I look upon the writing of these pages as a
duty imposed upon me by gratitude. When memory recalls the sad scenes
through which I have passed, the feeling may be painful, but there is
a pleasure in knowing that sympathy has poured a balm upon the deep
wounds, and that kindness and friendship have sweetened many a bitter
drop in the cup of my sorrow and trouble.
"There is a tide in the affairs of men," sang England's great Bard,
but we never know when it is about to turn, or if that turn will be
the ebb or the flow of happiness. "The veil of the Future is woven by
the hand of Mercy." Could I have but caught a glimpse through its
folds, some three years ago, I might not have the story to tell that
you, kind reader, will find in this short work. I might not be, to-
day, mourning the loss of a dear husband.
But who can judge of the ways of Divine Providence? For His own wise
ends has the Almighty permitted such things to take place: and
submissive to His will, I feel that instead of repining, I should
return Him thanks for my Own life and preservation; and, under God, I
must thank my friends one and all!
If this little sketch should prove instructive or even interesting to
anyone I will feel doubly repaid. The scenes I have to describe, the
story I have to tell, would require the pen of a Fenimore Cooper to do
them justice. Feeling myself unable to relate all I experienced and
suffered, in an adequate manner, I will merely offer the public, a
simple, truthful, unvarnished tale and for every fact thereof, I give
my word that it is no fiction, but real truth.
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