back to them a married woman, and indeed, for the moment, time seemed to
have gone backward in its flight; the dignity of the matron was forgotten,
and I was a child again, even little Mary Day. I felt glad of an assurance
from Miss Bond, that so fondly had my name been cherished, even by those
in the institution who had never met me, that it was regarded as a
"household word," and that enshrined in the most sacred niche of the
temple of love was the image of Mary L. Day. As a testimony of this
continued affection I was fondly urged to remain in the institution while
in the city, but, as I had so many resident relatives, I declined.

My cousin, William Heald, who had by his kindness infused light into some
of my darkest hours, had won a lovely woman for a wife, and certainly no
one more richly deserved such a consummation. Cousin Sammy Heald had also
married his fair fiance, of the West, who in her sweet purity of
character, beauty of person and a life fragrant and blossoming with good
deeds, could justly be called a "prairie flower." He had been ordained a
Methodist minister, and was winning true laurels in his little charge in
Iowa, to which conference he belonged. He had chosen his proper vocation,
for as a preacher he was "Native, and to the manor born," for when a wee
boy, he had written and declaimed many a sermon, and had his mimic
audience been a real one these efforts would have produced electrical
effect.

Among the many changes in my Baltimore circle was the vacant chair at the
fireside, once filled by my uncle Jacob Day, whose memory and whose life
was pervaded by the odor of true sanctity. It could truly be said of him
at the sunset of a beautiful life, that

"Each silver hair, each wrinkle there,
Records some good deed done;