I believe n.o.body understands me on religious points, for I can not, and, it seems to me, _need_ not parade my private feelings before the world.

Cousin G., G.o.d bless him! knows enough, and yet my letters to him do not tell the hundredth part of that which these four walls might tell, if they would. I do not know that I am not wrong, but I do dislike the present style of talking on religious subjects. Let people pray--earnestly, fervently, not simply morning and night, but the _whole day long_, making their lives one continued prayer; but, oh, don't let them tell others of, or let others know _half_ how much of communion with Heaven is known to their own hearts. Is it not true that those who talk most, go most to meetings, run hither and thither to all sorts of societies and all sorts of readings--is it not true that such people would not find peace and contentment--yes, blessedness of blessedness--in solitary hours when to the Searcher of hearts alone are known their aspirations and their love? I do not know, I am puzzled; but I may say here, where n.o.body will ever see it, what I _do_ think, and I say it to my own heart as well as over the hearts of others--there is not enough of real, true communion with G.o.d, not enough nearness to Him, not enough heart-searching before Him; and too much parade and bustle and noise in doing His work on earth. Oh, I do not know exactly what I mean--but since I have heard so many apparently Christian people own that of this sense of nearness to G.o.d they know absolutely nothing--that they pray because it is their habit without the least expectation of meeting the great yet loving Father in their closets--since I have heard this I am troubled and perplexed. Why, is it not indeed true that the Christian believer, G.o.d's own adopted, chosen, beloved child, may speak face to face with his Father, humbly, reverently, yet as a man talketh with his friend? Is it not true? Do not I _know_ that it is so? Oh, I sometimes want the wisdom of an angel that I may not be thus disturbed and wearied.

_14th._--Now either Miss ----'s religion is wrong and mine right, or else it's just the other way. I wrote some verses, funny ones, and sent her to-day, and she returned for answer that verse in Proverbs about vinegar on nitre, and seemed distressed that I ever had such worldly and funny thoughts. I told her I should like her better if she ever had any but solemn ones, whence we rushed into a discussion about proprieties and I maintained that a mind was not in a state of religious health, if it could not _safely_ indulge in thoughts funny as funny could be. She shook her head and looked as glum as she could, and I'm really sorry that I vexed her righteous soul, though I'm sure I feel funny ever so much of the time, can not help saying funny things and cutting up capers now and then. I'll take care not to marry a glum man, anyhow; not that I want my future lord and master to be a teller of stories, a wit, or a particularly funny man--but he shan't wear a long face and make me wear a long one, though he may be as pious as the day is long and _must_ be, what's more. Oh, my! I don't think I was so very naughty. I saw Miss ---- laughing privately at these same verses, and she rushed in to Mrs.

P. and read them to her, and then copied them for her aunt and paid twenty-five cents postage on the letter. I should like to know how she dared waste so much time in unholy employments! As I was saying, and am always thinking, it's rather queer that people are so oddly different in their ideas of religion. Heaven forbid I should trifle with serious and holy thoughts of my head and heart--but if my religion is worth a straw, such verse-writing will not disturb it.

_January 16th_.--I wonder what's got into me to-day--I feel cross, without the least bit of reason for so feeling. I guess I'm not well, for I'm sure I've felt like one great long sunbeam, I don't know how many months, and it doesn't come natural to be fretful.

_17th_.--I knew I wasn't well yesterday and to-day am half sick. We got through breakfast at twenty minutes to eleven, and as I was up at seven, I got kind o' hungry and out of sorts. This afternoon went to church and heard one of Dr. E.'s argumentative sermons. But there's something in those Prayer-book prayers, certainly, if men won't or can't put any grace into their sermons. I wish I had a perfect ideal Sunday in my head or heart, or both. If I'm _very_ good I'm tired at night, and if I'm bad my conscience smites me--so any way I'm not very happy just now and I'm sick and mean to go to bed and so!

_18th_.--Had a talk with Nannie. She has a thoughtful mind and who knows but we may do her some good. I love to have her here, and for once in my life like to feel a little bit--just the least bit--_old_; that is, old enough to give a little sage advice to the poor thing, when she asks it.

She says she won't read any more novels and will read the Bible and dear knows what else she said about finding an angel for me to marry, which heaven forbid she should do, since I'm too fond of being a little mite naughty, to desire anything of that sort. After she was in bed she began to say her prayers most vehemently and among other things, prayed for Miss Payson. I had the strangest sensation, and yet an almost heavenly one, if I may say so. May it please Heaven to listen to her prayer for me, and mine for her, dear child. But suppose I do her no good while she lives so under my wing?

_19th._--Up early--walked and read Leighton. Mr. P. amused us at dinner by giving a funny account in his funny way, of a mistake of E.---- H.----'s. She asked me the French for _as_. "Aussi" quoth I. Thereupon she tucked a great O. C. into her exercise and took it to him and they jabbered and sputtered over it, and she insisted that Miss Payson said so and he put his face right into hers and said, "Will you try to prove that Miss Payson is a fool, you little goose?" and at last Miss A.

understood and explained. Read Leighton after school and thirty-two pages of Lamartine--then Mr. P. called--then Miss ---- teased me to love her and kept me in her paws till the bell rang for tea. Why can't I like her? I should be so ashamed if I should find out after all that she is as good as she _seems_, but I never did get cheated yet when I trusted my own mother wits, my instinct, or whatever it is by which I know folks--and she is found wanting by this something.

_28th_.--Mrs. Persico has comforted me to-day. She says Mr. T. came to Mr. P. with tears in his eyes (could such a man shed tears?) and told him that I should be the salvation of his child--that she was already the happiest and most altered creature, and begged him to tell me so. I was ashamed and happy too--but I think Mr. P. should have told him that if good has been done to Nannie, it is _as_ much--to say the least--owing to Louisa as to me. L. always joins me in everything I do and say for her, and I would not have even an accident deprive her of her just reward for anything. Nannie sat on the floor to-night in her night-gown, thinking. At last she said, "Miss Payson?" "Well, little witch?" "You wouldn't care much if you should die to-night, should you?"

"No, I think not." "Nor I," said she. "Why, do you think you should be better off than you are here?" "Yes, in heaven," said she. "Why how do you know you'll go to heaven?" She looked at me seriously and said, "Oh, I don't know--I don't know--I don't think I should like to go to the other place." We had then a long talk with her and it seems she's a regular little believer in Purgatory--but I wouldn't dispute with her. I guess there's a way of getting at her heart better than that.... Why is it that I have such a sensitiveness on religious points, such a dread of having my own private aims and emotions known by those about me? Is it right? I should like to be just what the Christian ought to be in these relations. Miss ---- expects me to make speeches to her, but I _can not_. If I thought I knew ever so much, I could not, and she annoys me so. Oh, I wish it didn't hurt my soul so to touch it! It's just like a b.u.t.terfly's wing--people can't help tearing off the very invisible _down_ so to speak, for which they take a fancy to it, if they get it between fingers and thumb, and so I have to suffer for their curiosity's sake. Am I bound to reveal my heart-life to everybody who asks? Must I not believe that the heavenly love may, in one sense, be _hidden_ from outward eye and outward touch? or am I wrong?

_Feb. 1, 184l._--Rose later than usual--cold, dull, rainy morning. Read in Life of Wilberforce. Defended Nannie with more valor than discretion.

This evening the storm departed and the moonlight was more beautiful than ever; and I was so sad and so happy, and the life beyond and above seemed so beautiful. Oh, how I have longed to-day for heaven within my own soul! There has been much unspoken prayer in my heart to-night. I don't know what I should do if I could have my room all to myself--and not have people know it if even a good thought comes into my mind. I shall be happy in heaven, I know I shall--for even here prayer and praise are so infinitely more delightful than anything else.

_3d._--Woke with headache, got through school as best I could, then came and curled myself up in a ball in the easy-chair and didn't move till nine, when I crept down to say good-bye to poor Mrs. Persico. Miss L.

and Miss J. received me in their room so tenderly and affectionately that I was ashamed. What makes them love me? I am sure I should not think they could.

_10th._--I wonder who folks think I am, and what they think? Sally R---- sent me up her book of autographs with a request that I would add mine.

I looked it over and found very great names, and did not know whether to laugh or cry at her funny request, which I couldn't have made up my mouth to grant. How queer it seems to me that people won't let me be a little girl and will act as if I were an old maid or matron of ninety-nine! Poor Mr. Persico is terribly unhappy and walks up and down perpetually with _such_ a step.

_12th._-- ... I am sure that in these little things G.o.d's hand is just as clearly to be seen as in His wonderful works of power, and tried to make Miss ---- see this, but she either couldn't or wouldn't. It seems to me that G.o.d is my Father, my own Father, and it is so natural to turn right to Him, every minute almost, with either thank-offerings or pet.i.tions, that I never once stop to ask if such and such a matter is sufficiently great for His notice. Miss ---- seemed quite astonished when I said so.

_16th._-- ... I've been inst.i.tuting an inquiry into myself to-day and have been worthily occupied in comparing myself to an onion, though in view of the fragrance of that highly useful vegetable, I hope the comparison won't go on all fours But I have as many natures as an onion has--what d'ye call 'em--coats? First the outside skin or nature--kind o' tough and ugly; _any_body may see that and welcome. Then comes my next nature--a little softer--a little more removed from curious eyes; then my inner one--myself--that 'ere little round ball which n.o.body ever did or ever will see the whole of--at least, s'pose not. Now most people see only the outer rind--a brown, red, yellow, tough skin and that's all; but I _think_ there's something inside that's better and more truly an onion than might at first be guessed. And so I'm an onion and that's the end.

_17th._--Mrs. P.'s birthday, in honor of which cake and wine. Mr. P. was angry with us because we took no wine. If he had asked me civilly to drink his wife's health, I should probably have done so, but I am not to be _frightened_ into anything. I made a funny speech and got him out of his bearish mood, and then we all proceeded to the portico to see if the new President had arrived--by which means we obtained a satisfactory view of two cows, three geese, one big boy in a white ap.r.o.n and one small one in a blue ap.r.o.n, three darkies of feminine gender and one old horse; but Harrison himself we saw not. Mr. Persico says it's Tyler's luck to get into office by the death of his superior, and declares Harrison must infallibly die to secure John Tyler's fate. It's to be hoped this won't be the case. [9]

_March 6th._--Miss L. read to us to-day some sprightly and amusing little notes written her years ago by a friend with whom she still corresponds. I was struck with the contrast between these youthful and light-hearted fragments and her present letters, now that she is a wife and mother. I wonder if there is always this difference between the girl and woman? If so, heaven forbid I should ever cease to be a child!

_18th._--Headache--Nannie sick; held her in my arms two or three hours; had a great fuss with her about taking her medicine, but at last out came my word _must_, and the little witch knew it meant all it said and down went the oil in a jiffy, while I stood by laughing at myself for my pretension of dignity. The poor child couldn't go to sleep till she had thanked me over and over for making her mind and for taking care of her, and wouldn't let go my hand, so I had to sit up until very late--and then I was sick and sad and restless, for I couldn't have my room to myself and the day didn't seem finished without it.

It is a perfect mystery to me how folks get along with so little praying. Their hearts must be better than mine, or something. What is it? But if G.o.d sees that the desire of my whole heart is to-night--has been all day--towards Himself, will He not know this as prayer, answer it as such? Yes, prayer is certainly something more than bending of the knees and earnest words, and I do believe that goodness and mercy will descend upon me, though with my lips I ask not.

_24th._--Had a long talk with Mr. Persico about my style of governing.

He seemed interested in what I had to say about appeals to the conscience, but said my _youthful enthusiasm_ would get cooled down when I knew more of the world. I told him, very pertly, that I hoped I should never know the world then. He laughed and asked, "You expect to make out of these stupid children such characters, such hearts as yours?"

"No--but better ones." He shook his head and said I had put him into good humor. I don't know what he meant. I've been acting like Sancho to-day--rushing up stairs two at a time, frisking about, catching up Miss J---- in all her maiden dignity and tossing her right into the midst of our bed. Who's going to be "schoolma'am" out of school? Not I!

I mean to be just as funny as I please, and what's more I'll make Miss ---- funny, too,--that I will! She'd have so much more health--Christian health, I mean--if she would leave off trying to get to heaven in such a dreadful bad "way." I can't think _religion_ makes such a long, gloomy face. It must be that she is wrong, or else I am. I wonder which? Why it's all sunshine to me--and all clouds to her! Poor Miss ----, you might be so happy!

_April 9th._--Holiday. We all took a long walk, which I enjoyed highly.

I was in a half moralising mood all the way, wanted to be by myself very much. We talked more than usual about home and I grew so sad. Oh, I wonder if anybody loves me as _I love_! I wonder! I long for mother, and if I could just see her and know that she is happy and that she will be well again! It is really a curious question with me, whether provided I ever fall in love (for I'll _fall_ in love, else not go in at all) I shall leave off loving mother best of anybody in the world? I suppose I shall be in love sometime or other, but that's nothing to do with me now nor I with it. I've got my hands full to take care of my naughty little self.

_17th._--Mrs. Persico got home to-night [10] and what a meeting we had!

what rejoicing! How beautiful she looked as she sat in her low chair, and we stood and knelt in a happy circle about her! A queen--an angel--could not have received love and homage with a sweeter grace. Sue Irvine cried an hour for joy and I wished I were one of the crying sort, for I'm sure I was glad enough to do almost anything. Beautiful woman!

We sang to her the Welcome Home, Miss F. singing as much with her eyes as with her voice, and Mr. and Mrs. Persico both cried, he like a little child. Oh, that such evenings as this came oftener in one's life! All that was beautiful and good in each of our hidden natures came dancing out to greet her at her coming, and all petty jealousies were so quieted and--why, what a rhapsody I'm writing! And to-morrow, our good better natures tucked away, dear knows where, we shall descend with business-like airs to breakfast, wish each other good morning, pretend that we haven't any hearts. Oh, is this life! I won't believe it.

Our good genius has come back to us; now all things will again go on smoothly; once more I can be a little girl and frolic up here instead of playing Miss Dignity down-stairs.

_May 7th._--This evening I pa.s.sed unavoidably through Miss ----'s room.

She was reading Byron as usual and looked so wretched and restless, that I could not help yielding to a loving impulse and putting my hand on hers and asking why she was so sad. She told me. It was just what I supposed. She is trying to be happy, and can not find out how; reads Byron and gets sickly views of life; sits up late dreaming about love and lovers; then, too tired to pray or think good thoughts, tosses herself down upon her bed and wishes herself dead. She did not tell me this, to be sure, but I gathered it from her story. I alluded to her religious history and present hopes. She said she did not think continued acts of faith in Christ necessary; she had believed on Him once, and now He would save her whatever she did; and she was not going to torment herself trying to live so very holy a life, since, after all, she should get to heaven just as well through Him as if she had been particularly good (as she termed it). I don't know whether a good or a bad spirit moved me at that minute, but I forgot that I was a mere child in religious knowledge, and talked about _my_ doctrine and made it a very beautiful one to my mind, though I don't think she thought it so. Oh, for what would I give up the happiness of praying for a holy heart--of striving, struggling for it! Yes, it is indeed true that we are to be saved simply, only, apart from our own goodness, through the love of Christ. But who can believe himself thus chosen of G.o.d--who can think of and hold communion with Infinite Holiness, and not long for the Divine image in his own soul? It is a mystery to me--these strange doctrines. Is not the fruit of love aspiration after the holy? Is not the act of the new-born soul, when it pa.s.ses from death unto life, that of desire for a.s.similation to and oneness with Him who is its all in all? How can love and faith be _one act_ and then cease? I dare not believe--I would not for a universe believe--that my very sense of safety in the love of Christ is not to be just the sense that shall bind me in grateful self-renunciation wholly to His service. Let me be _sure_ of final rest in heaven--sure that at this moment I am really G.o.d's own adopted child; and I believe my prayers, my repentings, my weariness of sin, would be just what they now are; nay, more deep, more abundant. Oh, it is _because_ I believe--fully believe that I shall be saved through Christ--that I want to be like Him here upon earth It is because I do not fear final misery that I shrink from sin and defilement here. Oh, that I could put into that poor bewildered heart of hers just the sweet repose upon the ever present Saviour which He has given unto me! The quietness with which my whole soul rests upon Him is such blessed quietness! I shall not soon forget this strange evening.

[1] She refers to this, doubtless, in a note to Mr. Hamlin, dated March 28, 1839. Mr. H. was then in Constantinople. "It seems as if a letter to go so far ought to be a good one, so I am afraid to write to you. But we '_think to you_' every day, and hope you think of us sometimes. I have been so happy all winter that I have some happiness to spare, and if you need any you shall have as much as you want."

[2] The sermon was preached by her pastor, the Rev. Dr. Condit, April 19th.

[3] There is one thing I recall as showing the very early religious tendency of Lizzy's mind. It was a little prayer meeting which she held with a few little friends, as long ago as her sister kept school in the large parlor of the house on Middle street, before the death of her father. It a.s.sembled at odd hours and in odd places. I also remember her interest in the spiritual welfare of her young companions, after the return of the family from their sojourn in New York. She showed this by accompanying some of us, in the way of encouragement, to Dr. Tyler's inquiry-meeting. Then during the special religious interest of 1838, she felt still more deeply and entered heartily into the rejoicing of those of us who at that time found "peace in believing." The next year I accompanied my elder sister Susan to Richmond, and during my absence she gave up her Christian hope and pa.s.sed through a season of great darkness and despondency, emerging, however, into the light upon a higher plane of religious experience and enjoyment. She sometimes thought this the very beginning of the life of faith in her soul. But as I used to say to her when the next year we were together at Richmond, it seemed to me quite impossible that any one who had not already received the grace of G.o.d, could have felt what she had felt and expressed. I do not doubt in the least that for years she had been a true follower of Christ.--_Letter from Miss Ann Louisa P. Lord, dated Portland, December 30, 1878_.

[4] It may be proper to say here, that while but few of her letters are given entire, it has not been deemed needful specially to indicate all the omissions. In some instances, also, where two letters, or pa.s.sages of letters, relate to the same subject, they have been combined.

[5] An excellent little work by Rev. William Nevins, D.D. Dr. Nevins was pastor of the first Presbyterian Church in Baltimore, where he died in 1835, at the age of thirty-seven. He was one of the best preachers and most popular religious writers of his day.

[6] Miss Ann Louisa P. Lord.

[7] Miss Susan Lord.

[8] Referring to a serious accident, by which her mother was for some time deprived of the use of her right hand.

[9] But, singularly enough, it was. President Harrison died April 4, 1841, just a month after his inauguration, and Mr. Tyler succeeded him.

[10] From Philadelphia, where she had undergone a surgical operation.

CHAPTER III.

Pa.s.sING FROM GIRLHOOD INTO WOMANHOOD.

1841-1845.

I.

At Home again. Marriage of her Sister. Ill-Health. Letters. Spiritual Aspiration and Conflict. Perfectionism. "Very, very Happy." Work for Christ what makes Life attractive. Pa.s.sages from Her Journal. A Point of Difficulty.

Not long after Elizabeth's return from Richmond, her sister was married to the Rev. Albert Hopkins, Professor in Williams College. The wedding had been delayed for her coming. "I would rather wait six years than not have you present," her sister wrote. This event brought her into intimate relations with a remarkable man; a man much beloved in his day, and whose name will often reappear in these pages.

The next two or three months showed that her Richmond life, although so full of happy experiences, had yet drawn heavily upon her strength. They were marked by severe nervous excitement and fits of depression. This, however, pa.s.sed away and she settled down again into a busy home life.

But it was no longer the home life of the past. The year of absence had left a profound impression upon her character. Her mind and heart had undergone a rapid development. She was only twenty-two on her return, and had still all the fresh, artless simplicity of a young girl, but there was joined to it now the maturity of womanhood. Of the rest of the year a record is preserved in letters to her cousin. These letters give many little details respecting her daily tasks and the life she led in the family and in the world; but they are chiefly interesting for the light they shed upon her progress heavenward. Her whole soul was still absorbed in divine things. At times her delight in them was sweet and undisturbed; then again, she found herself tossed to and fro upon the waves of spiritual conflict. Perfectionism was just then much discussed, and the question troubled her not a little, as it did again thirty years later. But whether agitated or at rest, her thoughts all centered in Christ, and her constant prayer was for more love to Him.

PORTLAND, _Sept. 15, 1841._

The Lord Jesus is indeed dear to me. I can not doubt it. His name is exceedingly precious. Oh, help me, my dear cousin, to love Him more, to attain His image, to live only for Him! I blush and am ashamed when I consider how inadequate are the returns I am making Him; yet I can praise Him for all that is past and trust Him for all that is to come.

I can not tell you how delightful prayer is. I feel that in it I have communion with G.o.d--that He is here--that He is mine and that I am His.