Contents |
- Family Memorials In Prose And Verse—Part II—Family Biographies And Writings, page 287-291:
- JULIA HARRIET ELMORE.
- MARRIED JUDGE JOSEPH H. MATLOCK.
- JULIA HARRIET, fifth daughter of David W. and Mary A. Elmore, was born at the Family Homestead, in St. Charles, Illinois, on December 7, 1838, and, at different periods, resided also in Equality, Chicago, and Elgin, Illinois; Monticello, Indiana; and Savannah, Georgia. On July 2, 1868, she was united in marriage to Dr. Horace Allen, of Chicago, who died of pulmonary consumption at Stockton, California, December 26, 1872. On April 16, 1877, at Elgin, Illinois, she was again married, becoming the wife of Judge Joseph H. Matlock, of Monticello, Indiana, a most estimable Christian character. Their wedded life—attended with more of felicity than is usually accorded on earth—was of short duration. On the morning of Sunday, December 29, 1878, after an illness of three weeks, Judge Matlock died of typhoid pneumonia, and she was again left in bereavement and sorrow. After spending a few months in adjusting estate matters in Monticello, and visiting her brothers and sisters in Northern Illinois, at the urgent request of her youngest brother, she went to Savannah, Georgia, and remained there for something more than a year, making bright and glad his Southern home.
- She was of a delicate constitution, and at the date of the compilation of this work (1880), may be described as fair complexioned, with light brown hair, light hazel eyes, and a winning gentleness of expression which renders her attractive; not much above medium height, and slightly built.
- At an early age she gave her heart to the Savior, and united with the Baptist Church, of which she has ever remained a constant member; and, to her prayers and solicitous interest more, perhaps, than to those of any other, the compiler looks as the immediate cause of his own conversion.
- The following is from her journal, and is entitled:
- TWO LEAVES FROM MY DIARY.
- "Now twilight lets her curtain down,
- And pins it with a star."
- Wearied nature seems reposing, and deep, solemn silence reigns, interrupted only by the sweet-voiced songsters, making night vocal with their offerings of praise to their Creator. That heavenly calm, brooding over all nature, seems to invite reflection; and, in keeping with the train of thought that comes softly stealing over me, recollections of the past are awakened; the joys and sorrow of early life, deeply graven upon memory's tablet.
Where, now, are the loved ones that were wont to bow around the family shrine of prayer? Our father, that beloved parent, weary of earth, long since sought the bowers of Heavenly bliss, and bows at the Throne of God, at Jesus' feet. Our mother, whose very name fills our hearts with hallowed joy, still makes home happy by her presence. The passing years, with their lights and shadows, have left their impress upon that dear face, but kind Heaven still blesses us with her smiles, and deeply spiritual wisdom, in guiding us homeward. Two sisters have already gone from the shelter of the parental roof, and in their own respective abodes, surrounded by their loved ones, and listening to music of their prattling cherubs, find life most sweet, and desire no higher temporal joy than that found in the love of home and friends—earth's greatest pleasure. A brother, dear, no longer bestows upon us alone his boundless store of affection; another shares his home and heart; yet, we have thereby gained a sister and friend. Other brothers, two, have we, just entering upon manhood's active stage. Years are passing; who can foretell the future? Change is written upon all things; new scenes must arise in life's pathway; the abode of childhood must, perhaps, be exchanged for other homes. Yet, we can but feel that the benediction of our sainted father and loved mother will ever rest over them and us.
- It seems but yesterday since we were gathered around the domestic hearthstone. Father, mother, four merry-hearted girls, and sharing the petty trials, incident to the life of our happy home; little heeding that death, with his relentless hand, would ere long enter our social circle, and bearing away loved trophies, leave sorrowful traces upon each remaining stricken brow.
- * * * Truly, what changes time has wrought! I again sit in the soft twilight of evening. The same stars glitter and sparkle in the firmament. The same moon still presides in her ancient, queenly splendor, proclaiming the immutability of God's laws; but how different it is with our condition and surroundings upon earth.
- That sainted mother has gone to join her consort on the other shore, leaving her four daughters and three sons still in life. But it is now the life of afternoon with some of us—of mature years, with all. Stricken by many a sorrow, tossed by many a wave of fortune, to each of us have come the somber thoughts of weary pilgrims. Death has entered some of our homes; but we still share each other's joys, and bear each other's sorrows on the way, separated though we are. Few of us would desire to fully write the experience of the past. We would rather pass over some sorrows in silence. And, yet, few have been so blest as we, or experienced less of the ills of life. We will not look upon the storm-clouds, when they are over; nor chide the rough billows, when the Prince of Peace has hushed their angry roar. Better far rest the eye upon the beautiful hues of the bow of promise; or the mellow tints of the gilded sky at evening, when it is clad in the sheen of the setting sun, and the zephyrs whisper a gentle lullaby to the children of earth, as they breathe back the aroma of many a flower encountered in their thorny pathways.
- MUSINGS.
- The clock strikes one. Sleep wooed in vain, I gaze from my window upon a landscape, its every feature bathed in the soft light of the harvest moon, while thought is bringing up in solemn review my life—its past, its present, and seeking to fathom that which may be yet in store. Memory, recalling the past, revives much to gladden the heart. Through pleasant paths have my footsteps strayed much of the time. True, here and there, dark clouds rolled back, and the warm, life-inspiring rays of the sun fell tenderly, lovingly upon the subdued heart, whose language now is "Nearer to thee;" e'en though the way be dark, and thorns pierce the wearied feet—still "Nearer to thee."
- The present; with what chain of words shall I fill in the records of my daily life?—golden chain, whose tinkling links make music soft, filling the heart with melody. Oh! 'tis a joy to live, to be, we often cry; and again, we sigh, life is a burden, a desert drear; where roses cluster, truly, but only to hide the thorns, as many a wound hears testimony; and happiness is not. Sunshine and shadow alternate, and the countenance may conceal, as fully as it reveals the true condition of the heart. While all is placid without, in the soul's inmost depths a tempest may rage, whose violence threatens shipwreck. None may see the dashing billows, or hear the wail of anguish, the despairing cry for help. * * * But anon is heard the Master's voice breathing o'er the deep the cheering words of old, "Peace, be still!" and the storm is past. The soul, strengthened by the conflict, is better enabled to encounter and resist in future.
- And now of the future, wisely are its meandering pathways hidden from our view. How often exists the desire—though but half indulged, even in secret—to draw aside the veil, the thin, mysterious shadow, concealing from our gaze the beyond; that we might know what now is to us but unsatisfactory and visionary. Soul-trying is the delay, while treading duty's path.
- We patiently await the mysterious unfolding of Providence, questioning not His motives, only trusting, trusting; believing that the future will bring to the aching, troubled heart that rest, peace, and joy which a loving father is so willing to bestow. Encircled by the arms of his love, we will patiently wait till we hear the call, "Son, daughter, there is need of thee--come home."
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Categories: Descendant of Edward Elmer of Hartford, CT