Illness—Death of Mrs. Francis A. Drexel 189 
Ah, if the thrones of earth by such as she was 
Filled were in this great age, 
Not long should we, beyond the rapid sea-ways 
Hear the wild nations rage! 
I cannot speak her name, for all too quickly 
Follow the hot, salt, tears, 
And plaudits of the holy dead fall weakly 
On sated modern ears: 
But were we in those days of faith when Aidan 
Blessed Oswald's bounteous land 
It would be known by wife and holy maiden 
Monarch and cloistered sage, and serf down-laden 
A Saint's name through the Land! 
A touching tribute to the saintly spirit of Mrs. Drexel 
is contained in some metrical stanzas entitled The Dream 
written by Madame Louise Bouvier, R. S. C. J. A letter 
she wrote to Elizabeth in sending the verses explains the 
origin of them. 
Sacred Heart, Madn Ave., April 15/83 
Dear Lisette, 
Do you remember poor Sallie Collins' dream, that you related 
to me when we were together in the carriage on Easter Monday, 
driving from the ferry to Madison Avenue? Well, it has been 
coming back to my mind ever since; and, the other day, it presented 
itself almost spontaneously, in metrical lines. I thought you might 
be pleased if I wrote it down and sent it to you. Perhaps you may 
not deem it unworthy of the most obscure corner in "the little 
book." I should love to add my quota, however feeble, to the many 
beautiful things there said of your cherished mother, and my 
darling sister. I had a sort of sentiment about writing the lines 
with the same pen that I used for those last 
letters, 
several 
which, you tell me, were never opened. Such praise as hers, how­ 
ever, would: "Deserve a quill pluckt from an angel's wing," but 
in default of such, I thought the best substitute would be the pen 
employed in writing to her; but alas! it now refuses to do service;