“The days I spend at the Allen House,” she would often say to me, “are days to be remembered.  I meet with no one who lives in so pure and tranquil an atmosphere as Mrs. Montgomery.  An hour with her lifts me above the petty cares and selfish struggles of this life, and fills my mind with longings after those higher things into which all must rise before that peace comes to the soul which passeth all understanding.  I return home from these interviews, happier in mind, and stronger for life’s duties.  I do not know any term that so clearly expresses my idea of this lady, as Christian philosopher.”

Occasionally Mrs. Montgomery would pay us a visit; and these also were times treasured up in my wife’s remembrance.  I always observed a certain elevation of feeling, a calmer spirit, and a more loving sphere about her after one of these pleasant seasons.

The daughter came very often.  Our children loved her almost as much as they did their mother, and she seemed as happy with them, as if they were her own flesh and blood.  Agnes, our oldest, now in her eighth year, almost lived at the Allen House.  Blanche never came without taking her home with her, and often kept her for two or three days at a time.

Blanche had developed into a young woman of almost queenly beauty; yet her manners retained the easy grace and truthfulness of a child.  She did not seem conscious of her remarkable personal attractions, nor of the admiration her presence always extorted.  No one could meet her, as a stranger, without feeling that she stood removed from ordinary contact—­a being of superior mould with whom familiarity was presumption.

The companion of such a mother, who had with tender solicitude, from childhood upwards, guarded all the avenues of her mind, lest false principles or false views of things should find entrance; and as carefully selected her mental food, in order that there might be health of mind as well as health of body—­it was not surprising to find about her a solidity and strength of character, that showed itself beneath the sweet grace of her external life, whenever occasion for their exhibition arose.  From her mother she had imbibed a deep religious sentiment; but this did not manifest itself so much in language, as in dutiful acts.  I had often occasion to notice, how, almost instinctively, she referred all things to a superintending Providence; and looked into the future, veiled as it is to all eyes, with a confidence that every thing would come out right, beautiful to contemplate.  What she meant by right, was something more than is usually included in the words; for she had learned from her wise teacher, that God’s providence disposes the things of this world for every individual in a way that serves best his eternal interests; therefore, what was best in this sense, could not fail to be right.