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"O I think I can cure that," said my mother. He replied,

"Never mind; I'll get over it." But she was evidently bent upon working a cure; and despite the remonstrance of the young man, proceeded to rub some salt on his scalp, whereupon the fact of the wig became known to the company. The young man was considerably embarrassed; and mother of course heartily wished she had let him alone.

My two little sisters were always in ecstasy whenever I came home. They saved up their pennies for weeks that they might buy me some sweetmeats. And such chattering: there was so much important news to be told and so many questions, on both sides, that required immediate answers. Too soon would come the end of these summer outings; and my heart always trembled when the hour of parting arrived; for I could hear in the distance, as the carriage bore me away, the plaintive voices crying "Fanny, Fanny, come back!" More than once the old homesickness returned; and I was again sorely tempted to turn back from the journey to New York.

But it is a rare blessing that these dear sisters have been spared, so that the reality of the present is no less gracious than the memory of the past. The days of childhood are recalled as a benediction; and the daily ministry of the present is a true manifestation of the love between those who are near and dear to me.

While our precious mother lived, her birthdays were occasions of festive gatherings; and almost yearly I wrote her a poem. That which was written for her eighty-second birthday follows:

"How pleasant to look on a brow like hers,
With hardly a trace of care;
How cheerful the light of her beaming eye,
As she sits in her easy chair.

"So little the change in her dear, kind face
We scarce can believe it true
That she numbers today her four score years,
Her four score years and two.

"Her winter of age, though the snowflakes fell,
Has never been dark and drear,
She moves with the vigor of younger feet,
And her mind is bright and clear.

"She merrily talks of the olden time,
Of the friends in youth she knew;
She is sprightly and gay, though she numbers today
Her four score years and two.

"And now as we come with our birthday gifts,
When she views them o'er and o'er,
And the earnest God bless you, my children deal;
Is breathed from her lips once more.

"We think how devoted our mother's love,
What a sunshine of joy she gives,
And we feel as we tenderly kiss her cheek,
What a comfort that still she lives!"

CHAPTER IX
TWO ADDRESSES BEFORE CONGRESS

BUT I have passed over two or three important events. During the autumn of 1843, as I have said, I was ill; and when a party from the school was going to Washington to appear before Congress, in the following January, I had not yet fully recovered. Dr. Clements said that I would fret myself into a serious sickness, if they left me at home; besides the trip South night do me some good. It was finally decided by the Board of Managers that he should go and take charge of me, to which arrange-ment I joyfully assented; yet, when I learned that I was expected to deliver a poem before a joint session of both houses of Congress, my heart sank within me. Indeed I think I would not have agreed to the arrangement, were it not for the fact that our party were trying to im-press upon the legislators in Washington the absolute need of schools for the blind in every state of the Union. Any chance of doing a little for them I, of course, would not let pass; and so there I was a timid mortal not in the best of health, to deliver an address before the most distinguished body I have ever seen. Some of the skeptical managers said that I would fail in the midst of my recitation, and that thought, I must confess, was in my own mind. But the inspiration of the hour was sufficient to fortify me against the dreaded failure. At any rate I tried to do my level best; and when I finished my poem there was a dreadful silence which I interpreted to mean that the audience was not pleased. With mingled emotions, alternating between hope and fear, I waited, it seemed to me, as long as five minutes; in reality I suppose, not more than thirty seconds passed before there was such a tremendous applause that I was actually frightened. At length they began to call for me, and then there was a hasty consultation in the ante-room between Dr. Clements and the managers.

"Don't let her try it," they said; "tell them that she is not strong enough."

But the good doctor asked that the whole matter be referred to me.

"Yes," I answered, "I will recite another poem, for never may I get a chance to address such a famous audience again."

Then, I went out upon the platform, and repeated some lines that had been written and published the summer before in memory of the Hon. Hugh S. Legaré, the lamented Secretary of State, who died quite suddenly while going, with President Tyler, to attend the exercises at the laying of the comer-stone of the Bunker Hill monument. I will quote three stanzas of my tribute: