404
LETTERS OF LIFE.
And you, for many a lustrum, have not frowned
Upon my lingering strain. Patient you've been,
Even as the charity that never fails;
And pouring o'er my heart the gentlest tides
Of love and commendation. So I take
These tender memories to my pillowed turf,
Blessing you for them when I breathe no more.
Heaven's peace be with you all!
Farewell! Farewell!
L. H. Sigourney.
May 12th, 1865.
And now remains only a short, sad task, for loving hands to gather up the last links in the chain of a pure and gentle life, and with filial reverence to trace the steps of the journey, as it led to that "better country, even an heavenly."
Since almost the latest event in my mother's history, as recorded by her own hand, was that of our departure to a more distant home, it may not, perhaps, be inappropriate to allude here to the pleasure, over which I would fain linger, of her visit to us in our new abode. Early in July she came, bringing her smiles and her benedictions; and we had the joy of seeing her, during her stay, gaining both in health and cheerfulness. She remained with us through the summer, enjoying the scenery of the lovely lake, and the congenial society by which she found us surrounded, and returned to her own home in September, with renewed strength, and with pleasant recollections of the kind hospitalities of those to whom she came as a stranger. During the succeeding autumn and winter these still lingered with her;