Croydon, N. H. Dec. 10: 1854.
We are now very busy, making preparations, to go West, in the
Spring. We may
go to Kansas, if the way opens for us, in the order of Providence. We
have “usefulness
to our fellow-creatures,” in view, before any other object, of
worldly
gain. I am perfectly passive, as it respects “the spot,” or
state,
or Ter. where Mr. L. sees fit to pitch his tent, let God direct, and all
will
be right, -- I write no more, in this diary, until we reach our place of
destination.
“Carry us not thence, unless Thy Presence, go with us,” is
our prayer.
Kansas City, Mo. March, 18th 1855.
We left Lebanon, N. H. the old paternal home the 6th of March, 1855.
O the
tears, and heart-agony, as we tore ourselves away from those aged
parents, who
gave us birth, and those brothers and sisters, so dear to our
hearts—we
wept until we reached “White River Junction,” at Hartford,
Vt. where
bro. Daniel, who accompanied, us there, left us, and we took the cars.
Had a
pleasant journey from there to Alton Ill. In the cars, and thence up the
Mo.
River, by steam-boat. The “Kate Sweeney,” Capt. Choteau, the
owner,
and Capt. of the boat treated his passengers in princely style, and
permitted
us to have Divine worship, on board. Every thing seems new and
strange to us,
from dear old N. E. the farther we journey, toward the sunny South. We
landed
here at K. City Sunday Morning. What a desolate place!
K. City, March 28th
Mr. L. left immediately, with Charles Julius, for the Ter. leaving
I, and Juliette,
and Edith, to board at the “American Hotel” in this place,
till
he could find him a “claim,” and erect a cabin on it, for
our accommodation.
The landlord gives me two dollars per week, for serving, besides
boarding me,
and Edith. Juliette has 1,50 per week, and her board, for waiting on the
table.
It is very sickly here in this Hotel, and in the Town. Many cases of
death.
Pneumonia seems to be the prevailing sickness. Our food is miserably
cooked,
so much so, at times, it produces a nauseating effect on approaching the
tables.
Hundreds are arriving here weekly for the Ter. The Sabbath is greatly
desecrated
here, and religion is at a very low ebb.
Apr. 3d
All three of us, are sick, and I know we cannot live in this
unhealthy atmosphere.
Deaths almost, or quite daily, here. Sadness and discontent, sit on the
brow,
of every fresh arrival of emigrants, and scores come back here, after
wandering about in the Ter. and spending (in a number of cases)
nearly or quite
all their means, and take the boat for the return trip to St. Louis, for
N.
E. again. Two deaths in this Hotel, and the sick are in a number of
rooms. What
I can do, I know not, as my children are sick, and I am too unwell to
sit up,
all the time. No face, I ever saw before, and if we stay here I fear we
shall
die. My dear little Edith has been exposed to the measles, and I fear
the consequences,
as we have not means in our power, to make her comfortable. I must find
a private
house, if we can, by going about Town, and hire our board, if possible
till
I can send an express for Mr. L. who is at the Junction of the Big Blue
and
Kansas Rivers, as he writes me, and he, and his N. E. Company, have laid
out
a Town in that spot. They had an excessively hard journey there, and
suffered
with cold, and snow an occurrence, not common, I am told, in this
region. O
how my sick lone heart, at this time, sighs for a home, where our
children may
be comfortable again. What can I do, with but little money, and every
thing
here so expensive? The price for miserable board here, is $1,00, and
$1,50 per
day! This is wrong, money is so scarce.
I have never seen so much suffering in so short a time, as since I
have been
here. O how many have left for the Ter. who will there find a grave!
Apr. 25th
I left the Hotel, and went to a Mr. Wests, to board, and whilst I
was there,
it was announced that the “Financier,” a boat was to sail up
the
Kansas River to Fort Riley and I immediately engaged passage, and went
on board,
with my family Juliette being sick, and Edith evidently “coming
down”
with measles. I wanted if possible to escape from that place of
sickness, and
death, for I feared that every one of us would die, if we remained
there, and
our graves be dug by stranger’s hand. I tried hard, tho’
scarcely
able to sit up, to get my family to where Mr. L. and Charles was, but
Providence
ordered otherwise. O my God, why am I brought into these straits? Have
we done
wrong, in coming to Kansas, that I have been in such a dilemma for weeks
past,
I know not what to do? Or am I brought into these soul-trying
difficulties,
that I may know how to sympathise with others, in a similar condition?
I’ll
cling to Jesus, the
Crucified One, tho’ the earth reels beneathe my feet, and the
Mountains
are removed in my sight, and every other hope fails. I know well that we
are
thrown from the boat, into this “horrid place,” for some
wise purpose.
If the boat does not start again, for some time, as she has now struck
on a
sand-bar, four miles only from the place, “(K. City)” from
whence
she started, some way will be provided for us, We are now stopping with
a half-breed
Indian woman, French Catholic whose husband lives near the spot, where
the boat
grounded. Juliette is better, tho’ very feeble. Edith is very
sick, with
measles, but patient as a lamb. I have nothing to render her
comfortable, in
her sickness, and neither suitable food, nor other necessaries, for any
of us.
I have watched E. day and night, and wept, and prayed, by her bed-side,
the
most of the time, until it seems as tho’ nature can sustain but
little
more, and if I fail, before Mr. L. arrives, what will become of my
children,
in this condition? I have sent an “express,” for Mr. L. and
hope
he is on his way,
to find us. I am straining my eyes continually watching for his
coming—why
does he delay, when my heart is sinking within me, and I have wept,
until the
fountain of tears, is nearly exhausted. Must our graves be dug here, and
we
have no Christian burial? I cannot rehearse, what I have passed thro, of
late,
nor need I, for it is written on my heart, in characters, never to be
effaced,
till I die
April 28:
I can stop here no longer: My little Angel—Edith groans
terribly at night,
she is in such pain, in her head, and as there is but one room, in the
log cabin
where we are, this woman took her bed, and dragged it out on to the
porch, to
sleep, for “she said she would not sleep in the house, where the
child
groaned so,” I have hired this man for $30 to carry us to the Big
Blue,
if we do not meet Mr. Lovejoy, on the way. Edith is very feeble, though
the
measles have disappeared, and we start this day with heavy hearts. God
alone,
to whom we commit ourselves, knoweth the burden upon my spirit. That
man, with
whom I agreed,
has put a drunken rowdy-teamster, in his stead, to drive our team,
and the
horses will not draw the load, and I fear Edith will not live to reach
Lawrence.
The carriage is very hard to ride in, and jolts, and jars us badly What
shall
I do? No human being that we ever saw before to show us any sympathy,
The first
night, on our journey, an awful thunder-storm overtook us, and we leaped
from
the baggage-waggon, with Edith in our arms, as the awful peals of
thunder, were
rending the heavens and the rain falling in torrents and took shelter,
with
a family, consisting of a young man, his wife and babe, by the Name of
Johnson,
a few miles beyond Westport, Missouri. They were slave-holders, but we
were
cordially received, and freely, and kindly entertained. May Heaven
reward them,
for their hospitality, to a way-faring pilgrim, whose heart was
well-nigh bursting
from accumulating anguish That night, the miserable teamster, crawled
into our
carriage, and stole the eatables, and necessaries, I had purchased at K.
City,
for our journey, and smashed the glass, that Mr.
Lovejoy had written me to purchase for our little cabin. We could
have no redress,
for our grievances, only to bear them, patiently. What we suffered this
day,
no tongue can describe. The roads were almost impassable. The horses
would not
draw but a few rods, at a time. The driver uttered horrid oaths, the
road was
full of men and their teams, strangers all, and bound for the Territory.
At
night, we stopped at a half-breed Indian house, and my little Edith must
have
her little pallet, spread on the floor, tho’ she begged for a bed,
“her
head ached so bad,” she said. There were two beds, in the only
room, in
the log-cabin. In one, slept the Indian, and his squaw; in the other, in
every
conceivable position, were stowed I think, five squaws, and on the
floor, stretched
two men, travellers. On this floor, I sat, weeping, and praying the
whole night.
Every bone in my body ached, and my mind, was strung up to the utmost
tension
of sorrow. Edith was evidently failing, and O could I but reach
Lawrence, that
if she died I might not bury her on the road, or leave
her body amongst the Indians. O how my soul clung to her. I went out
of doors,
I looked up to heaven—the moon was shining clear in the sky, the
whippoorwill,
was singing his mournful requiem, in a grove, near the Indian’s
cabin.
Juliette, was sleeping with an Indian woman, in our waggon, and I walked
around
the enclosure, with feelings, that never can be described. Why O why
Job-like,
must my hopes be crushed. Why must such and out-bursting flood of sorrow
overwhelm
me? The morning came I took my suffering lamb, and got into the waggon,
having
had but little sleep or rest, for three weeks, and my heart was sinking
within
me. Edith was failing during the day. The next night we reached the
cabin of
a Shawnee Indian. He permitted me, by charging a quarter of a dollar, to
spread
a mattrass, of my own, on the floor for Edith,but would not permit
Juliette,
to lodge in the cabin, without a heavy price. So I fastened Juliette up
in the
waggon, alone in the woods, and sat down on the floor, still another
night
to weep and pray. Occasionally, I would stretch my limbs, on the
bare floor,
but my anxiety for my child kept my eyes unclosed the most of the time.
Another
lady stopped there just coming into the Ter. whose child had the
measles. The
Indian said to her, “your child will live, but I don’t know
about
the other ladies child” – O how these words, sank into my
heart!
The next morning, we were on our way at an early hour hoping to reach
Lawrence,
some time, before night, and looking every hour, to meet Mr. L. on the
road.
I feared Edith had the seal of death, upon her brow. She opened wide,
her full
blue eye, and looking me full in the face, said she, “Mother, you
are
good.” These were her last words: her voice trembled some, but O
so patient—About
four o’clock in the P. M. we came in sight of Lawrence, and saw a
man
approaching us on foot—we held our breath, lest we might be
deceived!
Lo! ‘tis he! We simultaneously, uttered a cry, and the next
moment, we
were sobbing in
each other’s arms. Mr. L. had arrived in L. an hour
previously, and by
some means learned that we were near, and run to meet us! O what had we
both
been thro’ since we parted, and there was our dying, idolized
child! My
God! Why dost Thou suffer this to come upon us! Those little arms, that
always
encircled her father’s neck, (when returning home, she has run to
meet
him) will never clasp it again: those lips, that again, and again, when
her
father bade her Adieu at K. City, pressed the kiss of affection, on her
father’s
cheek, will never kiss him again. She does not recognize
him—She’ll
die! This awful truth, is forced upon me, and can we survive the awful
stroke?
She is borne in her father’s arms, from the waggon, to the cabin
of a
kind-hearted Christian family, by the name of Savage, from Hartford Vt.
who
have just arrived here. The next day, about two o’clock, in the P.
M.
her spirit, went to God—Can I proceed with my mournful story? The
next
day, May the 5th we buried her dear little body, at Lawrence, with many
tears.
This is our first great sorrow, and the billows have quite gone over
our soul.
I am now about 6 months, advanced in pregnancy and why I live, is more
than
I can tell.
May, the 6th.
We tore ourselves from the grave, of our loved-one, and sowing our
tears, along
the road, went on our way toward “Big Blue” The third day we
reached
there, and went into a log cabin, to live with no floor, nor window, and
tears,
were my meat and drink, day and night, until it seemed sometimes as tho
reason,
could not retain her throne, unless my sorrows assuaged. No friend that
seemed
to understand my sorrow. No acquaintances here, but my family –All
is
one vast expanse of nature, and tho’ the Country is surpassingly
beautiful,
it is as lonely to me, as tho’ I was shut up in a tomb, my heart
is so
sad, sad—I am glad, I’m born to die.
Mouth of the Big Blue, Manhattan, K. T.
Aug. 20th, 1855.
O my uncontrollable sorrow, for my Edith—the pangs are
sharper, and sharper,
to be borne. I want to feel reconciled
but cannot—O if I could say, “Thy will be done,”
and feel
it, too. I am very feeble in body, and have but little thought, that I
shall
survive the event, of child-birth, I have passed thro such scenes, of
trouble,
for months past; but then I shall go to my child, whom I love better
than myself.
O how I miss her—how I mourn for her. My heart grieves more, and
more,
at her loss. How my poor heart withers beneath the stroke. Were it not
for the
full belief, that my precious Edith has gained heaven, I could not be
sustained.
How I weep, but it availeth not, I shall go to her, but she’ll
never return
to me. I love her as none can tell. I am in a critical situation, and
find but
little rest for body, or mind. Forsake me not, O Father of mercies, when
the
floods, go over my soul.
Sept. 15th
I am still lingering amid distracting pains, by day, and night. The
Lord only
knows whether the result, will be life or death, into His hands, I
commit all.
Manhattan, Oct. 13th
The 17th of Sept. at four o’clock, in the P. M. after a
lingering
and well-nigh death-like sickness, it was announced that “a
son was born.”
A beautiful boy, he truly is, and I have given up to God, to be a
“Herald
of the Cross,” and I feel as tho’ the Lord would accept him,
and
spare his life. My prayer is, that he may be a Samuel, from his birth.
Lord,
he is Thine, for time, and for Eternity. I feel the loss of Edith, more
and
more, O God, let me see my child, in heaven! I thought, and so did my
attendants,
that I might die in my late sickness, but God, for some purpose hath
spared
me: may it be to train my little Irving, (now four weeks old) for the
skies,
Lord impart grace.
May 5th 1856.
Great bend of the Blue, in a little cabin, hastily thrown
together—this
is now our home. We have occupied a “balloon house,” so
called ready-made,
brought on the ill-fated Steamer Hartford, that was burnt to the
water’s
edge, on her downward trip, from Manhattan, to Lawrence. In this house,
last
Winter, our family near freezing, the cold,
was so intense. I wrapped my babe in blankets, and my furs, to keep
him from
perishing, near the stove. Mr. L’s station, the first year, was
“Fort
Riley Mission,” and in the fall, was sent to Lawrence station,
consequently,
we were alone in the winter, and suffered incredibly. O how I sighed for
a comfortable
home, in N. E. again. Mr. L. took him a “claim,” adjoining
Manhattan,
and to prevent its being jumped we have moved on to it, and Mr. L. has
been
sent by the Lawrence people, to the East, to solicit funds, to build a
Church
in Lawrence. I am very lonely, in this distant land, and he, so far
away, while
the political elements, are all in commotion, and war is being
threatened. One
year ago yesterday, I saw the cold earth, heaped upon the coffin, that
contained
my darling Edith, and O, what a day, was the anniversary of that
heart-rending
scene! How my poor lacerated heart, bleeding in every pore, looks to
Heaven,
that its wounds,
may be, (if not healed) made endurable, by the grace of God,
bestowed. What
a year has been the past! O my weeping days, and nights! She is at rest,
I know,
I feel, but my accumulating sorrow, is wearing out my poor body, and in
addition,
Mr. L. has been gone nearly five months, and were it possible I would
take up
the bones of my child, and go to N. England and not go thro’ what
I have
since I came to Kansas. Juliette, was married by her father, the 9th of
March,
to Dr. L. Whitehorn of Hudson, Mich. It was a sore trial, to me, to have
her
marry so young, but I pray the Lord, to bless their union, and bring
them, both
safe to heaven, at last.
July, 8th
O how lonely, lonely, I feel, from day to day, and from week, to
week. Mr.
is still in the East, and there are “wars, and rumors, of
wars.”
Almost every week som[e]body falls by the hand of violence, and I know
not that
any place is secure. The Free State men, are shot down
by pro-slavery villains, as beasts of prey. A soldier, in the U. S.
army is
posted as sentinel, and keeps a constant lookout, (from the top of old
Bluemont,
in sight, from my cabin, window) for the approach of Lane, and his army,
that
are supposed to be en route for Kansas, thro’ Iowa. How long must
I remain
here, in this isolated spot, and repeat, so often the appropriate lines
of A.
Selkirk, on the Island Juan Fernandez. I never dreamed in happy N. E. of
a tithe,
of what I have already passed thro’ in Kansas, and why is it
suffered
so to be. May the sufferings the pioneers of Kansas, have passed
thro’
be the means of helping the down-trodden, and oppressed, and working out
the
Heaven-approved principles, of universal emancipation.
Aug. 20th.
Mr. L. has returned from the E. and has had a serious time, in
getting home
He reached St. Louis, on his way to his family and for fear of violence,
from
border-ruffians he was obliged to turn about, and take the
over-land route thro’ Iowa. The horse he bought was taken sick
on the
road, and finally died, and he was obliged to buy another. This journey
has
been to him, an expensive one, but I am glad, he is spared to return. He
insists
on my accompanying him to Lawrence, which I am now preparing to do. The
dogs
of war, are let loose, and armed men, are thronging the streets of
Lawrence
and Topeka. All is commotion. Murder, unwhipt by Justice, stalks abroad,
at
noon-day. Martyrs, to freedom’s holy cause, are being added to the
long
list of the fallen! This is an awful crisis, and unless heaven
interpose, we
shall be swept away, by an overwhelming army, led on by the
whiskey-demon, to
deeds of the blackest hue! History, seldom, chronicles more shocking
barbarities,
than have been in some instances practised upon defenseless free State
men,
“and the end, is not yet!”
Lawrence, Sept. 1:
You seldom meet a man, now-a-days, who is not fully “armed
and equipped, as the law directs.” All things look
war-like—There
is now a large army in Lawrence, marching, and counter-marching
thro’
our streets, almost daily. Col. Lane is now in the Ter. and the
ruffians, dread
his presence, and fear his military skill and courage. We are in
constant fear
and excitement. Startling reports, from various quarters, are coming in,
every
few hours. Our family are sick—Mr. L. very sick, with ague, and
intermittent
fever, and so also is our little Irving. I too am sick, with fever.
External
things, are dark and gloomy—our enemies have cut off the means of
receiving
supplies, from Leavenworth, and are doing their best, to starve us, into
submission.
Our food, tho’ we are sick, is of unbolted flour, and glad to get
that.
Our men are in fine spirits, and in every engagement yet, have whipped
the enemy.
I shall find but little time to write, save for the N. E. papers, at
present.
Sumner, K. T. Sept. 1859.
I have not written in my journal, for three years, but have
kept regularly posted up, in matters pertaining to the Ter. as I
have corresponded
with many Weekly papers, concerning events, as they transpired. After
remaining
at Lawrence two years, Mr. L. was stationed at Oskaloosa, but his
family, went
on to a “claim,” at Palmyra, 10 miles South of Lawrence. I
lived
a year, in a little log cabin in the woods, and passed many days, and
nights,
entirely alone, with my little two-year-old boy, in times when
strong-minded
men feared for their personal safety; but an unseen Arm, shielded me
from harm,
tho’ I was very lonely. Here I was violently siezed with bilious
fever,
and lay nearly two days, almost entirely helpless,
scorched with burning fever, and none to give me even a drink of cold
water,
to moisten my parched lips. The Lord was indeed a present Help, as with
flowing
tears, I looked upward in that sad hour. I could not, at first,
penetrate the
mystery, why all these afflictions, of such a grievous character, should
be
suffered to burst upon my head, and all too, at once, or but a
small portion of time intervene between one stroke, and another. The
former
part of my life, though others, under the same circumstances, might have
considered
it not very free from labor and toil, yet, the Angel of death, had not
left
such a felt vacuum, in the loved circle, neither had such deprivation of
earthly
comforts, ever been our lot, till we trod the soil of Kansas, and then,
I had
seemingly to grapple with them alone, with an infant, a few weeks old,
far removed
from civilized life, and my husband instead of being with his family,
during
the coldest winter, that was ever known, they were in a frail balloon
house,
and well-nigh froze, whilst he was at Lawrence, in comfortable quarters,
boarding.
I know now, that “all things shall work together for good, to them
that
love the Lord,” it has been so, already in my case, and to-day, I
bless
the Lord, for all these trials—not one too many for I love the
Hand Divine,
that holds the rod. The year ’58, we were appointed to Sumner, on
the
Missouri River. We put up the frame of a house, and moved in, without
doors,
or windows,
and here I lived nearly half the second year, more than two-thirds
of the time,
day and night, alone with Irving, who is now nearly four years old. A
few weeks
since, I had two chills, one a kind of “congestive chill—was
very
sick, and no one with me, but my little boy. The second attack, I
rallied all
my remaining strength, got to the door, and called to the nearest
neighbor,
who heard me, and came or sent immediately to my assistance. Our house
at the
present writing, is only half-finished, as we did not receive but $300,
last
year which was not but little over half enough for our support, and the
present
year, we shall receive still less, as only $1,00 Missionary money, is
appropriated
the present year, and last year $50 more. This field of labor the
present year
extends from within four miles of Leavenworth on the South, to Monrovia,
on
the North, nearly 50 miles, along, and near the Missouri valley. Mr.
Lovejoy
has been absent for some time past, attending a camp-meeting, at
Oskaloosa—One
is in progress, too at this time, at Baldwin City, where “Baker
University”
is located, and I had anticipated attending this, and also visiting
Charles,
our son, who resides there; but my plans are frustrated, as some one
must remain
in the house, to watch the garden
from the depredations of animals, that run at large, and also from
petty rogues,
who love to pilfer, from their industrious neighbors, rather than earn a
livelihood.
Day before yesterday, or Aug. 30th, was a memorable day in
memory’s calendar.
God has revealed Himself to me, many times, in a glorious manner, but
this manifestation
of his glory, His love, that possessed my spirit, I think exceeded all
former
manifestations, and it really seemed that the “earthern
vessel”
must break, unless God withheld His Hand. I shouted from a full soul,
and even
at a late hour in the night, with none but my little boy, with me, I
feared
the neighbors might hear my shouts of praise—God has saved me from
sin—the
witness is clear with not one doubt—glory to His blessed Name!
Some fiery
trial may be near, as it has almost invariably happened in my history,
after
such a wonderful strengthening of my faith, but His grace will help me
to overcome,
and vanquish all
thro’ Jesus’ Name. O the sweet peace, undisturbed that
possesses
my soul whilst I write. “I am glad that I am born to die,”
to live
forever, with my Savious in Heaven. He hath done all things well”
for
me, tho’ the flames have seemed at the time, almost unendurable,
yet,
they have only been the crucible to refine my spirit, and remove the
drop. Glory
to the Eternal King, He never will forsake His children, who trust their
all
in His hands and commit their souls to His faithful keeping In one week,
or
the 7th inst. it will be 25 years, since I have been married—years
of
care, and toil, but I have had many blessings, I might have had more
burdens
to bear, & I think I have never wrongfully repined, or complained of
my
lot in life, tho’ sometimes thorny. ‘Tis enough, that I, so
unworthy,
can enjoy the smiles of my Saviour, and anticipate the joys of the upper
world.
God is hearing prayer for my dear children, and I believe, He will save
them
here, with a present, and hereafter with an eternal salvation. I believe
Charles
will yet stand on Zions walls, and blow the gospel trumpet. O I have
such faith
in God, I know the power that locked up the lion’s jaws,
so that Daniel was safe, in their den!—I know what shielded
the Hebrew
children, in the glowing furnace—I know why there was power enough
to
bring the dead to life, when that corpse of the Moabite, touched the
bones of
Elijah thr prophet Tell me there will never be a resurrection of this
body!—why
“he that believeth in Me, shall never die”—Glory to
His name!
we’ll sleep in the grave, for a brief period of time, but His
voice, will
rouse our slumbering dust, and His power, will clothe us with
immortality, and
eternal life. Only a little time, and our eyes will behold the
“King,
in His beauty,” our ears to be charmed with serapic songs, and our
feet
tread the streets, of the New Jerusalem—Many of our friends are
there—some
we never saw, but we feel an inexpressibly sweet union with their
glorified
spirits. A preacher’s wife, has died within a few Months, whom we
never
saw, but we love, and feel with her a spiritual union. We refer to Mrs.
Goode,
and also to Mrs. Dennison, with the latter, of whom, we have formerly
associated.
Precious saints!
safe from temptation—secure from falling--all tears wiped from
your eyes—ye
shall never say, “I am sick,” or
“afflicted”—ye
now gaze on the ineffable glories of the Lamb-angels, are your
companions, and
the blood-washed of every age, and clime your associates, whilst you
range the
fields of light, in extatic joy. My soul cries out, “that I too
may share
those joys,” when the toils of life are o’er. I know to-day,
what
Paul meant, when he said, “Having a desire to depart,” and I
can
say “the will of the Lord be done”—I know not what the
Lord
is about to do for me, or with me, but one thing I know, my soul is
filled with
visions of God, and heaven To Him, I commit my interests, for time and
for eternity,
and subscribe with my own hand, to His faithfulness. Amen, and Amen.
J. L. Lovejoy.
Sept. 1: 1859.
Sumner, Jan 5th 1860.
I now know why I received such a baptism of the Holy Ghost, in Sept.
last.
Mr. Lovejoy, was violently attacked with bilious fever, at the Oskaloosa
camp-meeting
and has been in a very feeble (and much of the time) almost helpless
condition,
ever since, and we have been much of the time, in great want of the
daily comforts,
of life. Our brethren, are “few and far between,” and have
hard
struggling, to procure a living for their own families, times are so
hard, in
the Ter.
The coldest days, we have had, I have been compelled to pick up my wood,
where
I could find it, by wandering amongst the trees, around our dwelling,
for Mr.
L. was sick in bed, and money was too scarce, to hire a
“wood-chopper.”
There is considerable suffering amongst our neighbors this
winter—but
little work, to be had by the laborer, and the provisions are plenty,
but little
money, to buy with. Our dear Christian friends, from N. E. have sent us
about
eighty dollars at different times, that has been a great help to us, in
this
long
family-affliction. We pray the Lord to abundantly reward them. We
have soul-rejoicing
tidings, from our son, Charles Julius, at Palmyra, who has enlisted, we
hope
for life, in the praying army. God heareth and answereth the prayer of
faith—Blessed
be His holy Name! At the very hour, it seems, whilst I was wrestling in
prayer
in his behalf, in our dwelling in this place, he was 60 miles from here,
but
the arrows of the Almighty, fastened in his spirit, and he found no
rest, until
he believed in Jesus to the salvation of his soul. We have from his
birth, consecrated
him to God, and the work of the ministry, and may our hopes, and
desires, now
be fully realized. He is now, 22 years old, and may he no longer refuse
to bear
the cross of Christ, in laboring henceforth for the salvation of the
perishing
world around. We have some salvation, on some parts of this large
circuit, but
no general revival of religion. O that the great Head of the Church,
would visit
his people in power, and right up His own cause, with, or without means.
Our
colleague, Br. Taylor, is also laid aside with inflammation, of the
eyes, and
altogether, it is a trying time, but faith’s strong-arm, still
clings
to the promises, and I know the result, will be
well, if we do not waver, or lose ground spiritually. Better days
ahead, and
tho’ fierce be the storm, the anchor is firm, neither has it once
dragged,
tho’ at times the dark clouds have drifted so low, on our
weather-beam,
as to obscure the “light house,” on the other shore, yet
when “sight”
failed, “faith,” took manfully hold of the helm, and never
for a
moment steered out of our track, on the Ocean-wide, marked by those, who
have
gotten the victory and in long white garments, stand on the hills of
light,
with the harp of God, in their hand. We have occasionally, encouraging
letters
from friends in our “sun-rise home,” far in the East, that
make
our hearts glad.
http://www.kansasmemory.org/item/7660/text
