to her mother: "It has
seemed to me last night and today that I must fly to you and with you
sit down _in the quiet_. It is torture here with not one who knew or
cared for the loved one. It is sacrilege to speak his name or tell my
grief to those who knew him not. O, how my soul reaches out in yearning
to his dear spirit! Does he see me, will he, can he, come to me in my
calm, still moments and gently minister and lift me up into nobler
living and working?"

In a letter to her, relative to the sale of the home, the mother uses
these touching words: "If it had been my heart that had ceased to beat,
all might have gone on as before, but now all must go astray. I know I
ought to get rid of this care, and Mary and I should not try to live
here alone, but every foot of ground is sacred to me, and I love every
article bought by the dear father of my children." On this subject Miss
Anthony writes to her sister Mary:

Your letter sent a pang to my very heart's core that the dear old
home, so full of the memory of our father, must be given up. I do
wish it could be best to keep it, and yet I do not think he will be
less with us away from that loved spot, for my experience in the
past months disproves such feeling. Every place, every movement,
almost, suggests him. Last evening, I strolled west on Forty-fifth
street to the Hudson river, a mile or more. There was newly-sawed
lumber there and the smell carried me back, back to the old sawmill
and childhood's days. I looked at the beautiful river and the
schooners with their sails spread to the breeze. I felt alone, but
my mind traversed the entire round of the loved ones. I doubt if
there be any mortal who clings to loves with greater tenacity than
do I. To see mother without father in the old home, to feel the
loneliness of her spirit, and all of us bereft of the joy of
looking into the loved face, listening to the loved tones, waiting
for his sanction or rejection--O, how I could see and feel it all!

The rest of us have our work to engross us and other objects to
center our affections upon, but mother now lives in her children,
and I often feel as if we did too little to lighten her heart and
cheer her path. Never was there a mother who came nearer to knowing
nothing save her own household, her husband and children, whether
high in the world's esteem or crucified, the same still with her