During the war, a grandson and member of the family in which she resided came home on a brief leave of absence. The day of his departure arrived, and he went to the chamber of his grandmother to take what he supposed to be his last farewell in this life, as she was then confined to her bed with a severe illness. She received him with great affection, and in reply to his expressions of regret at leaving her, she said, “O, no, my son, your country needs your services; I do not. Go and discharge your duty faithfully and fearlessly. I feel that my prayers in your behalf will be heard, and that you will be returned in safety. And yet, perhaps, I do not feel as much concerned for you as I should: I have parted so often with your grandfather under similar circumstances, and he was always returned to me in safety, that I feel it will be the same with you.” The young Captain did return to see his grandmother again in this life after several hard-fought battles, in which he received complimentary notice from his commanding officers. Her granddaughter says: “My husband, Dr. Eaton, one of her physicians being in the house and an invalid, spent much of his time in her room, and would often say to me, ‘I never met a more entertaining person than your grandma. I could sit for hours and listen to her conversation.’ Such is not often said, by a man in the prime of life, of an old lady nearly ninety years of age. Since then he has gone to join her in her heavenly home.” Mrs. Harrison’s distinguishing characteristics were her Christian humility and total want of selfishness; her modest, retiring manners and generosity and benevolence. She was always anxious to promote the well-being of others at her own expense, and sacrificed herself for the good of others. Many incidents of generosity are remembered and treasured by her descendants, which, though not of sufficient interest to record, are of priceless value to those who witnessed their exhibition, and were recipients of her beneficence. Every public and private charity was near her heart, and received liberally from her hand. But those who enjoyed her bounty knew not of its source. To a poor minister she would write: “Accept this trifle from a friend.” To the Bethel Sabbath school, “This is but a widow’s mite.” To the suffering poor of the city, “Please distribute this from one who wishes it was a thousand times more.” She continued to bear on her praying lips the salvation of her descendants, and as she drew near the closing scene, this was her song: “Just as I am, without one plea But that thy blood was shed for me, And that thou bidd’st me come to thee,— O Lamb of God! I come.” Her intellectual powers and physical senses were retained to the last, and at the age of eighty-eight she was an agreeable companion for both old and young.