Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

CHANGES IN THE OLD HOME 199
the hospit;ible fireside of Uncle Spencer and Aunt 'Kusha.
Tliey iiad at that time a son, Morris, who had been in Kansas
in the times leading up to the War of the Rebellion. He had
contracted consumption, and at that time was far gone with
the disease. He had early advantages of education given
him by his Uncle John and was a cultured young man. A sweet
girl was his friend; her name was Mary Bowen. She and her
sister Alice were beautiful girls. Alice was a true beauty; I
used to feast my eyes on her loveliness. I thought at the time
I first met her, and I still think her, the most beautiful woman
I ever saw. Her sister Mary had beauty, but not in so great
a degree. They had cultured ways and had been carefully
educated. Morris loved Mary and they were engaged, so the
story went.
As the autumn was rapidly passing Morris asked to have
his bed moved downstairs, so all hands were busy arranging
the parlor for his sickroom. An orphan niece of the family.
Miss Abbie Jenkins, a woman of about thirty, was an excellent
assistant in all departments of the home. She took care of
Morris in his long illness. It was on Friday, as I remember,
that the invalid was brought downstairs to the parlor. He
showed signs of failing, and on Sunday evening when we
young people had started to Red Lion, where the Methodists
had a large church, we were called back when we had gone but
a few yards by a messenger calling to tell us that Morris had
gone. He had been sitting by the open fire and, feeling that
he would like to lie down on his bed, walked up and stretched
out his poor skeleton form and instantly expired, before the
family could assemble. A neighbor had just called; it was
all so sad, this coming on the threshold of life and then, before
anyone was aware, to be snatched away.
The funeral was a mournful one. The sweet girls of whom
I have written were dispatched for and came; their presence
made a sad impression on us all, as Mary was devotion itself
to her lover and his memory. From that time she began to
go into a decline, and the next summer, when she and her
sister came again, the ravages of consumption were manifest;
by the time the winds of the next autumn shook the golden