My heart accepting as genuine these pure expressions of friendship, I
turned from Washington toward Virginia, and after a visit at Leesburg, in
which I had good success, I wrote to Mr. Taylor, the friend I have before
mentioned, asking him to meet me at Hamilton, which point was reached by
the old-time stage-route. Some doubt may have entered my mind as to his
remembrance of the promise to meet me, all of which must have been
dispelled when, upon the arrival of the stage, a cheery, gentle voice, in
a tone which would have filled the darkest moment of doubt with the
sun-ray of trust, exclaimed: "How does thee do, Mary?" Miss Rachel Weaver,
my companion, was a bright-eyed, sunny-hearted, English girl, whose
presence irradiated the atmosphere around her. She was presented to him,
and received the same quiet yet cordial greeting. His carriage was in
waiting for us, and a refreshing drive of three miles brought us to his
cozy home. The reception given us by his excellent wife was characterized
by all the depth and warmth of her expanded and exalted nature, and we
were at once domiciled as truly "at home."

The next day was the beginning of their Quarterly Meeting, and the
impressions of a life-time can never efface the varied pictures stamped
upon memory by each phase of that religious gathering. Not in a gorgeous
chapel of Gothic architecture, frescoed nave and highly wrought transept;
no stained glass windows of rainbow hue; no gorgeously draped altar or
elaborate organ; but in a simple wooden meeting-house, upon a gently
sloping grassy seclusion, came the feet of those "who went up to the
worship of God." No robed priest with consecrated head was there, but
_all_ were privileged to express with the lips the heart's devotion.

Mr. Taylor carried to this meeting a number of my little books, and I am
safe in saying that each member of that community bought one of them.