literary tastes must go with it. "The husband is the head
of the wife." To be head, he must be superior. An uncultivated husband
could not be the superior of a cultivated wife. I knew from the first
that his education had been limited, but thought the defect would be
easily remedied as he had good abilities, but I discovered he had no
love for books. His spiritual guides derided human learning and depended
on inspiration. My knowledge stood in the way of my salvation, and I
must be that odious thing--a superior wife--or stop my progress, for to
be and appear were the same thing. I must be the mate of the man I had
chosen; and if he would not come to my level, I must go to his. So I
gave up study, and for years did not read one page in any book save the
Bible. My religions convictions I could not change, but all other
differences should disappear.

Mother moved to the city in the spring of 1838, and my health was
rapidly failing. I had rebelled against my mother-in-law, returned her
supplies, and refused to receive anything from her. This brought on a
fearful crisis, in which my husband threatened suicide; but I was firm,
and he concluded to rent the mills and take me away. This he did. His
father lived but a few months, and died on the second anniversary of our
marriage. He lies buried in the ground he donated as "God's acre," with
only this inscription at his head: "John Swisshelm, aged 86." No sign
that he was one of the world's heroes--yet, when our revolution broke
out, his parents had but two children. The oldest enlisted and was
killed, when John caught up his rifle, took his place, and kept it until
the close of the war. He spent the winter in Valley Forge, and once, in
the darkest time, discovered Washington on his knees in a lonely
thicket, praying aloud for his country. This gave him hope, when hope
was well-nigh dead, and he followed his commander across the Jerseys,
one of the two thousand who wrote in blood, from their shoeless feet,
their protest against British rule on the soil they thus consecrated to



On the 6th of June, 1838, the white frost lay on the west side of
Pittsburg roofs as we steamed away from her wharf, bound for Louisville,
where my husband proposed going into a business already established by
his brother Samuel.

On the boat, all the way down the river, the general topic of
conversation was the contrast between the desolate slave-cursed shores
of Kentucky, and the smiling plenty of the opposite bank; but Louisville
was largely settled by Northern people, and was to prove an oasis in the
desert of slavery.

It lay at the head of the Falls of the Ohio, and the general government
had lately expended large sums in building a canal around them. Henry
Clay was in the zenith of his power, slavery held possession of the
national resources, Louisville might count on favors, and she was to be
Queen City of the West. There was an aspiring little place which fancied
itself a rival, a little boat-landing, without natural advantages,
called Cincinnati, where they killed hogs; but it was quite absurd to
think of her competing with the great metropolis at the head of the

I was quite surprised to find there were a good many houses and folks in
Cincinnati; but our boat did not stop long, and we soon reached our
Eldorado. Before we effected a landing at the crowded wharf, I fell to
wondering if a Pittsburg drayman could take a Louisville dray, its load,
its three horses and ragged driver, pile them on his dray, and with his
one horse take them to their destination--and I thought he could.

Samuel met us, and as we went in a hack to the boarding place he had
engaged. I wondered what had happened that so many men were off work in
the middle of the forenoon. Who or what could they be, those fellows in
shining black broadcloth, each with a stove-pipe hat on the side of his
head, his thumbs in the armholes of a satin vest, displaying a wonderful
glimmer of gold chain and diamond stud, balancing himself first on his
heels and then on his toes, as he rolled a cigar from one side of his
mouth to the other? How did they come to be standing around on corners
and doorsteps by the hundred, like crows on a cornfield fence?

It was some time before I learned that this was the advance guard of a
great army of woman-whippers, which stretched away back to the Atlantic,
and around the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, and that they were out on
duty as a staring brigade, whose business it was to insult every woman
who ventured on the street without a male protector, by a stare so
lascivious as could not be imagined on American free soil. I learned
that they all lived, in whole or in part, by the sale of their own
children, and the labor of the mothers extorted by the lash. I came to
know one hoary-haired veteran, whose entire support came from the
natural increase and wages of nineteen women, one of whom, a girl of
eighteen, lived with him in a fashionable boarding-house, waited on him
at table, slept in his room, and of whose yearly wages one hundred and
seventy-five dollars were credited on his board bill.

I learned that none of the shapely hands displayed on the black vests,
had ever used other implement of toil than a pistol, bowie-knife or
slave-whip; that any other tool would ruin the reputation of the owner
of the taper digits; but they did not lose caste by horsewhipping the
old mammys from whose bosoms they had drawn life in infancy.

Our boarding-house was on Walnut street, one block west of the theatre,
and looked toward the river. On the opposite side of the street stood a
two-story brick house, always closed except when a negress opened and
dusted the rooms. I never saw sadness or sorrow until I saw that face;
and it did not appear except about her work, or when she emerged from a
side gate to call in two mulatto children, who sometimes came out on the

This house belonged to a Northern "mudsill," who kept a grocery, and
owned the woman, who was the mother of five children, of whom he was the
father. The older two he had sold, one at a time, as they became
saleable or got in his way. On the sale of the first, the mother "took
on so that he was obliged to flog her almost to death before she gave
up." But he had made her understand that their children were to be sold,
at his convenience, and that he "would not have more than three little
niggers about the house at one time."

After that first lesson she had been "reasonable."

Our hostess, a Kentucky lady, used to lament the loss of two boys--"two
of the beautifulest boys!"

They were the sons of her bachelor uncle, who had had a passion for
Liza, one of his father's slaves, a tall, handsome quadroon, who
rejected his suit and was in love with Jo, a fellow slave. To punish
both, the young master had Jo tied up and lashed until he fainted, while
Liza was held so that she must witness the torture, until insensibility
came to her relief. This was done three times, when Jo was sold, and
Liza herself bound to the whipping-post, and lashed until she yielded,
and became the mother of those two beautiful boys.

"But," added her biographer, "she never smiled after Jo was sold, took
consumption and died when her youngest boy was two months old. They were
the beautifulest boys I ever laid eyes on, and uncle sot great store by
them. He couldn't bear to have them out of his sight, and always said he
would give them to me. He would have done it, I know, if he had made a
will; but he took sick sudden, raving crazy, and never got his senses
for one minute. It often took three men to hold him on the bed. He
thought he saw Jo and Liza, and died cursing and raving."

She paused to wipe away a tear, and added: "The boys were sold down
South. Maybe your way, up North, is best, after all. I never knew a
cruel master die happy. They are sure to be killed, or die dreadful!"

She had an old, rheumatic cook, Martha, who seldom left her basement
kitchen, except when she went to her Baptist meeting, but for hours and
hours she crooned heart-breaking melodies of that hope within her, of a
better and a happier world.

She had a severe attack of acute inflammation of the eyelids, which
forcibly closed her eyes, and kept them closed; then she refused to

Her wages, one hundred and seventy-five dollars a year, were paid to her
owner, a woman, and these went on; so her employer sent for her owner,
and I, as an abolitionist, was summoned to the conference, that I might
learn to pity the sorrows of mistresses, and understand the
deceitfulness of slaves.

The injured owner sat in the shaded parlor, in a blue-black satin dress,
that might almost have stood upright without assistance from the flesh
or bones inside; with the dress was combined a mass of lace and jewelry
that represented a large amount of money, and the mass as it sat there,
and as I recall it, has made costly attire odious.

This bedizzoned martyr, this costumer's advertisement, sat and fanned as
she recounted her grievances. Her entire allowance for personal
expenses, was the wages of nine women, and her husband would not give
her another dollar. They, knowing her necessities, were so
ungrateful!--nobody could think how ungrateful; but in all her sorrows,
Martha was her crowning grief. She had had two husbands, and had behaved
so badly when the first was sold. Then, every time one of her thirteen
children were disposed of, she "did take on so;" nobody could imagine
"how she took on!"

Once, the gentle mistress had been compelled to send her to the
workhouse and have her whipped by the constable; and that cost fifty
cents; but really, this martyr and her husband had grown weary of
flogging Martha. One hated so to send a servant to the public
whipping-post; it looked like cruelty--did cruelty lacerate the feelings
of refined people, and it was so ungrateful in Martha, and all the rest
of them, to torture this fine lady in this rough way.

As to Martha's ingratitude, there could be no doubt; for, to this, our
hostess testified, and called me to witness, that she had sent her a cup
of tea every day since she had complained of being sick; yes, "a cup of
tea with sugar in it," and yet the old wretch had not gone to work.

When they had finished the recital of their grievances they came down to
business. The owner would remit two week's wages; after that it was the
business of the employer to pay them, and see that they were earned. If
it were necessary now to send Martha to the whipping-post, the lady in
satin would pay the fifty cents; but for any future flogging, the lady
in lawn must be responsible to the City of Louisville.

We adjourned to the kitchen where old Martha stood before her judge,
clutching the table with her hard hands, trembling in every limb, her
eyelids swollen out like puff-balls, and offensive from neglect, her
white curls making a border to her red turban, receiving her sentence
without a word. As a sheep before her shearers she was dumb, opening not
her mouth. Those wrinkled, old lips, from which I had heard few sounds,
save those of prayer and praise, were closed by a cruelty perfectly
incomprehensible in its unconscious debasement. Our hostess was a
leading member of the Fourth St. M.E. Church, the other feminine fiend a

I promised the Lord then and there, that for life, it should be my work
to bring "deliverance to the captive, and the opening of the prison to
them that are bound," but all I could do for Martha, was to give her
such medical treatment as would restore her sight and save her from the
whipping-post, and this I did.

While I lived on that dark and bloody ground, a man was beaten to death
in an open shed, on the corner of two public streets, where the sound of
the blows, the curses of his two tormentors, and his shrieks and
unavailing prayers for mercy were continued a whole forenoon, and sent
the complaining air shuddering to the ears of thousands, not one of whom
offered any help.

A brown-haired girl, Maria, the educated, refined daughter of a Kentucky
farmer, was lashed by her brutal purchaser, once, and again and again
for chastity, where hundreds who heard the blows and shrieks knew the
cause. From that house she was taken to the work-house and scourged by
the public executioner, backed by the whole force of the United States
government. Oh! God! Can this nation ever, ever be forgiven for the
blood of her innocent children?

Passing a crowded church on a Sabbath afternoon, I stepped in, when the
preacher was descanting on the power of religion, and, in illustration,
he told of two wicked young men in that state, who were drinking and
gambling on Sunday morning, when one said:

"I can lick the religion out of any nigger."

The other would bet one hundred dollars that he had a nigger out of whom
the religion could not be licked. The bet was taken and they adjourned
to a yard. This unique nigger was summoned, and proved to be a poor old
man. His master informed him he had a bet on him, and the other party
commanded him to "curse Jesus?" on pain of being flogged until he did.
The old saint dropped on his knees before his master, and plead for
mercy, saying:

"Massa! Massa! I cannot curse Jesus! Jesus die for me! He die for you,
Massa. I no curse him; I no curse Jesus!"

The master began to repent. In babyhood he had ridden on those old bowed
shoulders, then stalwart and firm, and he proposed to draw the bet, but
the other wanted sport and would win the money. Oh! the horrible details
that that preacher gave of that day's sport, of the lashings, and
faintings, and revivals, with washes of strong brine, the prayers for
mercy, and the recurring moan!

"I no curse Jesus, Massa! I no curse Jesus; Jesus die for me, Massa; I
die for Jesus?"

As the sun went down Jesus took him, and his merciful master had sold a
worthless nigger for one hundred dollars. But, the only point which the
preacher made, was that one in favor of religion. When it could so
support a nigger, what might it not do for one of the superior race?

For months I saw every day a boy who could not have been more than ten
years old, but who seemed to be eight, and who wore an iron collar with
four projections, and a hoop or bail up over his head. This had been put
on him for the crime of running away; and was kept on to prevent a
repetition of that crime. The master, who thus secured his property, was
an Elder in the Second Presbyterian church, and led the choir.

The principal Baptist preacher owned and hired out one hundred slaves;
took them himself to the public mart, and acted as auctioneer in
disposing of their services. The time at which this was done, was in the
Christmas holidays, or rather the last day of the year, when the slaves'
annual week of respite ended.

A female member of the Fourth St. Methodist church was threatened with
discipline, for nailing her cook to the fence by the ear with a
ten-penny nail. The preacher in charge witnessed the punishment from a
back window of his residence. Hundreds of others witnessed it, called by
the shrieks of the victim; and his reverence protested, on the ground
that such scenes were calculated to injure the church.



To a white woman in Louisville, work was a dire disgrace, and one
Sabbath four of us sat suffering from thirst, with the pump across the
street, when I learned that for me to go for a pitcher of water, would
be so great a disgrace to the house as to demand my instant expulsion.

I grew tired doing nothing. My husband's business did not prosper, and I
went to a dressmaker and asked for work. She was a New England woman,
and after some shrewd questions, exclaimed:

"My dear child, go home to your mother! What does your husband mean?
Does he not know you would be insulted at every step if you work for a
living? Go home--go home to your mother!"

I was homesick, and the kindness of the voice and eyes made me cry. I
told her I could not leave my husband.

"Then let him support you, or send you home until he can! I have seen
too many like you go to destruction here. Go home."

I said that I could never go to destruction, but she interrupted me:

"You know nothing about it. You are a mere baby. They all thought as you
do. Go home to your mother!"

"But I never can go to destruction! No evil can befall me, for He that
keepeth Israel slumbers not nor sleeps."

She concluded to give me work, but said:

"I will send it by a servant. Don't you come here."

I never thrust my anti-slavery opinions on any one, but every Southerner
inquired concerning them, and I gave true answers. There were many
boarders in the house, and one evening when there were eighteen men in
the parlor, these questions brought on a warm discussion, when one said:

"You had better take care how you talk, or we will give you a coat of
tar and feathers."

I agreed to accept such gratuitous suit, and a Mississippi planter, who
seemed to realize the situation, said gently:

"Indeed, madam, it is not safe for you to talk as you do."

"When reminded of constitutional guarantees for freedom of speech, and
his enjoyment of it in my native State, he replied:

"There is no danger in Pennsylvania from freedom of speech, but if
people were allowed to talk as you do here, it would overthrow our

There were mobs in the air. The mayor closed a Sunday-school, on the
ground that in it slaves were taught to read. The teacher, a New England
woman, denied the charge, and claimed that only free children had been
taught, while slaves were orally instructed to obey their masters, as
good Presbyterians, who hoped to escape the worm that never dies. Her
defense failed, but seemed to establish the right of free colored people
to a knowledge of the alphabet, but there was no school for them, and I
thought to establish one.

Jerry Wade, the Gault House barber, was a mulatto, who had bought
himself and family, and acquired considerable real estate. In the back
of one of his houses, lived his son with a wife and little daughter. We
rented the front, and mother sent me furniture. This was highly genteel,
for it gave us the appearance of owning slaves, and Olivia, young Wade's
wife, represented herself as my slave, to bring her and her child
security. As a free negro, she labored under many disadvantages, so
begged me to claim her.

In this house I started my school, and there were no lack of pupils
whose parents were able and willing to pay for their tuition, but
ruffians stood before the house and hooted at the "nigger school."
Threatening letters were sent me, and Wade was notified that his house
would be burned or sacked, if he permitted its use for such purpose. In
one day my pupils were all withdrawn.

After this, I began to make corsets. It was a joy to fit the superb
forms of Kentucky women, and my art-love found employment in it, but my
husband did not succeed, and went down the river.

A man came to see if I could give work to his half-sister, for whose
support he could not fully provide. She was a Fitzhugh,--a first
Virginia family. Her father had died, leaving a bankrupt estate. She had
learned dressmaking, and had come with him to Louisville to find work,
but she was young and beautiful, and he dare not put her into a shop,
but thought I might protect her, so she came to live with me.

One evening an old and wealthy citizen called about work I was doing for
his wife, became interested in me, as a stranger who had seen little of
Louisville, and tendered the use of his theatre-box and carriage to the
young lady and myself. I declined, with thanks. When he had taken leave,
Miss Fitzhugh sprang to her feet, and with burning cheeks and flashing
eyes, demanded to know if I knew that that man had insulted us both. I
did not know, but she did, and would tell Edward, who should cowhide him
publicly. I told her that if Edward attempted that, he would probably
lose his life, and we would certainly be dragged into a police court.
Even if we had been insulted, it only proved that the old man thought we
were like himself--that we were told in the Psalms that wicked men
thought God was like themselves, and did approve their sin, and he did
not have them cowhided. After a moment's reflection she sat down,

"Well, you are the strangest woman I ever did see!"

We never again saw the man, and I hope the incident helped the honest
Edward in his loving task of protecting the fiery Fitzhugh.

My husband's trip down the river was a failure, and he went back home.
Remembering he had heard me say I could do so much better at
corset-making if I could buy goods at wholesale, he sold his Wilkinsburg
property and turned the proceeds into dry goods. To me this seemed very
unwise, but I tried to make the best of it, and we took a business house
on Fourth street. I cut and fitted dresses, and with a tape-line could
take a measure from which I could make a perfect fit without trying on.
I soon had more work than I could do, and took two new girls, but the
goods were dead stock. My Husband was out of employment, and tried to
assist in my business. He was out most of the day, and in the evening
wanted to retire early. I was busy all day, and could not go out alone
after dark, so came to be a prisoner.

One warm evening I was walking back and forth in front of our house,
though I knew it a great risk, when a man overtook me, cleared his
throat as if to speak, and passed on to the lamp-post, which had made
one limit of my walk. I did not shorten my path, and when I came up to
the post he again cleared his throat as if to speak, and next time
stepped out, lifted his hat, and remarked:

"A very pleasant evening, Miss."

I stopped, looked at him, and said:

"It is a very pleasant evening; had you not better walk on and enjoy

He bowed low, and answered:

"I beg your pardon, madam. I was mistaken."

"Pardon for what, sir? It _is_ a very pleasant evening; please to pass

He did, and I walked till I was tired, thinking of all the sacrifices I
had made to be my husband's housekeeper and keep myself in woman's
sphere, and here was the outcome! I was degrading him from his position
of bread-winner. If it was my duty to keep his house, it must be his to
find me a house to keep, and this life must end. I would go with him to
the poorest cabin, but he must be the head of the matrimonial firm. He
should not be my business assistant. I would not be captain with him for
lieutenant. How to extricate myself I did not see, but extricated I
would be.

We needed a servant. A Kentucky "gentleman," full six feet three, with
broad shoulders and heavy black whiskers, came to say: "I have a woman I
can let you have! A good cook, good washah and ionah, fust rate
housekeepah! I'll let you have ah for two hundred dollahs a yeah; but
I'll tell you honest, you'll have to hosswhipah youahself about twice a
week, for that wife of youahs could nevah do anything with ah."

While he talked I looked. His suit was of the finest black broadcloth,
satin vest, a pompous display of chain, seals, studs and rings, his
beaver on the back of his head, his thumbs in the arms of his vest, and
feet spread like the Collossus of Rhodes.

This new use for Pennsylvania muscle seemed to strike my husband as
infinitely amusing, for he burst out laughing, and informed the
"gentleman" that he did not follow the profession of whipping women,
and must decline his offer. But I wanted to be back on free soil, out of
an atmosphere which killed all manhood, and furnished women-whippers as
a substitute for men.


REBELLION.--Age, 24.

During the late spring and early summer, my letters from home spoke
often of mother's failing health, and in July one came from her saying
her disease had been pronounced cancer, and bidding me come to her. The
same mail brought a letter from Dr. Joseph Gazzam, telling me she was
certainly on her death-bed, and adding: "Let nothing prevent your
coming to your mother at once."

I was hurt by this call. Was I such a monster that this old family
friend thought it necessary to urge me to go to my dying mother? Stunned
and stupified with grief, I packed my trunk.

My husband came in at noon, and I handed him the letters. He read them
and expressed surprise and sorrow, and I told him to hurry to the wharf
and see when the first boat started. He thought I should not go until I
heard again. It might not be so bad. Then, after reflecting, said, why
go at all, if there was no hope? Of what use could I be? If there was
hope, he would agree to my going, but as there was none, he must object.
In fact, he did not see how I could think of leaving him with those
goods on his hands. How could I be so ready to drop all and not think of
the consequences, for what could he do with that stock of dry goods. My
mother pretended to be a Christian, but would take me away from my duty.
I, too, read the Bible, but paid little heed to its teachings. He
brought that book and read all of Paul's directions to wives, but rested
his case on Ephesians, v, 22: "Wives submit yourselves unto your own
husbands as unto the Lord. For the husband is head of the wife even as
Christ is head of the church; therefore, as the church is subject unto
Christ, so let the wives be to their own husbands in everything."

While he continued his comments, I buried my head in pillows, saying,
"Lord what wilt thou have me to do?"

Milton epitomized Paul when he made Eve say to Adam, "Be God thy law,
thou mine;" but was that the mind and will of God? Had he transferred
his claim to the obedience of half the human family? Was every husband
God to his wife? Would wives appear in the general judgment at all, or
if they did, would they hand in a schedule of marital commands?

If the passage meant anything it meant this: One might as well try to
be, and not to be, at the same time, as own allegiance to God and the
same allegiance to man. I was either God's subject or I was not. If I
was not, I owed him no obedience. Christ as head of the church was her
absolute lawgiver, and thus saith the Lord, was all she dare demand. Was
I to obey my husband in that way? If so, I had no business with the
moral law or any other law, save his commands. Christian England had
taken this view, and enacted that a wife should not be punished for any
crime committed by command, or in presence of her husband, "because,
being altogether subject to him, she had no will of her own;" but this
position was soon abandoned, and this passage stamped as spurious. Every
Christian church had so stamped it, for all encouraged wives to join
their communion with or without the consent of their husbands. Thousands
of female martyrs had sealed their testimony with their blood, opposing
the authority of their husbands, and had been honored by the church. As
for me, I must take that passage alone for my Bible, or expunge it.

Then and there I cast it from me forever, as being no part of divine
law, and thus unconsciously took the first step in breaking through a
faith in plenary inspiration.

I next turned to the book in general for guidance: "Wives, obey your
husbands;" "Children obey your parents;" "Honor thy father and thy
mother." What a labyrinth of irreconcilable contradictions! God, in
nature, spoke with no uncertain sound, "Go home to your mother," and my
choice was made while my husband talked.

I said that if he did not see about a boat I would. When he told me that
he had a legal right to detain me, and would exercise it, I assured him
the attempt would be as dangerous as useless, for I was going to

He went out, promising to engage my passage, but staid so long that I
went to the wharf, where respectable women were not seen alone, saw a
boat with a flag out for Pittsburg, engaged a berth, and so left



Mother was suffering when I reached her, as I had not dreamed of. After
a consultation, Drs. Gazzam and Fahnestock thought she could not live
more than four weeks; but Spear said she might linger three months. This
blanched the cheek of each one. Three months of such unremitting pain,
steadily on the increase, was appalling; but mother faced the prospect
without a murmur, willing to bear by God's grace what He should inflict,
and to wait His good time for deliverance. I was filled with
self-reproach, for I should have been with her months before.

In a few days my mother-in-law and one of her daughters came to see how
long I proposed to stay, why I had left James with the goods, and when I
would go and take charge of them. They had had a letter from him, and he
was in great trouble. She was gentle and grave--inquired minutely about
our nursing, but thought it expensive--dwelt at length on the folly of
spending time and money in caring for the sick when recovery was
impossible. Mother could not see them, and they were offended, for they
proposed helping to take care of her, that I might return to my duty.

Some time after the visit of my mother-in-law, her son-in-law--who was a
class-leader and a man of prominence in the community--came with solemn
aspect, took my hand, sighed, and said:

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