The little one was two weeks old; a letter was received that morning saying, "I shall be at home the last of this week. I shall say farewell to Albany." Words cannot express her joy at this unexpected announcement. She directed everything, how to dress the baby, and arranged for them to go after her husband's mother and sister, who had not seen the little one, as they had been absent on a visit. They were delighted to find Bessie and the baby so well, and the little Charles looking "so exactly like his father, except that he had his mother's curly hair." The mother seemed perfectly happy, but there were anxious hearts that silently prayed to God to avert the fearful calamity, which they feared might now be hanging over them. The day was passing away. She was well and cheerful. Her family were near her, doing all they could to divert her thoughts from _the date_. Her minister, Rev. Mark Johnson, and his wife called to spend an hour with the family. She was pleased to see them, and united with them in prayer. She called Mrs. Johnson to see how sweetly the infant nestled in her bosom. Then, turning to the minister she said, "Mr. Johnson, we shall have the baby christened Charles Smith Higgins as soon as his father comes home."
The last rays of the setting sun shone on the tree tops. Once more she called attention to the child, smiling on it the while; when suddenly she exclaimed, "Oh!" and placed one hand upon her breast, while with the other pressing the babe closer to her bosom.
Mother caught her in her arms, her sister Catharine ran to call the doctor; but before they could enter the room, her spirit had taken its flight to the immortal world.
Her tombstone now records her dream, verbatim, in the old cemetery in Sodus.
They directed letters to her husband and friends in Albany, also sent letters to every packet-boat going east and returning. (There were no railroads nor convenient telegraph wires at that time.) They published the sad news in all the papers, and sent them to every place where he would be likely to get them.
He left Albany on Thursday, expecting to reach home on Sunday. At Lyons he left the boat, thinking he could reach home some hours sooner by taking a private conveyance. He met an acquaintance at the hotel, who handed him a paper containing a "special notice" of the sudden death of Mrs. Elizabeth Higgins. He saw no more, but fell prostrated with overwhelming grief. In vain they tried to rouse him until the reaction came. The funeral was appointed for half-past two o'clock P.M. He had twenty miles to ride, and it was nearly one o'clock then; he called for a horse, and started direct for the church, hoping to reach there before the burial. A large concourse had already assembled at the house, which was about two miles distant from the church. All were anxiously looking and waiting for the absent one. The weather was extremely warm, and they would proceed slowly; so it was thought best to start. Several times they halted on the way. Every eye and ear were strained to catch the faintest sight or sound, but all in vain. The church was reached. The mourners moved slowly up the aisle. There was not a single heart in that large assembly which did not thrill with sorrowful emotion. The congregation prayed in silence, and sobs were heard in every part of the house. The minister stood silent for a moment, then slowly and distinctly said--"I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord."