How sorrow was changed into sympathy...

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Eddy's Birth and suffering Babyhood — Given back as from the Grave — " Not mine, but God's."

Ah, joyful hearts that know not grief,

Can never Jesus know ; He must be learned in darksome nights,

Where bitter fountains flow ; Where souls are floated off to sea

By tides of earthly woe.

There have I met Thee, dearest Lord ;

And oh, how passing sweet Was to my sinking soul the sound

Of Thine approaching feet !

To point Thee out to drowning ones,

Oh, make me, make me meet !

I.

OUR dear little Eddy was born at New Bedford, on Sunday, October 22, 1848, at three in the afternoon. His father was preaching at the time, on "Walking with God," and gave him his first greeting while his own heart was full of this delightful subject. We had selected for our first boy the name of Robert Leighton, and called him so for about a week, when it was exchanged for that of Edward Payson, in consideration of his having been born on the anniversary of his grandfather's death. He was a fine, healthy-looking boy, with a high forehead, dark blue eyes, and a good deal of hair on his head. On the Saturday succeeding his birth, we heard of my dear mother's serious illness ; and when he was about three weeks old, of her death.

We were not surprised that his health suffered from the shock it thus received. 1 He began, at once, to be afflicted with distressing colic, which gave him no rest, day or night. We supposed he would soon

1 In a letter to a kinsman, written some years later, occurs the following passage :

"Are you not all making a sad mistake in keeping C. ignorant so long of that [the sudden death of a sister] which she must learn, otherwise, on her sick-bed? Is she not in a bodily state now of less feebleness than she will be then ; and, consequently, better able to bear this distressing news ? You will say it is not to be communicated on her sick-bed ; but I greatly mistake if she does not so long for her sister's congratulations on the birth of her child, that it will be necessary to explain why they are withheld. I feel strongly on this point ; for my friends, through ill-judging kindness, kept me ignorant of my dear mother's illness till after the birth of my little boy ; and when I was awaiting in a kind of transport of joy her sympathy in my gladness, I learned that she was on her dying bed. Eddy was just a week old, and I had no way of diverting my mind by employment of any sort — nothing to do but to lie the long day, the long night,

* surmount this disorder; but on the con trary, he grew worse and worse. His father used to call him a " little martyr," and such indeed he was, for many long, tedious months.

At last, between want of sleep and pain, he was sadly worn and emaciated, and Dr. Mayhew advised the use of opiates. We adreflecting on my sorrow. The constitution of my child received a shock from which it never recovered ; and I have not a single doubt that he would now, as far as human eye can see, be living in the enjoyment of the fine health of which he gave promise, had my affliction been made known to me before his birth, when I was not tied to one spot, with an unsympathizing nurse ever present to witness my sufferings and upbraid me for them ; yes, if on my knees I could have spread my case before God. Affliction has, in my case, come hand in hand- with every child ; I have left my sick-room each time in mourning garments. This makes me feel for C, as I can not describe. L. told me how much she suffered in this condition ; here, too, I can feel for her as a fellow-sufferer, for not one in ten thousand knows as well as I do the worth of a child, for whose attainment the agonies of months of martyrdom must be the penalty. All this must be my excuse for venturing to question your judgment."

ministered them with reluctance, but it was only by their aid we could procure for the little sufferer the sleep he could not live without. No language can describe the scene our nursery presented month after month ; during which he was never well enough for a single hour, with one exception, to be dressed and taken from the room. He wore little night-gowns till he was old enough to put on short frocks. Often, for his and my own health, we attempted to ride out, but just as the carriage would drive to the door, one of his paroxysms of pain would come on, and before we could get off his cloak, or I could throw off mine, we must hasten to administer something for his relief. A few moments' delay would reduce him to a state bordering so closely on convulsions, that I never dared wait even to deliberate what remedy I would use ; something must be snatched up at once.

On the 16th of February the doctor,

V who had visited him at intervals, of his own accord, came and spent about two hours carefully investigating his case. He examined Eddy particularly, and said it was a most trying condition of things, and he would gladly do something to relieve me, as he thought I had been through " enough to kill ten men." He urged me to increase the nightly dose of laudanum, declaring that, in his opinion, the child was suffering severely from want of sleep. During the next two weeks Eddy became more and more feeble ; he was so emaciated that if I had had any time for such indulgence of my feelings, I should have shed floods of tears whenever his little wasted frame was exposed to view. I dreaded washing and dressing him, because in this process I was obliged to see how every day he was losing flesh.

Some persons had suggested that he cried from hunger, and I had made various attempts to feed him without having courage to persevere in the face of the danger to which I knew ill-cJwsen diet must expose him. I was thus driven to procure a wet-nurse for him. A woman lived near by who had a child of about Eddy's age, plump and in fine health; I engaged her to come once in three hours to nurse him, and thought there was some reason to hope this plan might result in a favorable manner. The first day on which this experiment was tried, Eddy could with difficulty swallow a drop of the new nourishment thus provided for him ; his sufferings all day were terrible ; and when at night he at last fell asleep under the influence of an opiate, I could only lie and watch his uneasy slumbers, thinking he might not survive till morning. On learning what I had done, Dr. M. hastened in to remonstrate with me on what he at first deemed a rash act. But on seeing the condition the poor little creature was in, he said I had done just right, and that, though there was now little hope that the child could be raised to health, the season of the year was in his favor, and there was a possibility that before warm weather arrived, a change for the better might occur. He said if I had continued to nurse him, that mother and child would have shared one grave very speedily. 1

For two or three days after this, Eddy declined so fast that I expected to see him breathe his last from hour to hour. I asked the nurse if she had ever seen so feeble a child ; she said she had. I asked

1 In a letter to her husband's mother, written at this time, she says : " I can't describe what we have suffered during the past week. But if Eddy gains strength on the new milk, he will probably get the upper hand of his trouble. His eyes are as bright as diamonds, but otherwise he does not look at all like himself. We can only wait in hope and patience. Dear mother, we are in a good school, hard as it is, and we shall not suffer one pang too many ; so don't worry about us, if you can help it ; will you? We long to see you, but we feel that you are very near us in your love and sympathy and prayers ; and that is next best to being with you."

her if it lived, and she said, " Oh, no ! " and afterwards told me that she thought he would die in her arms, every time she took him from mine. At the end of the first week, however, he had evidently improved ; and from that time gained flesh and strength very rapidly. I now left off nursing him myself, and began to feed him, and at the end of a month, as he was quite recruited, and had an excellent appetite, and as his nurse became irregular and careless about coming, I dismissed her. He continued to thrive on the arrowroot prepared for him, though there was little, if any, improvement as to his colic. Still, he had now more strength with which to bear this pain, and we kept hoping every day he would be freed from it.

His aunt Tibby came, this spring, to help me take care of him, and he became much attached to her, as she did to him. She stayed till he was more than a year old, and devoted herself to him day and night.

When he was about eight months old, we determined to discontinue the use of opiates. He was now a fine, healthy baby, bright-eyed and beautiful, and his colic was reducing itself to certain seasons in each day, instead of occupying the whole day and night, as heretofore. We went through fire and water, almost, in trying to procure for him natural sleep. We swung him in blankets, wheeled him in little carts, walked the room with him by the hour, etc., etc.; but it was wonderful how little sleep he obtained, after all. He always looked wide awake, and as if he did not need sleep. His eyes had gradually become black, and when, after a day of fatigue and care with him, he would at last close them, and we would flatter ourselves that now we too should snatch a little rest, we would see them shining upon us in the most amusing manner, with an expression of content and even merriment.

About this time he was baptized. I well

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remember how, in his father's study, and before taking him to church, we gave him to God. He was very good while his papa was performing the ceremony, and looked so bright and so well, that many who had never seen him in his state of feebleness, found it hard to believe he had been aught save a vigorous and healthy child. One lady told me that she laughed right out in church, because his father and he looked so alike. He is, indeed, his papa's own boy, saving the eyes.

My own health was now so broken down by long sleeplessness and fatigue, that it became necessary for me to leave home for a season. Dr. Mayhew promised to run in every day to see that all went well with Eddy ; his aunty was more than willing to take this care upon herself, and many of our neighbors offered to go often to see him, promising to do anything for his safety and comfort, if I would only go. Not aware how miserable a state I was in,

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I resolved to be absent only one week, and only took with me clothes for that week ; but I was away for a whole month. As soon as I had gone, his aunt Tibby had him daguerreotyped, and sent the picture to me. It was like him, except in its being so very dark, while he was fair, and had light hair. On my return I found him looking finely. He had had an ill turn, owing to teething, which they had kept from me, but had recovered from it, and looked really beautiful. i

His father and uncle S. S. had been to see him once during our vacation, and we were now expecting them again with his aunt Mary and the three children and his grandmother. We depended a great deal on seeing Eddy and Una together, as she was his twin cousin, and only a few hours older than he.

But the very evening of their arrival he was taken sick, and though they all saw him that night looking like himself, by the next morning he had changed sadly. He grew ill and lost flesh and strength very fast, and no remedies seemed to have the least effect on his disorder, which was induced by teething. His aunt Mary used to help us in the care of him, and would walk with him in her arms to relieve us. On Sunday, September 16th, he was very low and suffered a great deal ; he would not allow us to sit with him one moment, and he was carried about the nursery day and night, during which his countenance had a strange, unnatural expression and aspect, and he constantly pressed his feet against the breast of whoever was carrying him, as if in terrible distress. His aunt Tibby and I were alone with him at night, and became more and more alarmed. At two in the morning I woke his father, told him how Eddy appeared, and asked him to go to the doctor and describe his condition. He was gone only a few moments, and on his return, said the doctor had ordered fifteen drops more laudanum ; and retired again to bed, having had a hard day's work on Sunday. We gave Eddy with great reluctance this additional opiate, as he had had a good deal during the day, both by the usual mode and in starch enemas. His distress increased till we thought him dying ; and his aunty ran across the street for a neighbor, who came directly. She was a person of experience, and after giving one glance at the poor little sufferer, ran herself for the doctor, though it was still dark. He came directly ; was much concerned to see Eddy in such a state ; said there had been a great change during the night, and that the remedies employed had acted unfavorably. I said I had thought him dying ; he replied, " He is not dying now" but sat down with an air of despondency that made me soon after ask if I had not better call Mr. Prentiss. He said I had, and I did so.

The first dull light of morning began to steal in and to reveal the change a single night had wrought in our dear child. The doctor still remained, and now and then took him from our arms, and himself carried him up and down the nursery, remarking that it was a wonder and a mercy that Eddy did not go into fits. As soon as it became light we sent for Miss Deborah, who was our ever-faithful friend in the time of trouble ; his aunt Mary came from her room, and shortly after his grandmother Prentiss from hers. On looking at Eddy she burst into tears, and asked me if I felt willing to give him up. The doctor said there was nothing to be done, and left us ; and with breaking hearts we knelt around our apparently dying child, who now lay exhausted in Miss Deborah's lap, while his father, as well as tears would let him, commended his spirit to God. The laborious respiration of the dear little one now filled the room ; the intervals between being so long, that again and again I held

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my own breath, thinking he had gone. The doctor came in again, before long, and as Eddy now lay in my arms, I thought again that he had dropped away ; but presently there came another long, weary breath to assure me he still lived. The third time the doctor came he brought a mixture of chloroform, camphor, etc., and said if the child were his own he would try this as a last resort. We made no objection to his giving it to Eddy ; for myself, I did not believe anything could now save my precious baby, and had given him to God so unreservedly that I was not conscious of even a wish for his life.

Soon after the administration of a few drops of the mixture, however, Eddy fell asleep, and slept about five minutes, when his little cousins, who were all at play in the garden, unconscious of his situation, burst into loud shouts of laughter, which aroused him at once. But even this little repose refreshed him. He had had no

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sleep for a great number of hours ; I think more than sixty. The doctor, on his next visit, expressed great satisfaction with this improvement ; continued the chloroform, and in the course of the day, Eddy had several of these little naps, which did him good. As the day declined our hopes rose. On making his seventh visit in the evening, the doctor absolutely forbid my taking any more care of Eddy at night ; and we left him in the kind hands of watchers, as he was so nearly unconscious as not to per. ceive that strangers ministered to him in his mother's place. Our chief ground of hope for many succeeding, anxious days, was the mere fact that he lived. We were obliged to give nourishment with the utmost caution, and to keep bottles of hot water at his feet, and to warm his little cold hands in our own. He now lay in the swinging cot, of which he had been so fond, and slept a good deal. When, at last, we saw evident tokens of returning health and

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strength, we felt that we received him a second time as from the grave. To me, he never seemed the same child. My darling Eddy was lost to me, and another, and yet the same, filled his place. I often said afterwards, that a little stranger was running about my nursery; not mine, but God's. Indeed I can not describe the peculiar feeling with which I always regarded him after this sickness, nor how the thought constantly met me, ' He is not mine ; he is God's.' Every night I used to thank God for sparing him to me one day longer, thus truly enjoying him a day at a time.

II,

A Year old — The Cloud changed into Sunshine.

Now let me lay the pearl away, That on my breast I've worn all day; How sweet, how soft the casket fair, Where hides all night my jewel rare.

My snow-white lamb, thy gambols o'er, Thy sportive limbs must sport no more ; Now to thy rest, let slumber creep With gentle tread to bid thee sleep.

My winsome one ! my heart's delight ! I give thee to the arms of night ; Oh, darksome night ! with soft caress My darling little baby bless.

My heart's delight ! my pearl, my lamb !

How rich, how blest, how glad I am !

In sweetest sleep I see thee lie ;

Good-bye, good-night ! good-night, good-bye !

II.

HAD kept a little journal about A., ■*- and her father now wished me to begin Eddy's. On his birthday he went out td procure a book for this purpose. This is the first record :

October 22, 1849. — Our dear little Eddy is a year old to-day, and his papa has been out to buy this book for him. If he lives, it will be a gratification to him years hence; if he is taken from us, it will be of great comfort to us in our sorrow.

It has pleased God to make him a very great sufferer during most of his short life, and twice in the course of the year we have believed him at the point of death. He has been restored to us, we know not for what purpose ; and while we thank God for this great mercy, we pray that it may prove a

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mercy indeed, and that we may see him grow up a "perfect man in Christ Jesus."

He is considered by many a beautiful boy; he has a very fine forehead, bright black eyes, and an uncommonly intelligent, sunshiny smile. He has been put back by his sickness, so that he is but just beginning to be interested in trying to sit alone in a little chair, and to get about, by the help of the furniture, upon his feet. But for this last sickness, he would undoubtedly have walked by this time, as previously he was always on his feet. We fancied he could say "Eddy" before his illness; for instance, if he dropped a toy, he would keep saying, "Eddy, Eddy!" till we returned it to him. But he never says so now. He tries very hard to say " kitty," and whenever he sees her coming cries, " Taty ! Taty ! " and laughs and shouts and throws his little body into all sorts of shapes. He began to shake his hand as good-bye some months ago, and is a famous kisser. In this respect, as in many others, he is unlike A. He thinks everything she does is cunning ; and shouts for joy when she comes into the nursery, and when his eye first falls upon her, as he awakes from a nap. He keeps kissing her whether she likes it or not, and really hurts her by his vivacious greetings. His aunt Tibby taught him all he as yet knows. She has gone, and he misses her sadly. He has four teeth, wears high-necked, long-sleeved dresses, and though he still looks like a child who has suffered, and is delicate, no one could mistake him for a girl, he is so decidedly a boy in every feature and motion.

As his aunt Tibby had gone on another errand of love and mercy, to Portland, the whole care of Eddy was thrown upon me ; and my health, already miserable, soon gave way. I could get very little sleep, he was so restless; he had parted with his old enemy, the colic, during his last illness ; but teeth were now coming, and they kept him wakeful, though he did not appear to^ suffer much with them. I used to think I was out of bed with him fifty times a night. We began to think seriously of procuring a nurse for him. We had often talked of it, but I could not bear to give him up to a stranger, and we put it off from day to day till I was in such a state from loss of sleep, that I feared I should lose my senses. One evening, when I was sick in bed, his father went out and engaged Margaret, of whom we had heard excellent accounts, to come that very night.

This was the sixth of December, and without much difficulty she succeeded in attaching the dear child to her, and from that night until his last sickness, with the exception of one or two necessary interruptions, he slept with her, and took his food from her hands. He soon began to sleep with his little arms around her neck, and to repay her with his affection for the many sleepless hours he cost her. His uncle Henry and aunt Tibbv came on the same night with his nurse, and his uncle said he would not go to California until he had seen Eddy walk. He was on his feet most of the time, and seemed to be restrained from running alone merely by timidity. With a little encouragement, therefore^ from his uncle, he learned to walk very well. This is the next record of the journal :

January 5, 1850. — Eddy is now fourteen months old, has six teeth, and walks well, but with timidity. He is at times really beautiful. He is very affectionate, and will run to meet me, throw his little arms round my neck, and keep pat, pat, patting me, with delight. He tries to talk, but says nothing distinctly. Miss Arnold sent him, at New Year's, a beautiful ball, with which he is highly pleased. He rolls it about by knocking it with a stick, and will shout for joy when he sees it moving. Mrs. Allen sent him a rattle and another toy. He is xrazy to give everybody something, and when he is brought down to prayers, hurries to get the Bible for his father ; his little face all smiles and exultation, and his body in a quiver with emotion. He is like lightning in all his movements, and is never still for an instant. Except that his teeth trouble him, he is now pretty well, and it is worth a good deal to see his face, it is so brimful of life and sunshine and gladness.

January 22d. — Eddy is fifteen months to-day. He has eight teeth, his hair begins to curl, and his face is full of smiles. He says "There 'tis," quite plainly, and tries to say " baby." He is very cunning and interesting ; will tell what the cow says, and call the cat. He and Annie play horse, as he wants to be in motion perpetually. He takes down the hearth-brush and tries to push up the latch of the nursery door, in order to get down-stairs, and will trot across the room with the poker, in order to drive his ball from under the sofa.

March 22a*. — Eddy is seventeen months old

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He keeps us all laughing as we watch his funny little capers. While Annie was sick, he would come in and punch her with a stick thrust through the bars of the crib, in order to make her get up and play with him, and if I was not careful, would hurt her head. After she got able to sit up, he did not know what to make of it, and would try to pull her from my lap, making signs to have her put into her crib. He now calls her "Addie," and his nurse "Mardet," and says a number of words. Whatever A. does, he does, and he is all stir and noise and life and smiles; fat, and as well as one could expect him to be, while he has four big teeth swelling his gums to the size of walnuts. He is a dear little boy to us.

April 2 2d. — All his first four double teeth have pricked through, and he is feeling rather unwell, and looks pale and somewhat thin. He has begun, however, to walk out, and enjoys it with all his heart. He does not say as many words as A. did at his age, but has quite a number — " baby — kitty, A pretty," etc. He wears the sack and hat A. has worn all winter, and his foot is larger than hers, so she has his cast-off shoes and stockings. He is very affectionate still, and when I go into the nursery runs to throw his arms round my neck, and will hang on me, with his little soft face pressing closer and closer to mine, as long as I will let him!

Early in June, with the hope of improving my health, I went with A. to Newark. As it was necessary for me to stay longer than I intended, and they, as well as myself, all longed to see Eddy, we persuaded his father to come on with him and his nurse. He stayed two weeks and then returned, taking both the children, hoping by this means to give me a better opportunity to recover my strength. During my continued absence from home, his father wrote of Eddy: "He is finely this morning ; it would have done your heart good to hear him laagh and scream while M.

was at breakfast ; running and riding on my back. How I love the little fellow ! " and again : " He makes great dependence on spending M.'s meal-times with me ; is very affectionate, and we have grand sport running from parlor to study, throwing beans at each other, and making believe eat the wall, at which he fairly beats me. When I ask him for mamma and Annie, he makes great ado, and points vehemently to the front door."

During their visit to Newark, the children took the whooping cough, and on hearing that this was the case I hastened home. Eddy had it very lightly and only whooped once. But as long as it lasted, he was rather feeble, and required much care and attention. When we removed to Newark, in October, he was looking delicate in consequence of his cough, but soon began to recruit, and shortly became, as we thought, the very picture of health. He never had had so brilliant a color in his life, as during this winter, and he was in such fine spirits and enjoyed everything sc much, that he was like sunshine wherever he went. Every night he and A. were brought to the parlor, and their father had a little frolic with them. Eddy enjoyed this wonderfully ; and his shouts of merriment still ring in my ears. Whatever he enjoyed, he enjoyed very heartily. His nurse was sick for three weeks in the early part of this winter, and he then came to the table with us, and used to take his walks out with A. and myself. During these walks he was fur! of pretty little talk, not one word of which can I now recall. But there is one record in the journal, for this winter.