[FEW's entries in Mary Bannister's Journal. September 6-28, 1860
Most of the pages of this journal, which contained Mary Bannister's entries from 12/5/1859 on, are torn out. Written in on 2nd page of journal in what looks like FEW's handwriting:]
I'm half afraid 'tis -true! (Sept. 24, '60.)
[A heliotrope pasted on the page.]
September 25, 1860
From our garden, Mary, from the plant on the bed right by our corner of the house, near the steps;-you remember?_______
[Then many pages of Mary Bannister's journal torn out.]
September 6, 1860
[In FEW'S handwriting, added later:]
This book precedes No 10 but is not No. 9-only a P.S.
So I'm to write in Mary's "Book";-to finish it, and where her heart was to have been written out so undisguisedly, I am to write out mine! 'Tis a strange world we live in, and strange, sad things happen to us, as we journey through it. I did not think, one week ago, that tonight My Darling would be hundreds of miles away from me with a new life and toil before her. I hoped sweeter, pleasanter things for myself;-but I must not think of that, God rules us kindly & in an infinite wisdom:
"What Thou doest, Lord, is right,
And thus beleiving, we rejoice."
She is gone. I said "Goodbye" & pressed my lips to hers for an instant as we parted last night at Dr. Kidder's gate. How well I can remember how she looked;-the close-fitting traveling dress showing her graceful figure-the "falvcrette" (?) that I've seen her wear so often; the flowers I had just given, in her hand; the chestnut hair parted away from the high, noble forehead; a flush on the cheek, & tears in the beautiful brown eyes that are so dear to me. She turned half away as she took my hand, and kissed me silently; I sent "Goodbye"-only that, though my heart ached to add "My Darling, God bless you always"-she did not answer, she could not I think;-I turned away abruptly, & walked slowly homeward, never looking back or even raising my head. I wanted to remember her as she stood there in her youth & her prime, with her sweet face half turned away, & her eyes full of tears. God knows when I shall look at her again!-not perhaps until the golden halo encircles her brow, & the harp is in her hand which