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My mother became quite ill from the motion of the boat before we were many miles from Sing-Sing, and retired below, leaving me in charge of Captain Green and a cousin of ours who was also going down the river. To me everything about the sloop was as interesting as it was new, especially the "sea" yarns the captain told to me, and in return for his kindness, I was only too glad to sing for him the few songs that I knew. "Hail Columbia, Happy Land" was one of them; I have forgotten most of the others excepting one sad piece in which a poor wretch told a bit of his own experience. He had been convicted for beating his adopted daughter to death, and on the way to prison wrote some verses called "A Prisoner for Life." The words had no tune of their own, but I managed to find one for them among those which my friends had taught me. The first stanza is all that I remember,

"Adieu, ye green fields; ye soft meadows, adieu;
Ye hills and ye mountains, I hasten from you.
No more shall my eyes with your beauty be blest,
No more shall ye soothe my sad bosom to rest."

This fragment illustrates the nondescript character of the songs that I committed to memory. One of them that I remember to this day had nearly fifty stanzas, a complete novel in verse. Some were patriotic; some humorous and not a few sentimental. One ditty told the story of

"Four score and ten of us, poor old bachelors,
Four score and ten of us, poor old bachelors,
Four score and ten of us, and not a penny in our purse,
Something must be done for us poor old bachelors."

Whether anyone was good enough to relieve them of their poverty I do not know, but I suspect that they may have finally married rich widows, for their mournful plaint has been hushed these many years.

But our sail down the Hudson was full of other incidents one of the best being connected with a fellow passenger, who was taking a cow to the city; and the cow, I am sorry to say, was better behaved than her owner. He was somewhat under the influence of liquor; and when Captain Green suggested that the cow ought to be milked, he was very angry. But at length while he was engaged in another part of the vessel someone relieved the cow of her milk, and my mother, who during the interval had recovered, was commissioned to make a custard. She did so; and even the morose owner of the cow was obliged to pronounce her a good cook.

After what seemed to me a very long trip we arrived at New York; but for a few days we remained with friends in the city. I was much perplexed at the noise, which was indeed a great contrast to the quietness of our rural home. How well I recall every detail of our visit to Dr. Valentine Mott. When we arrived at his office, the famous physician was engaged with a patient, and gave me some toys for my amusement. Before I was weary of them, Dr. Mott said he was ready to make the examination, and you may be sure those were anxious moments to my dear mother. She had come what was then considered a long distance to consult the best eye specialist in America, and the result of his examination would bring her either the greatest joy or the most intense grief.

After what seemed a very long time for the consider-ation of my case, Dr. Mott asked me,

"Would you like to have me do something for your eyes that will make you see?"

"No sir," I replied promptly, moving nearer to my mother, for I was afraid that might mean he would need to hurt me. After a long pause the kind physician put his hand on my head and said,

"Poor child, I am afraid you will never see again." With these words the last ray of hope died in my dear mother's heart. She knew she had done everything in her power for me and she could not help feeling sad because the object of her journey had failed, and now nothing remained for her except to return home. I could not understand why she should be so anxious concerning me. It was a beautiful afternoon in late April, for under the gentle wooing of the sun all nature was springing into life and fragrance. My sight was not totally destroyed and I could distinguish, though very faintly, any vivid color placed on the right kind of background. We had tea at five o'clock, after which I wanted to go on deck, so mother took me out and left me there while she went back and finished her supper. It was near sunset, and as there was but little air stir-ring the vessel rested quietly on the water. Fancy came to me and whispered that I might get a glimpse of color from the shifting waves of the Hudson.

Just as the sun was sinking slowly behind the cliffs that line the west bank the light was magnified in the mirror of the waters; and I was enabled to distinguish a few of the most brilliant of the golden hues; and as I sat there on the deck, amid the glories of departing day the low murmur of the waves soothed my soul into a delightful peace. Their music was translated into tones that were like a human voice, and for many years their melody suggested to my imagination the call of Genius as she was struggling to be heard from her prison house in some tiny shell lying perchance on the bottom of the river. When I finally went to New York to school the noble lines of Byron became familiar; and now, whether I listen to the mighty billows of the ocean or to the smallest ripple on the bosom of some inland lake, the language of each to me is the same, and the appeal is irresistible. For