nt. They:

"Sing of death and life undying,
In the Islands of the Blest
In the kingdom of Ponemah,
In the Land of the Hereafter."

But perhaps it is irrelevant to my subject to dwell so minutely
upon scenes and incidents so remotely associated with it. He was with
me then, and it makes me for awhile forget my loneliness.

The result of this little excursion, which proved so beneficial
to my health, was a sojourn of one whole winter and spring, and part of
another, in Mobile. We found there a boarding-school for young ladies,
of high standing, in which we determined to place our daughter; and a
very delightful boarding place for me, about three miles from the city,
in the family of an old friend and relative, who, some years previous,
had been the family physician of my father, in North Alabama. Feeling
quite at home here, among these kind friends, with the advantages
resulting from a mild climate, and the sea-breeze, my health steadily
improved, which was some consolation for the long and tedious
separation from my beloved husband. In the meanwhile our daughter was
pursuing her studies at Madame De Fellon's. I often visited her at the
Academy, and she always came out to the Doctor's on Friday afternoon,
and remained until Monday morning, when she would make an early start
for school. We had many pleasures and recreations in the city and
neighborhood of Mobile, the country especially presenting a very
beautiful appearance from the highly cultivated gardens, picturesque
and tasteful cottages, and elegant mansions, contrasted, as they were,
with the magnificent groves of pine and magnolia, with their rich and
fragrant undergrowth of yellow jessamine, and other sweet flowers,
which were indigenous to the soil of this lovely country. In these
pleasant groves were many springs of soft, clear water, which, flowing
together, formed little creeks, whose gentle meanderings added
freshness and increasing loveliness to the already charming scene.
Some of these creeks flowed over their shining beds of sand, and some
over the waving grass and lily. It tranquillizes me, even now, to
recall the rustic bridge, where I have often stood (it seems to me for
hours) and gazed at the gentle stream, as it murmured over the log that
lay half-imbedded in the sand, and watched the never-ceasing motion of
the graceful "water lilies" which arched the stream below.

But our highest enjoyment, with the exception of the visits, were
the