, we linger to survey
The promised joys of life's unmeasured way;
Thus, from afar, each dim discovered scene
More pleasing seems than all the rest hath been;
And every form that fancy can repair
From dark oblivion, glows divinely there."

My nature, in its first struggle with the world, shrank, like Mimosa, from
every human touch; but the kind words of love and gentle acts of kindness
already received transformed and ripened within me a more trusting and
hopeful character, and I almost unconsciously accepted as immutable and
inevitable the great law of compensation.

It is well that it was in the season of youth that my career began, that
season which Jean Paul so poetically designates as "The Festival Day of
Life," in which period friendship dwells as yet in a serenely open Grecian
Temple, not, as in later years, in a narrow Gothic Chapel.

My heart accepting as genuine these pure expressions of friendship, I
turned from Washington toward Virginia, and after a visit at Leesburg, in
which I had good success, I wrote to Mr. Taylor, the friend I have before
mentioned, asking him to meet me at Hamilton, which point was reached by
the old-time stage-route. Some doubt may have entered my mind as to his
remembrance of the promise to meet me, all of which must have been
dispelled when, upon the arrival of the stage, a cheery, gentle voice, in
a tone which would have filled the darkest moment of doubt with the
sun-ray of trust, exclaimed: "How does thee do, Mary?" Miss Rachel Weaver,
my companion, was a bright-eyed, sunny-hearted, English girl, whose
presence irradiated the atmosphere around her. She was presented to him,
and received the same quiet yet cordial greeting. His carriage was in
waiting for us, and a refreshing drive of three miles brought us to his
cozy home. The reception given us by his excellent wife was characterized
by all the depth and warmth of her expanded and exalted nature, and we
were at once domiciled as truly "at home."

The next day was the beginning of their Quarterly Meeting, and the
impressions of a life-time can never efface the varied pictures stamped
upon memory by each phase of that religious gathering. Not in a gorgeous
chapel of Gothic architecture, frescoed nave and highly wrought transept;
no stained glass windows of rainbow hue; no gorgeously draped altar or
elaborate organ; but in a simple wooden meeting-house, upon a gently
sloping grassy seclusion, came the fee