cabin windows, and regarded her with reverence and pity,—a young wife, soon to be a mother, alone among men, with her husband to nurse and control, the crew to command, and their lives to preserve by her learning and professional skill! There she sat at her desk by lamplight,—now studying medical books which could instruct her on her husband’s case; now keeping the reckoning, and making entries in the log. At noon and at midnight she was on deck, taking an observation. She marked the charts, made no mistakes, and carried the ship into port in fine condition on the 13th of November.
Captain Patton was a Freemason: and the Freemasons at San Francisco were kind, sending them back to New York by the first ship that could take them. They arrived wholly destitute,—the husband, blind, deaf, delirious, dying;—the wife grave and composed, but bent upon reaching Boston before her confinement. This aim she could not accomplish: her husband was too ill to be removed, and her child was born in a strange place. The New York underwriters immediately sent her 1000 dollars as a gift; and the owners of the vessel and cargo at once took steps to testify their sense of her conduct. Under singular extremity, she had considered the interests of the crew, and saved a vast amount of property to the owners; and the valour and conscientiousness of this lonely young creature were thoroughly appreciated. The truth was, it was to her husband that she devoted herself. She wrought out his purpose, and saved his honour.
From the verge of his grave she disappears from sight. We may never hear of her again: but we scarcely need to know more. What could we ask further, after being presented with the true image of a perfect wife, heroic in proportion to the extremity of her trial? I, for one, am thankful to know that a Mary Patton has shown the full glory and beauty of wifehood in our day.
CONFESSIONS OF ST. VALENTINE.
Long ago (as mortals reckon),
Long ago, in Rome I dwelt;
Dwelt and moved, and had my being;
Felt, as all on earth have felt.
I remember, that sweet Spring-time,
When there came a little maid,
Seeking shelter of my mother,
Seeking love and friendly aid.
And my mother look’d upon her,
Look’d with pity on the child,
Kiss’d her pallid cheek and forehead;
Through her falling tears, she smiled,
Saying, “You shall be my daughter,
Darling, I will love you well:”
Saying, “Valentine, embrace her,
She has come with us to dwell.”
Then I stoop’d, and softly kiss’d her,
Just above her half-clos’d eyes,
Saying, “Will you be my sister?”
“Yes,” she said, with glad surprise.
She was Lino’s only daughter;
Lino, bravest of the brave,
Who upon the field of battle
Fought for glory—found a grave!
Lino, stern, yet tender-hearted,
Leader of a noble band,
Fighting under Claudius Cæsar,
Died to save his native land.
Many a Goth fell down before him
Ere his hero-life was done;
But the tidings kill’d the mother
Of his child—his darling one.
So Paulina came among us,
Growing dearer day by day;
And her fair sweet face seem’d fairer,
When her tears were chas’d away.
Tall and stately grew the maiden,
But I call’d her “Sister” still;
Though whenever I drew near her,
All my being seem’d to thrill.
Then I trembled in her presence,
And I shunn’d her more and more,
Though a thousand times more deeply
Did I love her than before.
Yes, I loved the maiden truly,
And my inmost heart was stirr’d
When sometimes she call’d me to her,
Or perchance her voice I heard.
Often did I plan to tell her
All my love; and how it grew
Daily out of pain the sweetest
And the strangest that I knew.
But my lips refused to utter;
Summer, winter pass’d away,
Almond trees were full of blossom,
All the world look’d bright and gay.
Then there came a stranger, saying,
“I was on the battle-field
When the noble Lino perish’d:
I it was who bore his shield;
I was Lino’s armour-bearer,
Ere my beard began to grow;
And with him I cross’d the mountains,
Where the icy torrents flow.”
Then he turn’d to where Paulina
Stood as one entranced,—and sigh’d,
Saying, “Lady, I will tell you,
How your father lived and died.”
And Paulina loved to listen
To the tales he lov’d to tell,
Of the fights beyond the border,
Where her father fought so well.
Then I wander’d in the woodland
All alone, to seek for rest,
(For my home was home no longer,
While the stranger was our guest).
Birds among the leafy branches
Built their mossy homes above;
All alone, I listen’d sadly
To their joyous songs of love.
Musing dreamily, I listen’d
Till their singing seem’d to say,
“Seek your sweet one–lest you lose her
Ere the Spring-time pass away.”
Up I rose, to seek Paulina,
Letting Love my footsteps guide
Through the wood, and through the marshes,
Till I reach’d the river side.
But my troubled heart forewarn’d me
That Paulina I should see
With the brave young armour-bearer—
Pledged to him and lost to me!
