never broke one tie with her own hands, never was herself the cause of one separation from all those who went out of her life, never neglected a duty to a relative or friend, or failed to show grateful remembrance for any service performed in her behalf.
There had been backward looks, many and often, to those loved ones of her family. Sitting alone in the twilight of many a day, she had reflected long and sadly on the lights and shadows of the past, dreaming of her mother’s love, dearer to her than her pen could relate. She wrote of that mother as she oftenest remembered her, bending over her and parting the curls to kiss her cheek. The dear love of sister and brother found a place in her poetry and the sterner affection, deep and tried, of her old father is often referred to. She had thought of herself as a young bride, of the lights of her own home, the remembered glance of her husband’s eye. Of all these memories that was most poignantly sweet which pictured
| “… a glad young face, |
| Upturned to his mother in playfulness; |
| And the unsealed fountains of grief and joy |
| That gushed at birth of that beautiful boy.” |
These verses called “I am Sitting Alone,” were written in September, 1866, shortly after Dr. Patterson’s desertion and before she left Lynn with her first student. In the summer of 1867 her memories culminated in a passion of affection. She must see some of her family once more and look again upon the mountains around her old home, those hills to
