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diff --git a/old/56308-0.txt b/old/56308-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 25b92a9..0000000 --- a/old/56308-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3977 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of When I was your age, by Laura E. Richards - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: When I was your age - -Author: Laura E. Richards - -Release Date: January 4, 2018 [EBook #56308] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE *** - - - - -Produced by Chuck Greif, Suzanne Shell and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE - - [Illustration: GREEN PEACE.] - - - - - WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE - - BY - - LAURA E. RICHARDS - - AUTHOR OF “CAPTAIN JANUARY,” “MELODY,” - “QUEEN HILDEGARDE,” ETC. - - _ILLUSTRATED_ - - BOSTON - - ESTES AND LAURIAT - - 1894 - - - _Copyright, 1893_, - BY ESTES AND LAURIAT. - - University Press: - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. - - - - - TO THE - - Dear and Honored Memory of my Father, - - DR. SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE. - - - _Thy voice comes down the rolling years_ - _Like ring of steel on steel;_ - _With it I hear the tramp of steeds,_ - _And the trumpet’s silver peal._ - - _I see thee ride thy fearless way,_ - _With steadfast look intent,_ - _God’s servant, still by night and day,_ - _On his high errand bent._ - - _Thy lance lay ever in the rest_ - _’Gainst tyranny and wrong._ - _Thy steed was swift, thine aim was sure,_ - _Thy sword was keen and strong._ - - _But were the fainting to be raised,_ - _The sorrowing comforted,--_ - _The warrior vanished, and men saw_ - _An angel stoop instead._ - - _O soldier Father! dear I hold_ - _Thine honored name to-day;_ - _Thy high soul draws mine eyes above,_ - _And beacons me the way._ - - _And when my heart beats quick to learn_ - _Some deed of high emprise,_ - _I almost see the answering flash_ - _That lightens from thine eyes._ - - _I greet thee fair! I bless thee dear!_ - _And here, in token meet,_ - _I pluck these buds from memory’s wreath,_ - _And lay them at thy feet._ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - -I. OURSELVES 13 - -II. MORE ABOUT OURSELVES 27 - -III. GREEN PEACE 42 - -IV. THE VALLEY 62 - -V. OUR FATHER 77 - -VI. JULIA WARD 107 - -VII. OUR MOTHER 129 - -VIII. OUR TEACHERS 163 - -IX. OUR FRIENDS 180 - -X. OUR GUESTS 194 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. - - - PAGE - -GREEN PEACE _Frontispiece_ - -MAUD 43 - -LAURA WAS FOUND IN THE SUGAR-BARREL 53 - -DR. SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE 79 - -THE DOCTOR TO THE RESCUE! 97 - -JULIA WARD AND HER BROTHERS, AS CHILDREN 109 - - (From a miniature by Miss Anne Hall.) - -LIEUT.-COLONEL SAMUEL WARD 117 - - (Born Nov. 17, 1756; Died Aug. 16, 1832.) - -JULIA WARD 125 - -JULIA WARD HOWE 131 - -JULIA ROMANA HOWE 149 - -JULIA WARD HOWE 157 - - (From a recent photograph.) - -LAURA E. RICHARDS 177 - - - - -WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -OURSELVES. - - -There were five of us. There had been six, but the Beautiful Boy was -taken home to heaven while he was still very little; and it was good for -the rest of us to know that there was always one to wait for and welcome -us in the Place of Light to which we should go some day. So, as I said, -there were five of us here,--Julia Romana, Florence, Harry, Laura, and -Maud. Julia was the eldest. She took her second name from the ancient -city in which she was born, and she was as beautiful as a soft Italian -evening,--with dark hair, clear gray eyes, perfect features, and a -complexion of such pure and wonderful red and white as I have never -seen in any other face. She had a look as if when she came away from -heaven she had been allowed to remember it, while others must forget; -and she walked in a dream always, of beauty and poetry, thinking of -strange things. Very shy she was, very sensitive. When Flossy (this was -Florence’s home name) called her “a great red-haired giant,” she wept -bitterly, and reproached her sister for hurting her feelings. Julia knew -everything, according to the belief of the younger children. What story -was there she could not tell? She it was who led the famous -before-breakfast walks, when we used to start off at six o’clock and -walk to the Yellow Chases’ (we never knew any other name for them; it -was the house that was yellow, not the people) at the top of the long -hill, or sometimes even to the windmill beyond it, where we could see -the miller at work, all white and dusty, and watch the white sails -moving slowly round. And on the way Julia told us stories, from Scott or -Shakspere; or gave us the plot of some opera, “Ernani” or “Trovatore,” -with snatches of song here and there. “Ai nostri monti ritornaremo,” -whenever I hear this familiar air ground out by a hand-organ, everything -fades from my eyes save a long white road fringed with buttercups and -wild marigolds, and five little figures, with rosy hungry faces, -trudging along, and listening to the story of the gypsy queen and her -stolen troubadour. - -Julia wrote stories herself, too,--very wonderful stories, we all -thought, and, indeed, I think so still. She began when she was a little -girl, not more than six or seven years old. There lies beside me now on -the table a small book, about five inches square, bound in faded pink -and green, and filled from cover to cover with writing in a cramped, -childish hand. It is a book of novels and plays, written by our Julia -before she was ten years old; and I often think that the beautiful and -helpful things she wrote in her later years were hardly more remarkable -than these queer little romances. They are very sentimental; no child of -eight, save perhaps Marjorie Fleming, was ever so sentimental as -Julia,--“Leonora Mayre; A Tale,” “The Lost Suitor,” “The Offers.” I must -quote a scene from the last-named play. - - - SCENE I. - -Parlor at MRS. EVANS’S. FLORENCE EVANS _alone_. - -_Enter_ ANNIE. - - A. Well, Florence, Bruin is going to make an offer, I suppose. - - F. Why so? - - A. Here’s a pound of candy from him. He said he had bought it for - you, but on arriving he was afraid it was too trifling a gift; but - hoping you would not throw it away, he requested me to give it to - that virtuous young lady, as he calls you. - - F. Well, I am young, but I did not know that I was virtuous. - - A. I think you are. - - - SCENE II. - -Parlor. MR. BRUIN _alone_. - - MR. B. Why doesn’t she come? She doesn’t usually keep me waiting. - -_Enter_ FLORENCE. - - F. How do you do? I am sorry to have kept you waiting. - - MR. B. I have not been here more than a few minutes. Your parlor is - so warm this cold day that I could wait. - -[_Laughs._ - - F. You sent me some candy the other day which I liked very much. - - MR. B. Well, you liked the candy; so I pleased you. Now you can - please me. I don’t care about presents; I had rather have something - that can love me. You. - - F. I do not love you. - -[_Exit_ MR. BRUIN. - - - SCENE III. - -FLORENCE _alone_. _Enter_ MR. CAS. - - F. How do you do? - - MR. C. Very well. - - F. It is a very pleasant day. - - MR. C. Yes. It would be still pleasanter if you will be my bride. I - want a respectful refusal, but prefer a cordial acception. - - F. You can have the former. - -[_Exit_ MR. CAS. - - - SCENE IV. - - FLORENCE _with_ MR. EMERSON. - - MR. E. I love you, Florence. You may not love me, for I am inferior - to you; but tell me whether you do or not. If my hopes are true, - let me know it, and I shall not be doubtful any longer. If they are - not, tell me, and I shall not expect any more. - - F. They are. - -[_Exit_ MR. EMERSON. - - - - -The fifth scene of this remarkable drama is laid in the church, and is -very thrilling. The stage directions are brief, but it is evident from -the text that as Mr. Emerson and his taciturn bride advance to the -altar, Messrs. Cas and Bruin, “to gain some private ends,” do the same. -The Bishop is introduced without previous announcement. - - - SCENE V. - - BISHOP. Are you ready? - - MR. B. Yes. - - BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, are you ready? - - MR. C. Yes. - - BISHOP. Mr. Emerson, I am waiting. - - BRUIN _and_ CAS [_together_]. So am I. - - MR. E. I am ready. But what have these men to do with our marriage? - - MR. B. Florence, I charge you with a breach of promise. You said - you would be my bride. - - F. I did not. - - MR. C. You promised me. - - F. When? - - MR. C. A month ago. You said you would marry me. - - MR. B. A fortnight ago you promised me. You said we would be - married to-day. - - MR. C. Bishop, what does this mean? Florence Evans promised to - marry me, and this very day was fixed upon. And see how false she - has been! She has, as you see, promised both of us, and now is - going to wed this man. - - BISHOP. But Mr. Emerson and Miss Evans made the arrangements with - me; how is it that neither of you said anything of it beforehand? - - MR. C. I forgot. - - MR. B. So did I. - -[F. _weeps._ - -_Enter_ ANNIE. - - A. I thought I should be too late to be your bridesmaid, but I find - I am in time. But I thought you were to be married at half-past - four, and it is five by the church clock. - - MR. E. We should have been married by this time, but these men say - that Florence has promised to marry them. Is it true, Florence? - - F. No. [BESSY, _her younger sister, supports her._ - - A. It isn’t true, for you know, Edward Bruin, that you and I are - engaged; and Mr. Cas and Bessy have been for some time. And both - engagements have been out for more than a week. - -[BESSY _looks reproachfully at_ CAS. - - B. Why, Joseph Cas! - - BISHOP. Come, Mr. Emerson! I see that Mr. Cas and Mr. Bruin have - been trying to worry your bride. But their story can’t be true, for - these other young ladies say that they are engaged to them. - - F. They each of them made me an offer, which I refused. - -[_The_ BISHOP _marries them_. - - F. [_After they are married._] I shall never again be troubled with - such offers [_looks at_ CAS _and_ BRUIN] as _yours_! - - -I meant to give one scene, and I have given the whole play, not knowing -where to stop. There was nothing funny about it to Julia. The heroine, -with her wonderful command of silence, was her ideal of maiden reserve -and dignity; the deep-dyed villany of Bruin and Cas, the retiring -manners of the fortunate Emerson, the singular sprightliness of the -Bishop, were all perfectly natural, as her vivid mind saw them. - -So she was bitterly grieved one day when a dear friend of the family, to -whom our mother had read the play, rushed up to her, and seizing her -hand, cried,-- - -“‘Julia, will you have me?’ ‘No!’ Exit Mr. Bruin.” - -Deeply grieved the little maiden was; and it cannot have been very long -after that time that she gave the little book to her dearest aunt, who -has kept it carefully through all these years. - -If Julia was like Milton’s “Penseroso,” Flossy was the “Allegro” in -person, or like Wordsworth’s maiden,-- - - “A dancing shape, an image gay, - To haunt, to startle, and waylay” - -She was very small as a child. One day a lady, not knowing that the -little girl was within hearing, said to her mother, “What a pity Flossy -is so small!” - -“I’m big inside!” cried a little angry voice at her elbow; and there was -Flossy, swelling with rage, like an offended bantam. And she _was_ big -inside! her lively, active spirit seemed to break through the little -body and carry it along in spite of itself. Sometimes it was an impish -spirit; always it was an enterprising one. - -She it was who invented the dances which seemed to us such wonderful -performances. We danced every evening in the great parlor, our mother -playing for us on the piano. There was the “Macbeth” dance, in which -Flossy figured as Lady Macbeth. With a dagger in her hand, she crept and -rushed and pounced and swooped about in a most terrifying manner, always -graceful as a fairy. A sofa-pillow played the part of Duncan, and had a -very hard time of it. The “Julius Cæsar” dance was no less tragic; we -all took part in it, and stabbed right and left with sticks of -kindling-wood. One got the curling-stick and was happy, for it was the -next thing to the dagger, which no one but Flossy could have. Then there -was the dance of the “Four Seasons,” which had four figures. In spring -we sowed, in summer we reaped; in autumn we hunted the deer, and in -winter there was much jingling of bells. The hunting figure was most -exciting. It was performed with knives (kindling-wood), as Flossy -thought them more romantic than guns; they were held close to the side, -with point projecting, and in this way we moved with a quick _chassé_ -step, which, coupled with a savage frown, was supposed to be peculiarly -deadly. - -Flossy invented many other amusements, too. There was the school-loan -system. We had school in the little parlor at that time, and our desks -had lids that lifted up. In her desk Flossy kept a number of precious -things, which she lent to the younger children for so many pins an hour. -The most valuable thing was a set of three colored worsted balls, red, -green, and blue. You could set them twirling, and they would keep going -for ever so long. It was a delightful sport; but they were very -expensive, costing, I think, twenty pins an hour. It took a long time to -collect twenty pins, for of course it was not fair to take them out of -the pin-cushions. - -Then there was a glass eye-cup without a foot; that cost ten pins, and -was a great favorite with us. You stuck it in your eye, and tried to -hold it there while you winked with the other. Of course all this was -done behind the raised desk-lid, and I have sometimes wondered what the -teacher was doing that she did not find us out sooner. She was not very -observant, and I am quite sure she was afraid of Flossy. One sad day, -however, she caught Laura with the precious glass in her eye, and it was -taken away forever. It was a bitter thing to the child (I know all about -it, for I was Laura) to be told that she could never have it again, even -after school. She had paid her ten pins, and she could not see what -right the teacher had to take the glass away. But after that the -school-loan system was forbidden, and I have never known what became of -the three worsted balls. - -Flossy also told stories; or rather she told one story which had no end, -and of which we never tired. Under the sea, she told us, lived a fairy -named Patty, who was a most intimate friend of hers, and whom she -visited every night. This fairy dwelt in a palace hollowed out of a -single immense pearl. The rooms in it were countless, and were -furnished in a singular and delightful manner. In one room the chairs -and sofas were of chocolate; in another, of fresh strawberries; in -another, of peaches,--and so on. The floors were paved with squares of -chocolate and cream candy; the windows were of transparent barley-sugar, -and when you broke off the arm of a chair and ate it, or took a square -or two out of the pavement, they were immediately replaced, so that -there was no trouble for anyone. Patty had a ball every evening, and -Flossy never failed to go. Sometimes, when we were good, she would take -us; but the singular thing about it was that we never remembered what -had happened. In the morning our infant minds were a cheerful blank, -till Flossy told us what a glorious time we had had at Patty’s the night -before, how we had danced with Willie Winkie, and how much ice-cream we -had eaten. We listened to the recital with unalloyed delight, and -believed every word of it, till a sad day of awakening came. We were -always made to understand that we could not bring away anything from -Patty’s, and were content with this arrangement; but on this occasion -there was to be a ball of peculiar magnificence, and Flossy, in a fit of -generosity, told Harry that he was to receive a pair of diamond -trousers, which he would be allowed to bring home. Harry was a child -with a taste for magnificence; and he went to bed full of joy, seeing -already in anticipation the glittering of the jewelled garment, and the -effects produced by it on the small boys of his acquaintance. Bitter was -the disappointment when, on awakening in the morning, the chair by his -bedside bore only the familiar brown knickerbockers, with a patch of a -lighter shade on one knee. Harry wept, and would not be comforted; and -after that, though we still liked to hear the Patty stories, we felt -that the magic of them was gone,--that they were only stories, like -“Blue-beard” or “Jack and the Beanstalk.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -MORE ABOUT OURSELVES. - - -Julia and Flossy did not content themselves with writing plays and -telling stories. They aspired to making a language,--a real language, -which should be all their own, and should have grammars and dictionaries -like any other famous tongue. It was called Patagonian,--whether with -any idea of future missionary work among the people of that remote -country, or merely because it sounded well, I cannot say. It was a -singular language. I wish more of it had survived; but I can give only a -few of its more familiar phrases. - -MILLDAM--Yes. - -PILLDAM--No. - -MOUCHE--Mother. - -BIS VON SNOUT?--Are you well? - -BRUNK TU TOUCHY SNOUT--I am very well. - -CHING CHU STICK STUMPS?--Will you have some doughnuts? - -These fragments will, I am sure, make my readers regret deeply the loss -of this language, which has the merit of entire originality. - -As to Flossy’s talent for making paper-dolls, it is a thing not to be -described. There were no such paper-dolls as those. Their figures might -not be exactly like the human figure, but how infinitely more graceful! -Their waists were so small that they sometimes broke in two when called -upon to courtesy to a partner or a queen: that was the height of -delicacy! They had ringlets invariably, and very large eyes with amazing -lashes; they smiled with unchanging sweetness, filling our hearts with -delight. Many and wonderful were their dresses. The crinoline of the day -was magnified into a sort of vast semi-circular cloud, adorned about the -skirt with strange patterns; one small doll would sometimes wear a whole -sheet of foolscap in an evening dress! That was extravagant, but our -daughters must be in the fashion. There was one yellow dress belonging -to my doll Parthenia (a lovely creature of Jewish aspect, whose waist -was smaller than her legs), which is not even now to be remembered -without emotion. We built houses for the paper-dolls with books from the -parlor table, even borrowing some from the bookcase when we wanted an -extra suite of rooms. I do not say it was good for the books, but it was -very convenient for the dolls. I have reason to think that our mother -did not know of this practice. In the matter of their taking exercise, -however, she aided us materially, giving us sundry empty trinket-boxes -lined with satin, which made the most charming carriages in the world. -The state coach was a silver-gilt portemonnaie lined with red silk. It -had seen better days, and the clasp was broken; but that did not make it -less available as a coach. I wish you could have seen Parthenia in it! - -I do not think we cared so much for other dolls, yet there were some -that must be mentioned. Vashti Ann was named for a cook; she belonged -to Julia, and I have an idea that she was of a very haughty and -disagreeable temper, though I cannot remember her personal appearance. -Still more shadowy is my recollection of Eliza Viddipock,--a name to be -spoken with bated breath. What dark crime this wretched doll had -committed to merit her fearful fate, I do not know; it was a thing not -to be spoken of to the younger children, apparently. But I do know that -she was hanged, with all solemnity of judge and hangman. It seems unjust -that I should have forgotten the name of Julia’s good doll, who died, -and had the cover of the sugar-bowl buried with her, as a tribute to her -virtues. - -Sally Bradford and Clara both belonged to Laura. Sally was an -india-rubber doll; Clara, a doll with a china head of the old-fashioned -kind, smooth, shining black hair, brilliant rosy cheeks, and calm (very -calm) blue eyes. I prefer this kind of doll to any other. Clara’s life -was an uneventful one, on the whole, and I remember only one remarkable -thing in it. A little girl in the neighborhood invited Laura to a -dolls’ party on a certain day: she was to bring Clara by special -request. Great was the excitement, for Laura was very small, and had -never yet gone to a party. A seamstress was in the house making the -summer dresses, and our mother said that Clara should have a new frock -for the party. It seemed a very wonderful thing to have a real new white -muslin frock, made by a real seamstress, for one’s beloved doll. Clara -had a beautiful white neck, so the frock was made low and trimmed with -lace. When the afternoon came, Laura brought some tiny yellow roses from -the greenhouse, and the seamstress sewed them on down the front of the -frock and round the neck and hem. It is not probable that any other doll -ever looked so beautiful as Clara when her toilet was complete. - -Then Laura put on her own best frock, which was not one half so fine, -and tied on her gray felt bonnet, trimmed with quillings of pink and -green satin ribbon, and started off, the proudest and happiest child in -the whole world. She reached the house (it was very near) and climbed -up the long flight of stone steps, and stood on tiptoe to ring the -bell,--then waited with a beating heart. Would there be many other -dolls? Would any of them be half so lovely as Clara? Would -there--dreadful thought!--would there be big girls there? - -The door opened. If any little girls read this they will now be very -sorry for Laura. There was no dolls’ party! Rosy’s mother (the little -girl’s name was Rosy) had heard nothing at all about it; Rosy had gone -to spend the afternoon with Sarah Crocker. - -“Sorry, little girl! What a pretty dolly! Good-by, dear!” and then the -door was shut again. - -Laura toddled down the long stone steps, and went solemnly home. She did -not cry, because it would not be nice to cry in the street; but she -could not see very clearly. She never went to visit Rosy again, and -never knew whether the dolls’ party had been forgotten, or why it was -given up. - -Before leaving the subject of dolls, I must say a word about little -Maud’s first doll. Maud was a child of rare beauty, as beautiful as -Julia, though very different. Her fair hair was of such color and -quality that our mother used to call her Silk-and-silver, a name which -suited her well; her eyes were like stars under their long black lashes. -So brilliant, so vivid was the child’s coloring that she seemed to flash -with silver and rosy light as she moved about. She was so much younger -than the others that in many of their reminiscences she has no share; -yet she has her own stories, too. A friend of our father’s, being much -impressed with this starry beauty of the child, thought it would be -pleasant to give her the prettiest doll that could be found; accordingly -he appeared one day bringing a wonderful creature, with hair almost like -Maud’s own, and great blue eyes that opened and shut, and cheeks whose -steadfast roses did not flash in and out, but bloomed always. I think -the doll was dressed in blue and silver, but am not sure; she was -certainly very magnificent. - -Maud was enchanted, of course, and hugged her treasure, and went off -with it. It happened that she had been taken only the day before to see -the blind children at the Institution near by, where our father spent -much of his time. It was the first time she had talked with the little -blind girls, and they made a deep impression on her baby mind, though -she said little at the time. As I said, she went off with her new doll, -and no one saw her for some time. At length she returned, flushed and -triumphant. - -“My dolly is blind, now!” she cried; and she displayed the doll, over -whose eyes she had tied a ribbon, in imitation of Laura Bridgman. “She -is blind Polly! ain’t got no eyes ’t all!” - -Alas! it was even so. Maud had poked the beautiful blue glass eyes till -they fell in, and only empty sockets were hidden by the green ribbon. -There was a great outcry, of course; but it did not disturb Maud in the -least. She wanted a blind doll, and she had one; and no pet could be -more carefully tended than was poor blind Polly. - -More precious than any doll could be, rises in my memory the majestic -form of Pistachio. It was Flossy, ever fertile in invention, who -discovered the true worth of Pistachio, and taught us to regard with awe -and reverence this object of her affection. Pistachio was an oval -mahogany footstool, covered with green cloth of the color of the nut -whose name he bore. I have the impression that he had lost a leg, but am -not positive on this point. He was considered an invalid, and every -morning he was put in the baby-carriage and taken in solemn procession -down to the brook for his morning bath. One child held a parasol over -his sacred head (only he had no head!), two more propelled the carriage, -while the other two went before as outriders. No mirth was allowed on -this occasion, the solemnity of which was deeply impressed on us. -Arrived at the brook, Pistachio was lifted from the carriage by his -chief officer, Flossy herself, and set carefully down on the flat stone -beside the brook. His sacred legs were dipped one by one into the clear -water, and dried with a towel. Happy was the child who was allowed to -perform this function! After the bath, he was walked gently up and -down, and rubbed, to assist the circulation; then he was put back in his -carriage, and the procession started for home again, with the same -gravity and decorum as before. The younger children felt sure there was -some mystery about Pistachio. I cannot feel sure, even now, that he was -nothing more than an ordinary oval cricket; but his secret, whatever it -was, has perished with him. - -I perceive that I have said little or nothing thus far about Harry; yet -he was a very important member of the family. The only boy: and such a -boy! He was by nature a Very Imp, such as has been described by Mr. -Stockton in one of his delightful stories. Not two years old was he when -he began to pull the tails of all the little dogs he met,--a habit which -he long maintained. The love of mischief was deeply rooted in him. It -was not safe to put him in the closet for misbehavior; for he cut off -the pockets of the dresses hanging there, and snipped the fringe off his -teacher’s best shawl. Yet he was a sweet and affectionate child, with a -tender heart and sensitive withal. When about four years old, he had the -habit of summoning our father to breakfast; and, not being able to say -the word, would announce, “Brescott is ready!” This excited mirth among -the other children, which he never could endure; accordingly, one -morning he appeared at the door of the dressing-room and said solemnly, -“Papa, your food is prepared!” - -It is recorded of this child that he went once to pay a visit to some -dear relatives, and kept them in a fever of anxiety until he was taken -home again. One day it was his little cousin’s rocking-horse, which -disappeared from the nursery, and shortly after was seen airing itself -on the top of the chimney, kicking its heels in the sunshine, and -appearing to enjoy its outing. Another time it was down the chimney that -the stream of mischief took its way; and a dear and venerable visitor -(no other than Dr. Coggeshall, of Astor Library fame), sitting before -the fire in the twilight, was amazed by a sudden shower of boots -tumbling down, one after another, into the ashes, whence he -conscientiously rescued them with the tongs, at peril of receiving some -on his good white head. - -Such boots and shoes as escaped this fiery ordeal were tacked by Master -Harry to the floor of the closets in the various rooms; and while he was -in the closet, what could be easier or pleasanter than to cut off the -pockets of the dresses hanging there? Altogether, Egypt was glad when -Harry departed; and I do not think he made many more visits away from -home, till he had outgrown the days of childhood. - -At the age of six, Harry determined to marry, and offered his hand and -heart to Mary, the nurse, an excellent woman some thirty years older -than he. He sternly forbade her to sew or do other nursery work, saying -that his wife must not work for her living. About this time, too, he -told our mother that he thought he felt his beard growing. - -He was just two years older than Laura, and the tie between them was -very close. Laura’s first question to a stranger was always, “Does you -know my bulla Hally? I hope you does!” and she was truly sorry for any -one who had not that privilege. - -The two children slept in tiny rooms adjoining each other. It was both -easy and pleasant to “talk across” while lying in bed, when they were -supposed to be sound asleep. Neither liked to give up the last word of -greeting, and they would sometimes say “Good-night!” “Good-night!” over -and over, backward and forward, for ten minutes together. In general, -Harry was very kind to Laura, playing with her, and protecting her from -any roughness of neighbor children. (They said “bunnit” and “apurn,” and -“I wunt;” and we were fond of correcting them, which they not brooking, -quarrels were apt to ensue.) But truth compels me to tell of one -occasion on which Harry did not show a brotherly spirit. In the garden, -under a great birch-tree, stood a trough for watering the horses. It was -a large and deep trough, and always full of beautiful, clear water. It -was pleasant to lean over the edge, and see the sky and the leaves of -the tree reflected as if in a crystal mirror; to see one’s own rosy, -freckled face, too, and make other faces; to see which could open eyes -or mouth widest. - -Now one day, as little Laura, being perhaps four years old, was hanging -over the edge of the trough, forgetful of all save the delight of -gazing, it chanced that Harry came up behind her; and the spirit of -mischief that was always in him triumphed over brotherly affection, and -he - - “Ups with her heels, - And smothers her squeals” - -in the clear, cold water. - -Laura came up gasping and puffing, her hair streaming all over her round -face, her eyes staring with wonder and fright! - -By the time help arrived, as it fortunately did, in the person of Thomas -the gardener, poor Laura was in a deplorable condition, half choked with -water, and frightened nearly out of her wits. - -Thomas carried the dripping child to the house and put her into Mary’s -kind arms, and then reported to our mother what Harry had done. - -We were almost never whipped; but for this misdeed Harry was put to bed -at once, and our mother, sitting beside him, gave him what we used to -call a “talking to,” which he did not soon forget. - -Nurse Mary probably thought it would gratify Laura to know that naughty -Harry was being punished for his misdoings; but she had mistaken her -child. When the mother came back to the nursery from Harry’s room, she -found Laura (in dry raiment, but with cheeks still crimson and shining) -sitting in the middle of the floor, with clenched fists and flashing -eyes, and roaring at the top of her lungs, “I’ll tumble my mudder down -wid a ’tick!” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -GREEN PEACE. - - -Not many children can boast of having two homes; some, alas! have hardly -one. But we actually had two abiding-places, both of which were so dear -to us that we loved them equally. First, there was Green Peace. When our -mother first came to the place, and saw the fair garden, and the house -with its lawn and its shadowing trees, she gave it this name, half in -sport; and the title clung to it always. - -The house itself was pleasant. The original building, nearly two hundred -years old, was low and squat, with low-studded rooms, and great posts in -the corners, and small many-paned windows. As I recall it now, it -consisted largely of cupboards,--the queerest cupboards that ever were; -some square and some three-cornered, and others of no shape - -[Illustration: MAUD.] - -at all. They were squeezed into staircase walls, they lurked beside -chimneys, they were down near the floor, they were close beneath the -ceiling. It was as if a child had built the house for the express -purpose of playing hide-and-seek in it. Ah, how we children did play -hide-and-seek there! To lie curled up in the darkest corner of the -“twisty” cupboard, that went burrowing in under the front stairs,--to -lie curled up there, eating an apple, and hear the chase go clattering -and thumping by, that was a sensation! - -Then the stairs! There was not very much of them, for a tall man -standing on the ground floor could touch the top step with his hand. But -they had a great deal of variety; no two steps went the same way: they -seemed to have fallen out with one another, and never to have “made up” -again. When you had once learned how to go up and down, it was very -well, except in the dark; and even then you had only to remember that -you must tread on the farther side of the first two steps, and on the -hither side of the next three, and in the middle of four after, and -then you were near the top or the bottom, as the case might be, and -could scramble or jump for it. But it was not well for strangers to go -up and down those stairs. - -There was another flight that was even more perilous, but our father had -it boarded over, as he thought it unsafe for any one to use. One always -had a shiver in passing through a certain dark passage, when one felt -boards instead of plaster under one’s hand, and knew that behind those -boards lurked the hidden staircase. There was something uncanny about -it,-- - - “O’er all there hung the shadow of a fear; - A sense of mystery the spirit daunted.” - -Perhaps the legend of the hidden staircase was all the more awful -because it was never told. - -Just to the right of the school-room, a door opened into the new part of -the house which our father had built. The first room was the great -dining-room; and very great it was. On the floor was a wonderful carpet, -all in one piece, which was made in France, and had belonged to Joseph -Bonaparte, a brother of the great Emperor. In the middle was a medallion -of Napoleon and Marie Louise, with sun-rays about them; then came a -great circle, with strange beasts on it ramping and roaring (only they -roared silently); and then a plain space, and in the corners birds and -fishes such as never were seen in air or sea. Yes, that _was_ a carpet! -It was here we danced the wonderful dances. We hopped round and round -the circle, and we stamped on the beasts and the fishes; but it was not -good manners to step on the Emperor and Empress,--one must go round -them. Here our mother sang to us; but the singing belongs to another -chapter. - -The great dining-room had a roof all to itself,--a flat roof, covered -with tar and gravel, and railed in; so that one could lie on one’s face -and kick one’s heels, pick out white pebbles, and punch the bubbles of -tar all hot in the sun. - -But, after all, we did not stay in the house much. Why should we, with -the garden calling us out with its thousand voices? On each side of the -house lay an oval lawn, green as emerald. One lawn had the -laburnum-tree, where at the right time of year we sat under a shower of -fragrant gold; the other had the three hawthorn-trees, one with white -blossoms, another with pink, and a third with deep red, rose-like -flowers. Other trees were there, but I do not remember them. Directly in -front of the house stood two giant Balm-of-Gilead trees, towering over -the low-roofed dwelling. These trees were favorites of ours, for at a -certain time they dropped down to us thousands and thousands of sticky -catkins, full of the most charming, silky cotton. We called them the -“cottonwool-trees,” and loved them tenderly. Then, between the trees, a -flight of steps plunged down to the green-house. A curious place this -was,--summer-house, hot-house, and bowling-alley, all in one. The -summer-house part was not very interesting, being all filled with seeds -and pots and dry bulbs, and the like. But from it a swing-door opened -into Elysium! Here the air was soft and balmy, and full of the smell of -roses. One went down two steps, and there were the roses themselves! -Great vines trained along the walls, heavy with long white or yellow or -tea-colored buds,--I remember no red ones. Mr. Arrow, the gardener, -never let us touch the roses, and he never gave us a bud; but when a -rose was fully open, showing its golden heart, he would often pick it -for us, with a sigh, but a kind look too. Mr. Arrow was an Englishman, -stout and red-faced. Julia made a rhyme about him once, beginning,-- - - “Poor Mr. Arrow, he once was narrow, - But that was a long time ago.” - -Midway in the long glass-covered building was a tiny oval pond, lined -with green moss. I think it once had goldfish in it, but they did not -thrive. When Mr. Arrow was gone to dinner, it was pleasant to fill the -brass syringe with water from this pond, and squirt at the roses, and -feel the heavy drops plashing back in one’s upturned face. Sometimes a -child fell into the pond; but as the water was only four or five inches -deep, no harm was done, save to stockings and petticoats. - -The bowling-alley was divided by a low partition from the hot-house, so -that when we went to play at planets we breathed the same soft, perfumed -air. The planets were the balls. The biggest one was Uranus; then came -Saturn, and so on down to Mercury, a little dot of a ball. They were of -some dark, hard, foreign wood, very smooth, with a dusky polish. It was -a great delight to roll them, either over the smooth floor, against the -ninepins, or along the rack at the side. When one rolled Uranus or -Jupiter, it sounded like thunder,--Olympian thunder, suggestive of angry -gods. Then the musical tinkle of the pins, as they clinked and fell -together! Sometimes they were British soldiers, and we the Continentals, -firing the “iron six-pounder” from the other end of the battle-field. -Sometimes, regardless of dates, we introduced artillery into the Trojan -war, and Hector bowled Achilles off his legs, or _vice versa_. - -The bowling-alley was also used for other sports. It was here that -Flossy gave a grand party for Cotchy, her precious Maltese cat. All the -cat-owning little girls in the neighborhood were invited, and about -twelve came, each bringing her pet in a basket. Cotchy was beautifully -dressed in a cherry-colored ribbon, which set off her gray, satiny coat -to perfection. She received her guests with much dignity, but was not -inclined to do much toward entertaining them. Flossy tried to make the -twelve cats play with one another, but they were shy on first -acquaintance, and a little stiff. Perhaps Flossy did not in those days -know the proper etiquette for introducing cats, though since then she -has studied all kinds of etiquette thoroughly. But the little girls -enjoyed themselves, if the cats did not, and there was a great deal of -chattering and comparing notes. Then came the feast, which consisted of -milk and fish-bones; and next every cat had her nose buttered by way of -dessert. Altogether, the party was voted a great success. - -Below, and on both sides of the green-house, the fertile ground was set -thick with fruit-trees, our father’s special pride. The pears and -peaches of Green Peace were known far and wide; I have never seen such -peaches since, nor is it only the halo of childish recollection that -shines around them, for others bear the same testimony. Crimson-glowing, -golden-hearted, smooth and perfect as a baby’s cheek, each one was a -thing of wonder and beauty; and when you ate one, you ate summer and -sunshine. Our father gave us a great deal of fruit, but we were never -allowed to take it ourselves without permission; indeed, I doubt if it -ever occurred to us to do so. One of us still remembers the thrill of -horror she felt when a little girl who had come to spend the afternoon -picked up a fallen peach and ate it, without asking leave. It seemed a -dreadful thing not to know that the garden was a field of honor. As to -the proverbial sweetness of stolen fruit, we knew nothing about it. The -fruit was sweet enough from our dear father’s hand, and, as I said, he -gave us plenty of it. - -How was it, I wonder, that this sense of honor seemed sometimes to stay -in the garden and not always to come into the house? - -[Illustration: LAURA WAS FOUND IN THE SUGAR-BARREL.] - -For as I write, the thought comes to me of a day when Laura was found -with her feet sticking out of the sugar-barrel, into which she had -fallen head foremost while trying to get a lump of sugar. She has never -eaten a lump of sugar, save in her tea, since that day. Also, it is -recorded of Flossy and Julia, that, being one day at the Institution, -they found the store-room open, and went in, against the law. There was -a beautiful polished tank, which appeared to be full of rich brown -syrup. Julia and Flossy liked syrup; so each filled a mug, and then they -counted one, two, three, and each took a good draught,--and it was -train-oil! - -But in both these cases the culprits were hardly out of babyhood; so -perhaps they had not yet learned about the “broad stone of honor,” on -which it is good to set one’s feet. - -I must not leave the garden without speaking of the cherry-trees. These -must have been planted by early settlers, perhaps by the same hand that -planned the crooked stairs and quaint cupboards of the old -house,--enormous trees, gnarled and twisted like ancient apple-trees, -and as sturdy as they. They had been grafted--whether by our father’s or -some earlier hand I know not--with the finest varieties of -“white-hearts” and “black-hearts,” and they bore amazing quantities of -cherries. These attracted flocks of birds, which our father in vain -tried to frighten away with scarecrows. Once he put the cat in a -bird-cage, and hung her up in the white-heart tree; but the birds soon -found that she could not get at them, and poor pussy was so miserable -that she was quickly released. - -I perceive that we shall not get to the summer home in this chapter; but -I must say a word about the Institution for the Blind, which was within -a few minutes’ walk of Green Peace. - -Many of our happiest hours were spent in this pleasant place, the home -of patient cheerfulness and earnest work. We often went to play with the -blind children when our lessons and theirs were over, and they came -trooping out into the sunny playground. I do not think it occurred to us -to pity these boys and girls deprived of one of the chief sources of -pleasure in life; they were so happy, so merry, that we took their -blindness as a matter of course. - -Our father often gave us baskets of fruit to take to them. That was a -great pleasure. We loved to turn the great globe in the hall, and, -shutting our eyes, pass our fingers over the raised surfaces, trying to -find different places. We often “played blind,” and tried to read the -great books with raised print, but never succeeded that I remember. The -printing-office was a wonderful place to linger in; and one could often -get pieces of marbled paper, which was valuable in the paper-doll world. -Then there was the gymnasium, with its hanging rings, and its wonderful -tilt, which went up so high that it took one’s breath away. Just beyond -the gymnasium, were some small rooms, in which were stored worn-out -pianos, disabled after years of service under practising fingers. It was -very good fun to play on a worn-out piano. There were always a good many -notes that really sounded, and they had quite individual sounds, not -like those of common pianos; then there were some notes that buzzed, and -some that growled, and some that made no noise at all; and one could -poke in under the cover, and twang the strings, and play with the -chamois-leather things that went flop (we have since learned that they -are called hammers), and sometimes pull them out, though that seemed -wicked. - -Then there was the matron’s room, where we were always made welcome by -the sweet and gracious woman who still makes sunshine in that place by -her lovely presence. Dear Miss M---- was never out of patience with our -pranks, had always a picture-book or a flower or a curiosity to show us, -and often a story to tell when a spare half-hour came. For her did -Flossy and Julia act their most thrilling tragedies, no other spectators -being admitted. To her did Harry and Laura confide their infant joys and -woes. Other friends will have a chapter to themselves, but it seems most -fitting to speak of this friend here, in telling of the home she has -made bright for over fifty years. - -Over the way from the Institution stood the workshop, where blind men -and women, many of them graduates of the Institution, made mattresses -and pillows, mats and brooms. This was another favorite haunt of ours. -There was a stuffy but not unpleasant smell of feathers and hemp about -the place. I should know that smell if I met it in Siberia! There were -coils of rope, sometimes so large that one could squat down and hide in -the middle, piles of hemp, and dark mysterious bins full of curled hair, -white and black. There was a dreadful mystery about the black-hair bin; -the little ones ran past it, with their heads turned away. But they -never told what it was, and one of them never knew. - -But the crowning joy of the workshop was the feather-room,--a long room, -with smooth, clean floor; along one side of it were divisions, like the -stalls in a stable, and each division was half filled with feathers. Boy -and girl readers will understand what a joy this must have been,--to sit -down in the feathers, and let them cover you up to the neck, and be a -setting hen! or to lie at full length, and be a traveller lost in the -snow,--Harry making it snow feathers till you were all covered up, and -then turning into the faithful hound and dragging you out! or to play -the game of “Winds,” and blow the feathers about the room! But old -Margaret did not allow this last game, and we could do it only when she -happened to go out for a moment, which was not very often. Old Margaret -was the presiding genius of the feather-room, a half-blind woman, who -kept the feathers in order and helped to sew up the pillows and -mattresses. She was always kind to us, and let us rake feathers with the -great wooden rake as much as we would. Later, when Laura was perhaps ten -years old, she used to go and read to old Margaret. Mrs. Browning’s -poems were making a new world for the child at that time, and she never -felt a moment’s doubt about the old woman’s enjoying them: in after -years doubts did occur to her. - -It was probably a quaint picture, if any one had looked in upon it: the -long, low room, with the feather-heaps, white and dusky gray; the -half-blind, withered crone, nodding over her knitting, and the little -earnest child, throwing her whole soul into “The Romaunt of the Page,” -or the “Rhyme of the Duchess May.” - - “Oh! the little birds sang east, - And the little birds sang west, - Toll slowly!” - -The first sound of the words carries me back through the years to the -feather-room and old blind Margaret. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -THE VALLEY. - - -The time of our summer flitting varied. Sometimes we stayed at Green -Peace till after strawberry-time, and lingered late at the Valley; -sometimes we went early, and came back in time for the peaches. But in -one month or another there came a season of great business and bustle. -Woollen dresses were put away in the great cedar-lined camphor-chests -studded with brass nails; calico dresses were lengthened, and joyfully -assumed; trunks were packed, and boxes and barrels; carpets were taken -up and laid away; and white covers were put over pictures and mirrors. -Finally we departed, generally in more or less confusion. - -I remember one occasion when our rear column reached the Old Colony -Station just as the train was starting. The advance-guard, consisting -of our mother and the older children, was already on board; and Harry -and Laura have a vivid recollection of being caught up by our father and -tumbled into the moving baggage-car, he flashing in after us, and all -sitting on trunks, panting, till we were sufficiently revived to pass -through to our seats in the passenger-car. In those days the railway ran -no farther than Fall River. There we must take a carriage and drive -twelve miles to our home in the Island of Rest. Twelve long and weary -miles they were, much dreaded by us all. The trip was made in a large -old-fashioned vehicle, half hack, half stage. The red cushions were hard -and uncomfortable; the horses were aged; their driver, good, -snuff-colored Mr. Anthony, felt keenly his duty to spare them, and -considered the passengers a minor affair. So we five children were -cramped and cooped up, I know not how long. It seemed hours that we must -sit there, while the ancient horses crawled up the sandy hills, or -jogged meditatively along the level spaces. Every joint developed a -separate ache; our legs were cramped,--the short ones from hanging over -the seat, the long ones because the floor of the coach was piled with -baskets and bandboxes. It was hot, hot! The flies buzzed, and would not -let one go to sleep; the dust rolled in thick yellow clouds from under -the wheels, and filled eyes and mouth, and set all a-sneezing. -Decidedly, it was a most tiresome jaunt. But all the more delightful was -the arrival! To drive in under the apple-trees, just as the evening was -falling cool and sweet; to tumble out of the stuffy prison-coach, and -race through the orchard, and out to the barn, and up the hill behind -the house,--ah, that was worth all the miseries of the journey! - -From the hill behind the house we could see the sunset; and that was one -thing we did not have at Green Peace, shut in by its great trees. Here, -before our eyes, still aching from the dust of the road, lay the great -bay, all a sheet of silver, with white sails here and there; beyond it -Conanicut, a long island, brown in the noon-light, now softened into -wonderful shades of amethyst and violet; and the great sun going down in -a glory of gold and flame! Nowhere else are such sunsets. Sometimes the -sky was all strewn with fiery flakes and long delicate flame-feathers, -glowing with rosy light; sometimes there were purple cloud-islands, -edged with crimson, and between them and the real island a space of -delicate green, so pure, so cold, that there is nothing to compare with -it save a certain chrysoprase our mother had. - -Gazing at these wonders, the children would stand, full of vague -delight, not knowing what they thought, till the tea-bell summoned them -to the house for a merry picnic supper. Then there was clattering -upstairs, washing of hands in the great basin with purple grapes on it -(it belonged in the guest-chamber, and we were not allowed to use it -save on special occasions like this), hasty smoothing of hair and -straightening of collars, and then clatter! clatter! down again. - -There was nothing remarkable about the house at the Valley. It was just -a pleasant cottage, with plenty of sunny windows and square, -comfortable rooms. But we were seldom in the house, save at meal-times -or when it rained; and our real home was under the blue sky. First, -there was the orchard. It was an ideal orchard, with the queerest old -apple-trees that ever were seen. They did not bear many apples, but they -were delightful to climb in, with trunks slanting so that one could -easily run up them, and branches that curled round so as to make a -comfortable back to lean against. There are few pleasanter things than -to sit in an apple-tree and read poetry, with birds twittering -undismayed beside you, and green leaves whispering over your head. Laura -was generally doing this when she ought to have been mending her -stockings. - -Then there was the joggling-board, under the two biggest trees. The -delight of a joggling-board is hardly to be explained to children who -have never known it; but I trust many children do know it. The board is -long and smooth and springy, supported at both ends on stands; and one -can play all sorts of things on it. Many a circus has been held on the -board at the Valley! We danced the tight-rope on it; we leaped through -imaginary rings, coming down on the tips of our toes; we hopped its -whole length on one foot; we wriggled along it on our stomachs, on our -backs; we bumped along it on hands and knees. Dear old joggling-board! -it is not probable that any other was ever quite so good as ours. - -Near by was the pump, a never-failing wonder to us when we were little. -The well over which it stood was very deep, and it took a long time to -bring the bucket up. It was a chain-pump, and the chain went -rattlety-clank! rattlety-clank! round and round; and the handle creaked -and groaned,--“Ah-_ho_! ah-_ho_!” When you had turned a good while there -came out of the spout a stream of--water? No! of daddy-long-legses! They -lived, apparently, in the spout, and they did not like the water; so -when they heard the bucket coming up, with the water going “lip! lap!” -as it swung to and fro, they came running out, dozens and dozens of -them, probably thinking what unreasonable people we were to disturb -them. When the water did finally come, it was wonderfully cold, and -clear as crystal. - -The hill behind the house was perhaps our favorite play-room. It was a -low, rocky hill, covered with “prostrate juniper” bushes, which bore -blue berries very useful in our housekeeping. At the top of the rise the -bare rock cropped out, dark gray, covered with flat, dry lichens. This -was our house. It had several rooms: the drawing-room was really -palatial,--a broad floor of rock, with flights of steps leading up to -it. The state stairway was used for kings and queens, conquerors, and -the like; the smaller was really more convenient, as the steps were more -sharply defined, and you were not so apt to fall down them. Then there -was the dining-room rock, where meals were served,--daisy pudding and -similar delicacies; and the kitchen rock, which had a real oven, and the -most charming cupboards imaginable. Here were stored hollyhock cheeses, -and sorrel leaves, and twigs of black birch, fragrant and spicy, and -many other good things. - -On this hill was celebrated, on the first of August, the annual festival -of “Yeller’s Day.” This custom was begun by Flossy, and adhered to for -many years. Immediately after breakfast on the appointed day, all the -children assembled on the top of the hill and yelled. Oh, how we yelled! -It was a point of honor to make as much noise as possible. We roared and -shrieked and howled, till we were too hoarse to make a sound; then we -rested, and played something else, perhaps, till our voices were -restored, and then--yelled again! Yeller’s Day was regarded as one of -the great days of the summer. By afternoon we were generally quite -exhausted, and we were hoarse for several days afterward. I cannot -recommend this practice. In fact, I sincerely hope that no child will -attempt to introduce it; for it is very bad for the voice, and might in -some cases do real injury. - -Almost every morning we went down to the bay to bathe. It was a walk of -nearly a mile through the fields,--such a pleasant walk! The fields were -not green, but of a soft russet, the grass being thin and dry, with -great quantities of a little pinkish fuzzy plant whose name we never -knew.[1] They were divided by stone walls, which we were skilful in -climbing. In some places there were bars which must be let down, or -climbed over, or crawled through, as fancy suggested. There were many -blackberries, of the lowbush variety, bearing great clusters of berries, -glossy, beautiful, delicious. We were not allowed to eat them on the way -down, but only when coming home. Some of these fields belonged to the -Cross Farmer, who had once been rude to us. We regarded him as a manner -of devil, and were always looking round to see if his round-shouldered, -blue-shirted figure were in sight. At last the shore was reached, and -soon we were all in the clear water, shrieking with delight, paddling -about, puffing and blowing like a school of young porpoises. - -At high-tide the beach was pebbled; at low-tide we went far out, the -ground sloping very gradually, to a delightful place where the bottom -was of fine white sand, sparkling as if mixed with diamond dust. -Starfish crawled about on it, and other creatures,--crabs, too, -sometimes, that would nip an unwary toe if they got a chance. Sometimes -the water was full of jelly-fish, which we did not like, in spite of -their beauty. Beyond the white sand was a bed of eel-grass, very -dreadful, not to be approached. If a person went into it, he was -instantly seized and entangled, and drowned before the eyes of his -companions. This was our firm belief. It was probably partly due to -Andersen’s story of the “Little Sea-Maid,” which had made a deep -impression on us all, with its clutching polyps and other submarine -terrors. - -We all learned to swim more or less, but Flossy was the best swimmer. - -Sometimes we went to bathe in the afternoon instead of the morning, if -the tide suited better. I remember one such time when we came -delightfully near having an adventure. It was full moon, and the tide -was very high. We had loitered along the beach after our bath, gathering -mussels to boil for tea, picking up gold-shells or scallop-shells, and -punching seaweed bladders, which pop charmingly if you do them right. - -German Mary, the good, stupid nurse who was supposed to be taking care -of us, knew nothing about tides; and when we came back to the little -creek which we must cross on leaving the beach, lo! the creek was a -deep, broad stream, the like of which we had never seen. What was to be -done? Valiant Flossy proposed to swim across and get help, but Mary -shrieked and would not hear of it, and we all protested that it was -impossible. Then we perceived that we must spend the night on the beach; -and when we were once accustomed to the idea, it was not without -attraction for us. The sand was warm and dry, and full of shells and -pleasant things; it was August, and the night would be just cool enough -for comfort after the hot day; we had a pailful of blackberries which we -had picked on the way down, meaning to eat them during our homeward -walk; Julia could tell us stories. Altogether it would be a very -pleasant occasion. And then to think of the romance of it! “The -Deserted Children!” “Alone on a Sandbank!” “The Watchers of the Tide!” -There was no end to the things that could be made out of it. So, though -poor Mary wept and wrung her hands, mindful (which I cannot remember -that we were) of our mother waiting for us at home, we were all very -happy. - -The sun went down in golden state. Then, turning to the land, we watched -the moon rising, in softer radiance, but no less wonderful and glorious. -Slowly the great orb rose, turning from pale gold to purest silver. The -sea darkened, and presently a little wind came up, and began to sing -with the murmuring waves. We sang, too, some of the old German -student-songs which our mother had taught us, and which were our -favorite ditties. They rang out merrily over the water:-- - - _Die Binschgauer wollten wallfahrten geh’n!_ - (The Binschgauer would on a pilgrimage go!) - -or,-- - - _Was kommt dort von der Hoh’?_ - (What comes there over the hill?) - -Then Julia told us a story. Perhaps it was the wonderful story of -Red-cap,--a boy who met a giant in the forest, and did something to help -him, I cannot remember what. Whereupon the grateful giant gave Red-cap a -covered silver dish, with a hunter and a hare engraved upon it. When the -boy wanted anything he must put the cover on, and ask the hunter and -hare to give him what he desired; but there must be a rhyme in the -request, else it could not be granted. Red-cap thanked the giant, and as -soon as he was alone put the cover on the dish and said,-- - - “Silver hunter, silver hare, - Give me a ripe and juicy pear!” - -Taking off the cover, he found the finest pear that ever was seen, -shining like pure gold, with a crimson patch on one side. It was so -delicious that it made Red-cap hungry; so he covered the dish again and -said: - - “Silver hunter, silver rabbit, - Give me an apple, and I’ll grab it!” - -Off came the cover, and, lo! there was an apple the very smell of which -was too good for any one save the truly virtuous. It was so large that -it filled the dish, and its flavor was not to be described, so wonderful -was it! A third time the happy Red-cap covered his dish, and cried,-- - - “Hunter and hare, of silver each, - Give me a soft and velvet peach!” - -And when he saw the peach he cried out for joy, for it was like the -peaches that grew on the crooked tree just by the south door of the -greenhouse at Green Peace; and those were the best trees in the garden, -and therefore the best in the world. - -The trouble about this story is that I never can remember any more of -it, and I cannot find the book that contains it. But it must have been -about this time that we were hailed from the opposite side of the creek; -and presently a boat was run out, and came over to the sand beach and -took us off. The people at the Poor Farm, which was on a hill close by, -had seen the group of Crusoes and come to our rescue. They greeted us -with words of pity (which were quite unnecessary), rowed us to the -shore, and then kindly harnessed the farm-horse and drove us home. -German Mary was loud in her thanks and expressions of relief; our mother -also was grateful to the good people; but from us they received scant -and grudging thanks. If they had only minded their own business and let -us alone, we could have spent the night on a sandbank. Now it was not -likely that we ever should! And, indeed, we never did. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -OUR FATHER. - -(THE LATE DR. SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE.) - - -There is so much to tell about our father that I hardly know where to -begin. First, you must know something of his appearance. He was tall and -very erect, with the carriage and walk of a soldier. His hair was black, -with silver threads in it; his eyes were of the deepest and brightest -blue I ever saw. They were eyes full of light: to us it was the soft, -beaming light of love and tenderness, but sometimes to others it was the -flash of a sword. He was very handsome; in his youth he had been thought -one of the handsomest men of his day. It was a gallant time, this youth -of our father. When hardly more than a lad, he went out to help the -brave Greeks who were fighting to free their country from the cruel -yoke of the Turks. At an age when most young men were thinking how they -could make money, and how they could best advance themselves in the -world, our father thought only how he could do most good, be of most -help to others. So he went out to Greece, and fought in many a battle -beside the brave mountaineers. Dressed like them in the “snowy chemise -and the shaggy capote,” he shared their toils and their hardships; -slept, rolled in his cloak, under the open stars, or sat over the -camp-fire, roasting wasps strung on a stick like dried cherries. The old -Greek chieftains called him “the beautiful youth,” and loved him. Once -he saved the life of a wounded Greek, at the risk of his own, as you -shall read by and by in Whittier’s beautiful words; and the rescued man -followed him afterward like a dog, not wishing to lose sight of him for -an hour, and would even sleep at his feet at night. - -Our father’s letters and journals give vivid pictures of the wild life -among the rugged Greek mountains. Now he describes his - -[Illustration: DR. SAMUEL GRIDLEY HOWE.] - -lodging in a village, which he has reached late at night, in a pouring -rain:-- - - “Squatted down upon a sort of straw pillow placed on the ground, I - enjoy all the luxury of a Grecian hut; which in point of elegance, - ease, and comfort, although not equal to the meanest of our negro - huts, is nevertheless somewhat superior to the naked rock. We have - two apartments, but no partitions between them, the different rooms - being constituted by the inequality of the ground,--we living up - the hill, while the servants and horses live down in the lower - part; and the smoke of our fires, rising to the roof and seeking in - vain for some hole to escape, comes back again to me.” - -Again, he gives a pleasant account of his visit to a good old Greek -priest, who lived with his family in a tiny cottage, the best house in -the village. He found the good old man just sitting down to supper with -his wife and children, and was invited most cordially to join them. The -supper consisted of a huge beet, boiled, and served with butter and -black bread. This was enough for the whole family, and the guest too; -and after describing the perfect contentment and cheerfulness which -reigned in the humble dwelling, our father makes some reflections on the -different things which go to make up a pleasant meal, and decides that -the old “Papa” (as a Greek priest is called) had a much better supper -than many rich people he remembered at home, who feasted three times a -day on all that money could furnish in the way of good cheer, and found -neither joy nor comfort in their victuals. - -Once our father and his comrades lay hidden for hours in the hollow of -an ancient wall (built thousands of years ago, perhaps in Homer’s day), -while the Turks, scimitar in hand, scoured the fields in search of them. -Many years after, he showed this hollow to Julia and Laura, who went -with him on his fourth journey to Greece, and told them the story. - -When our father saw the terrible sufferings of the Greek women and -children, who were starving while their husbands and fathers were -fighting for life and freedom, he thought that he could help best by -helping them; so, though I know he loved the fighting, for he was a -born soldier, he came back to this country, and told all that he had -seen, and asked for money and clothes and food for the perishing wives -and mothers and children. He told the story well, and put his whole -heart into it; and people listen to a story so told. Many hearts beat in -answer to his, and in a short time he sailed for Greece again, with a -good ship full of rice and flour, and cloth to make into garments, and -money to buy whatever else might be needed. When he landed in Greece, -the women came flocking about him by thousands, crying for bread, and -praying God to bless him. He felt blessed enough when he saw the -children eating bread, and saw the naked backs covered, and the sad, -hungry faces smiling again. So he went about doing good, and helping -whenever he saw need. Perhaps many a poor woman may have thought that -the beautiful youth was almost like an angel sent by God to relieve her; -and she may not have been far wrong. - -When the war was over, and Greece was a free country, our father came -home, and looked about him again to see what he could do to help -others. He talked with a friend of his, Dr. Fisher, and they decided -that they would give their time to helping the blind, who needed help -greatly. There were no schools for them in those days; and if a child -was blind, it must sit with folded hands and learn nothing. - -Our father found several blind children, and took them to his home and -taught them. By and by some kind friends gave money, and one--Colonel -Perkins--gave a fine house to be a school for these children and others; -and that was the beginning of the Perkins Institution for the Blind, now -a great school where many blind boys and girls learn to read and study, -and to play on various instruments, and to help themselves and others in -the world. - -Our father always said, “Help people to help themselves; don’t accustom -them to being helped by others.” Another saying of his, perhaps his -favorite one, next to the familiar “Let justice be done, if the heavens -fall!” was this: “Obstacles are things to be overcome.” Indeed, this -was one of the governing principles of his life; and there were few -obstacles that did not go down before that keen lance of his, always in -rest and ready for a charge. - -When our father first began his work in philanthropy, some of his -friends used to laugh at him, and call him Don Quixote. Especially was -this the case when he took up the cause of the idiotic and weak-minded, -and vowed that instead of being condemned to live like animals, and be -treated as such, they should have their rights as human beings, and -should be taught all the more carefully and tenderly because their minds -were weak and helpless. - -“What do you think Howe is going to do now?” cried one gentleman to -another, merrily. “He is going to teach the idiots, ha, ha, ha!” and -they both laughed heartily, and thought it a very good joke. But people -soon ceased to laugh when they saw the helpless creatures beginning to -help themselves; saw the girls learning to sew and the boys to work; saw -light gradually come into the vacant eyes (dim and uncertain light it -might be, but how much better than blank darkness!), and strength and -purpose to the nerveless fingers. - -So the School for Feeble-minded Children was founded, and has been ever -since a pleasant place, full of hope and cheer; and when people found -that this Don Quixote knew very well the difference between a giant and -a windmill, and that he always brought down his giants, they soon ceased -to laugh, and began to wonder and admire. - -All my readers have probably heard about Laura Bridgman, whom he found a -little child, deaf, dumb, and blind, knowing no more than an animal, and -how he taught her to read and write, to talk with her fingers, and to -become an earnest, thoughtful, industrious woman. It is a wonderful -story; but it has already been told, and will soon be still more fully -told, so I will not dwell upon it now. - -But I hope you will all read, some day, a Life of our father, and learn -about all the things he did, for it needs a whole volume to tell them. - -But it is especially as our father that I want to describe this great -and good man. I suppose there never was a tenderer or kinder father. He -liked to make companions of his children, and was never weary of having -us “tagging” at his heels. We followed him about the garden like so many -little dogs, watching the pruning or grafting which were his special -tasks. We followed him up into the wonderful pear-room, where were many -chests of drawers, every drawer full of pears lying on cotton-wool. Our -father watched their ripening with careful heed, and told us many things -about their growth and habits. We learned about the Curé pear, which, -one fancied, had been named for an old gentleman with a long and waving -nose; and about the Duchesse d’Angoulême, which suggested, in appearance -as in name, a splendid dame in gold and crimson velvet. Then there were -all the Beurrés, from the pale beauty of the Beurré Diel to the Beurré -Bosc in its coat of rich russet, and the Easter Beurré, latest of all. -There, too, was the Winter Nelis,--which we persisted in calling “Winter -Nelly,” and regarded as a friend of our own age, though this never -prevented us from eating her with delight whenever occasion -offered,--and the Glout Morceau, and the Doyenne d’Eté, and hundreds -more. Julia’s favorite was always the Bartlett, which appealed to her -both by its beauty and its sweetness; but Flossy always held, and Laura -held with her, and does hold, and will hold till she dies, that no pear -is to be named in the same breath with the Louise Bonne de Jersey. - -Oh good Louise, you admirable woman, for whom this green-coated ambrosia -was named! what a delightful person you must have been! How sweetness -and piquancy must have mingled in your adorable disposition! Happy was -the man who called you his! happy was the island of Jersey, which saw -you and your pears ripening and mellowing side by side! - -I must not leave the pear-room without mentioning the beloved Strawberry -Book, which was usually to be found there, and over which we children -used to pore by the hour together. “Fruits of America” was its real -name, but we did not care for that; we loved it for its brilliant -pictures of strawberries and all other fruits, and perhaps even more for -the wonderful descriptions which were really as satisfying as many an -actual feast. Was it not almost as good as eating a pear, to read these -words about it:-- - - “Skin a rich golden yellow, dappled with orange and crimson, smooth - and delicate; flesh smooth, melting, and buttery; flavor rich, - sprightly, vinous, and delicious!” - -Almost as good, I say, but not quite; and it is pleasant to recall that -we seldom left the pear-room empty-handed. - -Then there was his own room, where we could examine the wonderful -drawers of his great bureau, and play with the “picknickles” and -“bucknickles.” I believe our father invented these words. They -were--well, all kinds of pleasant little things,--amber mouthpieces, and -buckles and bits of enamel, and a wonderful Turkish pipe, and seals and -wax, and some large pins two inches long which were great treasures. On -his writing-table were many clean pens in boxes, which you could lay out -in patterns; and a sand-box--very delightful! We were never tired of -pouring the fine black sand into our hands, where it felt so cool and -smooth, and then back again into the box with its holes arranged -star-fashion. And to see him shake sand over his paper when he wrote a -letter, and then pour it back in a smooth stream, while the written -lines sparkled and seemed to stand up from the page! Ah, blotting-paper -is no doubt very convenient, but I should like to have a sand-box, -nevertheless! - -I cannot remember that our father was ever out of patience when we -pulled his things about. He had many delightful stories,--one of “Jacky -Nory,” which had no end, and went on and on, through many a walk and -garden prowl. Often, too, he would tell us of his own pranks when he was -a little boy,--how they used to tease an old Portuguese sailor with a -wooden leg, and how the old man would get very angry, and cry out, -“Calabash me rompe you!” meaning, “I’ll break your head!” How when he -was a student in college, and ought to have known better, he led the -president’s old horse upstairs and left him in an upper room of one of -the college buildings, where the poor beast astonished the passers-by by -putting his head out of the windows and neighing. And then our father -would shake his head and say he was a very naughty boy, and Harry must -never do such things. (But Harry did!) - -He loved to play and romp with us. Sometimes he would put on his great -fur-coat, and come into the dining-room at dancing-time, on all-fours, -growling horribly, and pursue us into corners, we shrieking with -delighted terror. Or he would sing for us, sending us into fits of -laughter, for he had absolutely no ear for music. There was one tune -which he was quite sure he sang correctly, but no one could recognize -it. At last he said, “Oh--Su-_san_na!” and then we all knew what the -tune was. “Hail to the Chief!” was his favorite song, and he sang it -with great spirit and fervor, though the air was strictly original, and -very peculiar. When he was tired of romping or carrying us on his -shoulder, he would say, “No; no more! I have a bone in my leg!” which -excuse was accepted by us little ones in perfect good faith, as we -thought it some mysterious but painful malady. - -If our father had no ear for music, he had a fine one for metre, and -read poetry aloud very beautifully. His voice was melodious and ringing, -and we were thrilled with his own enthusiasm as he read to us from Scott -or Byron, his favorite poets. I never can read “The Assyrian came down,” -without hearing the ring of his voice and seeing the flash of his blue -eyes as he recited the splendid lines. He had a great liking for Pope, -too (as I wish more people had nowadays), and for Butler’s “Hudibras,” -which he was constantly quoting. He commonly, when riding, wore but one -spur, giving Hudibras’s reason, that if one side of the horse went, the -other must perforce go with it; and how often, on some early morning -walk or ride, have I heard him say,-- - - “And, like a lobster boiled, the morn - From black to red began to turn.” - -Or if war or fighting were mentioned, he would often cry,-- - - “Ay me! what perils do environ - The man that meddles with cold iron!” - -I must not leave the subject of reading without speaking of his reading -of the Bible, which was most impressive. No one who ever heard him read -morning prayers at the Institution (which he always did until his health -failed in later years) can have forgotten the grave, melodious voice, -the reverent tone, the majestic head bent above the sacred book. Nor was -it less impressive when on Sunday afternoons he read to us, his -children. He would have us read, too, allowing us to choose our favorite -psalms or other passages. - -He was an early riser, and often shared our morning walks. Each child, -as soon as it was old enough, was taught to ride; and the rides before -breakfast with him are things never to be forgotten. He took one child -at a time, so that all in turn might have the pleasure. It seems hardly -longer ago than yesterday,--the coming downstairs in the cool, dewy -morning, nibbling a cracker for fear of hunger, springing into the -saddle, the little black mare shaking her head, impatient to be off; the -canter through the quiet streets, where only an early milkman or baker -was to be seen, though on our return we should find them full of boys, -who pointed the finger and shouted,-- - - “Lady on a hossback, - Row, row, row!” - -then out into the pleasant country, galloping over the smooth road, or -pacing quietly under shady trees. Our father was a superb rider; indeed, -he never seemed so absolutely at home as in the saddle. He was very -particular about our holding whip and reins in the right way. - -Speaking of his riding reminds me of a story our mother used to tell us. -When Julia was a baby, they were travelling in Italy, driving in an -old-fashioned travelling-carriage. One day they stopped at the door of -an inn, and our father went in to make some inquiries. While he was -gone, the rascally driver thought it a good opportunity for him to slip -in at the side door to get a draught of wine; and, the driver gone, the -horses saw that here was _their_ opportunity; so they took it, and ran -away with our mother, the baby, and nurse in the carriage. - -Our father, hearing the sound of wheels, came out, caught sight of the -driver’s guilty face peering round the corner in affright, and at once -saw what had happened. He ran at full speed along the road in the -direction in which the horses were headed. Rounding a corner of the -mountain which the road skirted, he saw at a little distance a country -wagon coming slowly toward him, drawn by a stout horse, the wagoner half -asleep on the seat. Instantly our father’s resolve was taken. He ran up, -stopped the horse, unhitched him in the twinkling of an eye, leaped upon -his back, and was off like a flash, before the astonished driver, who -was not used to two-legged whirlwinds, could utter a word. - -Probably the horse was equally astonished; but he felt a master on his -back, and, urged by hand and voice, he sprang to his topmost speed, -galloped bravely on, and soon overtook the lumbering carriage-horses, -which were easily stopped. No one was hurt, though our mother and the -nurse had of course been sadly frightened. The horses were turned, and -soon they came in sight of the unhappy countryman, still sitting on his -wagon, petrified with astonishment. He received a liberal reward, and -probably regretted that there were no more mad Americans to “steal a -ride,” and pay for it. - -This presence of mind, this power of acting on the instant, was one of -our father’s great qualities. It was this that made him, when the -wounded Greek sank down before him-- - - “ ... fling him from his saddle, - And place the stranger there.” - -It was this, when arrested and imprisoned by the Prussian government on -suspicion of befriending unhappy Poland, that taught him what to do with -the important papers he carried. In the minute during which he was left -alone, before the official came to search - -[Illustration: THE DOCTOR TO THE RESCUE!] - -him, he thrust the documents up into the hollow head of a bust of the -King of Prussia which stood on a shelf; then tore some unimportant -papers into the smallest possible fragments, and threw them into a basin -of water which stood close at hand. - -Next day the fragments carefully pasted together were shown to him, -hours having been spent in the painful and laborious task; but nobody -thought of looking for more papers in the head of King Friedrich -Wilhelm. - -Our father, though nothing could be proved against him, might have -languished long in that Prussian prison had it not been for the -exertions of a fellow-countryman. This gentleman had met him in the -street the day before, had asked his address, and promised to call on -him. Inquiring for him next day at the hotel, he was told that no such -person was or had been there. Instantly suspecting foul play, this good -friend went to the American minister, and told his story. The minister -took up the matter warmly, and called upon the Prussian officials to -give up his countryman. This, after repeated denials of any knowledge -of the affair, they at length reluctantly consented to do. Our father -was taken out of prison at night, placed in a carriage, and driven -across the border into France, where he was dismissed with a warning -never to set foot in Prussia again. - -One day, I remember, we were sitting at the dinner-table, when a -messenger came flying, “all wild with haste and fear,” to say that a -fire had broken out at the Institution. Now, in those days there lay -between Green Peace and the Institution a remnant of the famous -Washington Heights, where Washington and his staff had once made their -camp. - -Much of the high ground had already been dug away, but there still -remained a great hill sloping back and up from the garden wall, and -terminating, on the side toward the Institution, in an abrupt precipice, -some sixty feet high. The bearer of the bad news had been forced to come -round by way of several streets, thus losing precious minutes; but the -Doctor did not know what it was to lose a minute. Before any one could -speak or ask what he would do he was out of the house, ran through the -garden, climbed the slope at the back, rushed like a flame across the -green hill-top, and slid down the almost perpendicular face of the -precipice! Bruised and panting, he reached the Institution and saw at a -glance that the fire was in the upper story. Take time to go round to -the door and up the stairs? Not he! He “swarmed” up the gutter-spout, -and in less time than it takes to tell it was on the roof, and cutting -away at the burning timbers with an axe, which he had got hold of no one -knows how. That fire was put out, as were several others at which our -father assisted. - -Fire is swift, but it could not get ahead of the Doctor. - -These are a few of the stories; but, as I said, it needs a volume to -tell all about our father’s life. I cannot tell in this short space how -he worked with the friends of liberty to free the slave; how he raised -the poor and needy, and “helped them to help themselves;” how he was a -light to the blind, and to all who walked in darkness, whether of -sorrow, sin, or suffering. Most men, absorbed in such high works as -these would have found scant leisure for family life and communion; but -no finger-ache of our father’s smallest child ever escaped his loving -care, no childish thought or wish ever failed to win his sympathy. We -who had this high privilege of being his children love to think of him -as the brave soldier, the wise physician, the great philanthropist; but -dearest of all is the thought of him as our loving and tender father. - -And now, to end this chapter, you shall hear what Mr. Whittier, the -noble and honored poet, thought of this friend of his:-- - - -THE HERO. - - “Oh for a knight like Bayard, - Without reproach or fear; - My light glove on his casque of steel, - My love-knot on his spear! - - “Oh for the white plume floating - Sad Zutphen’s field above,-- - The lion heart in battle, - The woman’s heart in love! - - “Oh that man once more were manly, - Woman’s pride and not her scorn; - That once more the pale young mother - Dared to boast ‘a man is born’! - - “But now life’s slumberous current - No sun-bowed cascade wakes; - No tall, heroic manhood - The level dullness breaks. - - “Oh for a knight like Bayard, - Without reproach or fear! - My light glove on his casque of steel, - My love-knot on his spear!” - - Then I said, my own heart throbbing - To the time her proud pulse beat, - “Life hath its regal natures yet,-- - True, tender, brave, and sweet! - - “Smile not, fair unbeliever! - One man at least I know - Who might wear the crest of Bayard, - Or Sidney’s plume of snow. - - “Once, when over purple mountains - Died away the Grecian sun, - And the far Cyllenian ranges - Paled and darkened one by one,-- - - “Fell the Turk, a bolt of thunder, - Cleaving all the quiet sky; - And against his sharp steel lightnings - Stood the Suliote but to die. - - “Woe for the weak and halting! - The crescent blazed behind - A curving line of sabres - Like fire before the wind! - - “Last to fly and first to rally, - Rode he of whom I speak, - When, groaning in his bridle-path, - Sank down a wounded Greek.-- - - “With the rich Albanian costume - Wet with many a ghastly stain, - Gazing on earth and sky as one - Who might not gaze again! - - “He looked forward to the mountains, - Back on foes that never spare; - Then flung him from his saddle, - And placed the stranger there. - - “‘Alla! hu!’ Through flashing sabres, - Through a stormy hail of lead, - The good Thessalian charger - Up the slopes of olives sped. - - “Hot spurred the turbaned riders,-- - He almost felt their breath, - Where a mountain stream rolled darkly down - Between the hills and death. - - “One brave and manful struggle,-- - He gained the solid land, - And the cover of the mountains - And the carbines of his band.” - - “It was very brave and noble,” - Said the moist-eyed listener then; - “But one brave deed makes no hero; - Tell me what he since hath been?” - - “Still a brave and generous manhood, - Still an honor without stain, - In the prison of the Kaiser, - By the barricades of Seine. - - “But dream not helm and harness - The sign of valor true; - Peace hath higher tests of manhood - Than battle ever knew. - - “Wouldst know him now? Behold him, - The Cadmus of the blind, - Giving the dumb lip language, - The idiot clay a mind; - - “Walking his round of duty - Serenely day by day, - With the strong man’s hand of labor, - And childhood’s heart of play; - - “True as the knights of story, - Sir Lancelot and his peers, - Brave in his calm endurance - As they in tilt of spears. - - “As waves in stillest waters, - As stars in noon-day skies, - All that wakes to noble action - In his noon of calmness lies. - - “Wherever outraged nature - Asks word or action brave; - Wherever struggles labor, - Wherever groans a slave; - - “Wherever rise the peoples, - Wherever sinks a throne,-- - The throbbing heart of Freedom finds - An answer in his own! - - “Knight of a better era, - Without reproach or fear! - Said I not well that Bayards - And Sidneys still are here?” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -JULIA WARD. - - -Once upon a time, in a great house standing at the corner of Bond Street -and Broadway, New York city, there lived a little girl. She was named -Julia, after her lovely young mother; but as she grew she showed no -resemblance to that mother, with her great dark eyes and wealth of black -ringlets. This little girl had red hair, and that was a dreadful thing -in those days. Very fine, soft hair it was, thick and wavy, but--it was -red. Visitors, coming to see her mother, would shake their heads and -say, “Poor little Julia! what a pity she has red hair!” and the tender -mother would sigh, and regret that her child should have this -misfortune, when there was no red hair in the family so far as one knew. -And the beautiful hair was combed with a leaden comb, as one old lady -said that would turn it dark; and it was soaked in honey-water, as -another old lady said that was really the best thing you could do with -it; and the little Julia felt that she might almost as well be a -hunchback or a cripple as that unfortunate creature, a red-haired child. - -When she was six years old, her beautiful mother died; and after that -Julia and her brothers and sisters were brought up by their good aunt, -who came to make her home with them and their father. A very good aunt -she was, and devoted to the motherless children; but sometimes she did -funny things. They went out to ride every day--the children, I mean--in -a great yellow chariot lined with fine blue cloth. Now, it occurred to -their kind aunt that it would have a charming effect if the children -were dressed to match the chariot. So thought, so done! Dressmakers and -milliners plied their art; and one day Broadway was electrified by the -sight of the little Misses Ward, seated in uneasy state on the blue -cushions, clad in wonderful raiment of yellow and blue. They - -[Illustration: JULIA WARD AND HER BROTHERS, AS CHILDREN. - -(From a miniature by Miss Anne Hall.)] - -had blue pelisses and yellow satin bonnets. And this was all very well -for the two younger ones, with their dark eyes and hair, and their rosy -cheeks; but Julia, young as she was, felt dimly that blue and yellow was -not the combination to set off her tawny locks and exquisite sea-shell -complexion. It is not probable, however, that she sorrowed deeply over -the funny clothes; for her mind was never set on clothes, either in -childhood or in later life. Did not her sister meet her one day coming -home from school with one blue shoe and one green? Her mind was full of -beautiful thoughts; her eyes were lifted to the green trees and the blue -sky bending above them: what did she care about shoes? Yes; and later is -it not recorded that her sisters had great difficulty in persuading her -to choose the stuff for her wedding-gown? So indifferent was she to all -matters of dress! - -Auntie F. had her own ideas about shoes and stockings,--not the color, -but the quality of them. She did not believe in “pompeying” the -children; so in the coldest winter weather Julia and her sisters went -to school in thin slippers and white cotton stockings. You shiver at the -bare thought of this, my girl readers! You look at your comfortable -leggings and overshoes (that is, if you live in upper New England, or -anywhere in the same latitude), and wonder how the Ward children lived -through such a course of “hardening”! But they did live, and Julia seems -now far younger and stronger than any of her children. - -School, which some children regard with mingled feelings (or so I have -been told), was a delight to Julia. She grasped at knowledge with both -hands,--plucked it as a little child plucks flowers, with unwearying -enjoyment. Her teachers, like the “people” in the case of the - - “Young lady whose eyes - Were unique as to color and size,” - -all turned aside, and started away in surprise, as this little -red-haired girl went on learning and learning and learning. At nine -years old she was studying Paley’s “Moral Philosophy,” with girls of -sixteen and eighteen. She could not have been older when she heard a -class reciting an Italian lesson, and fell in love with the melodious -language. She listened, and listened again; then got a grammar and -studied secretly, and one day handed to the astonished Italian teacher a -letter correctly written in Italian, begging that she might join the -class. - -When I was speaking of the good aunt who was a second mother to the Ward -children, I meant to say a word of the stern but devoted father who was -the principal figure in Julia’s early life. She says of him: “He was a -majestic person, of somewhat severe aspect and reserved manners, but -with a vein of true geniality and a great benevolence of heart.” And she -adds: “His great gravity, and the absence of a mother, naturally subdued -the tone of the whole household; and though a greatly cherished set of -children, we were not a very merry one.” - -Still, with all his gravity, Grandfather Ward had his gleams of fun -occasionally. It is told that Julia had a habit of dropping off her -slippers while at table. One day her father felt a wandering shell of -kid, with no foot to keep it steady. He put his own foot on it and moved -it under his chair, then said in his deep, grave voice, “My daughter, -will you bring me my seals, which I have left on the table in my room?” -And poor Julia, after a vain and frantic hunting with both feet, was -forced to go, crimson-cheeked, white-stockinged and slipperless, on the -required errand. She would never have dreamed of asking for the shoe. -She was the eldest daughter, the companion and joy of this sternly -loving father. She always sat next him at table, and sometimes he would -take her right hand in his left, and hold it for many minutes together, -continuing to eat his dinner with his right hand; while she would rather -go dinnerless than ask him to release her own fingers. - -Grandfather Ward! It is a relief to confess our faults; and it may be my -duty to say that as soon as I could reach it on tiptoe, it was my joy to -pull the nose of his marble bust, which stood in the great dining-room -at Green Peace. It was a fine, smooth, long nose, most pleasant to -pull; I fear I soiled it sometimes with my little grimy fingers. I trust -children never do such naughty things nowadays. - -Then there was Great-grandfather Ward, Julia’s grandfather, who had the -cradle and the great round spectacles. Doubtless he had many other -things besides, for he was a substantial New York merchant; but the -cradle and the spectacles are the only possessions of his that I have -seen. I have the cradle now, and I can testify that Great-grandfather -Ward (for I believe he was rocked in it, as his descendants for four -generations since have been) must have been an extremely long baby. It -is a fine old affair, of solid mahogany, and was evidently built to last -as long as the Wards should last. Not so very long ago, two dear people -who had been rocked together in that cradle fifty--or is it -sixty?--years ago, sat down and clasped hands over it, and wept for pure -love and tenderness and _léal souvenir_. Not less pleasant is its -present use as the good ship “Pinafore,” when six rosy, shouting -children tumble into it and rock violently, singing with might and -main,-- - - “We sail the ocean blue, - And our saucy ship’s a beauty!” - -That is all about the cradle. - -My mother writes thus of Great-grandfather Ward, her own grandfather:-- - - “He had been a lieutenant-colonel in the war of American - Independence. A letter from the Commander-in-Chief to Governor - Samuel Ward (of Rhode Island) mentions a visit from “your son, a - tall young man of soldierly aspect.” I cannot quote the exact - words. My grandfather had seen service in Arnold’s march through - ‘the wilderness’ to Quebec. He was present at the battle of Red - Bank. After the close of the war he engaged in commercial pursuits, - and made a voyage to India as supercargo of a merchant vessel - belonging to Moses Brown, of Providence. He was in Paris at the - time of the king’s death (Louis XVI.), and for some time before - that tragic event. He speaks in his journal of having met several - of the leading revolutionists of that time at a friend’s house, and - characterizes them as ‘exceeding plain men, but very zealous.’ He - passed the day of the king’s execution, which he calls ‘one of - horror,’ in Versailles, and was grieved at the conduct of several - -[Illustration: LIEUT.-COL. SAMUEL WARD. - -Born Nov 17, 1756 Died Aug. 16, 1832.] - - Americans, who not only remained in town, but also attended the - execution. When he finally left Paris, a proscribed nobleman, - disguised as a footman, accompanied the carriage, and so cheated - the guillotine of one expected victim. - - “Colonel Ward, as my grandfather was always called, was a graduate - of Brown University, and a man of scholarly tastes. He possessed a - diamond edition of Latin classics, which always went with him in - his campaigns, and which is still preserved in the family. In - matters of art he was not so well posted. Of the pictures in the - gallery of the Luxembourg he remarks in his diary: ‘The old - pictures are considered the best. I cannot think why.’ - - “I remember him as very tall, stooping a little, with white hair - and mild blue eyes, which matched well his composed speech and - manners.” - -I have called Great-grandfather Ward a merchant, but he was far more -than that. The son of Governor Ward of Rhode Island, he was only -eighteen when, as a gallant young captain, he marched his company to the -siege of Boston; and then (as his grandson writes me to-day) he “marched -through the wilderness of Maine, through snow and ice, barefoot, to -Quebec.” Some of my readers may possess an engraving of Trumbull’s -famous painting of the “Attack on Quebec.” Look in the left-hand corner, -and you will see a group of three,--one of them a young, active figure -with flashing eyes; that is Great-grandfather Ward. He rose to be major, -then lieutenant-colonel; was at Peekskill, Valley Forge, and Red Bank, -and wrote the official account of the last-named battle, which may be -found in Washington’s correspondence. Besides being a good man and a -brave soldier, he was a very good grandfather; and this made it all the -more naughty for his granddaughter Julia to behave as she did one day. -Being then a little child, she sat down at the piano, placed a -music-book on the rack, and began to pound and thump on the keys, making -the hideous discord which seems always to afford pleasure to the young. -Her grandfather was sitting by, book in hand; and after enduring the -noise for some time patiently, he said in his kind, courtly way, “Is it -so set down in the book, my dear?” - -“Yes, Grandpapa!” said naughty Julia, and went on banging; while -grandpapa, who made no pretense of being a musician, offered no further -comment or remonstrance. - -Julia grew up a student and a dreamer. She confesses to having been an -extremely absent person, and much of the time unconscious of what passed -around her. “In the large rooms of my father’s house,” she says, “I -walked up and down, perpetually alone, dreaming of extraordinary things -that I should see and do. I now began to read Shakspere and Byron, and -to try my hand at poems and plays.” She rejoices that none of the -productions of this period were published, and adds: “I regard it as a -piece of great good fortune; for a little praise or a little censure -would have been a much more disturbing element in those days than in -these.” I wish these sentiments were more general with young writers. - -Still, life was not all study and dreaming. There were sometimes -merrymakings: witness the gay ball after which Julia wrote to her -brother, “I have been through the burning fiery furnace; and I am -Sad-rake, Me-sick, and Abed-no-go.” There was mischief, too, and -sometimes downright naughtiness, Who was the poor gentleman, an intimate -friend of the family, from whom Julia and her sisters extracted a -promise that he would eat nothing for three days but what they should -send him,--they in return promising three meals a day? He consented, -innocently thinking that these dear young creatures wanted to display -their skill in cookery, and expecting all kinds of delicacies and airy -dainties of pastry and confectionery. Yes! and being a man of his word, -he lived for three days on gruel, of which those “dear young creatures” -sent him a bowl at morning, noon, and night; and on nothing else! - -In a certain little cabinet where many precious things are kept, I have -a manuscript poem, written by Julia Ward for the amusement of her -brothers and sisters when she was still a very young girl. It is called -“The Ill-cut Mantell; A Romaunt of the time of Kynge Arthur.” The story -is an old one, but the telling of it is all Julia’s own, and I must -quote a few lines:-- - - “I cannot well describe in rhyme - The female toilet of that time. - I do not know how trains were carried, - How single ladies dressed or married; - If caps were proper at a ball, - Or even if caps were worn at all; - If robes were made of crape or tulle, - If skirts were narrow, gored, or full. - Perhaps, without consulting grace, - The hair was scraped back from the face, - While on the head a mountain rose, - Crowned, like Mont Blanc, with endless snows. - It may be that the locks were shorn; - It may be that the lofty puff, - The stomacher, the rising ruff, - The bodice, or the veil were worn, - Perhaps mantillas were the passion, - Perhaps ferronières were in fashion,-- - I cannot, and I will not tell. - But this one thing I wot full well, - That every lady there was dressed - In what she thought became her best. - All further notices, I grieve, - I must to your imagination leave.” - -Julia sometimes tried to awaken in her sisters’ minds the poetic -aspirations which filled her own. One day she found the two little girls -playing some childish game, which seemed to her unnecessarily frivolous. -(You all know, I am sure, the eldest sister’s motto,-- - - “Good advice and counsel sage, - And ‘I never did so when I was your age;’” - -and the companion sentiment of the younger sister,-- - - “‘Sister, don’t!’ and ‘Sister, do!’ - And ‘Why may not I as well as you?’”) - -Miss Ward,--she was always called Miss Ward, poor little dear! and her -dolls were taken away from her when she was only nine years old, that -she might better feel the dignity of her position!--Miss Ward rebuked -the little sisters, and bade them lay aside their foolish toys and -improve their minds by composing poetry. Louisa shook her black curls, -and would not,--moreover, did not, being herself a child of some -firmness. But little sweet Annie would try, to please Sister Julia; and -after much thought and labor she produced the following pious -effusion:-- - - “He feeds the ravens when they call, - And stands them in a pleasant hall.” - -I never can recall these lines without having an instant vision of a -pillared hall, fair and - -[Illustration: JULIA WARD.] - -stately, with ravens standing in niches along the sides, between the -marble columns! - -So this maiden, Julia, grew up to womanhood, dreamy and absent, absorbed -in severe study and composition, yet always ready with the brilliant -flashes of her wit, which broke like sunbeams through the mist of -dreams. She was very fair to look upon. No one now pitied her for the -glorious crown of red-gold hair, which set off the rose and ivory of her -matchless complexion; every one recognized and acknowledged in her -“stately Julia, queen of all.” - -Once, while on a visit to Boston, Julia heard the wonderful story of -Laura Bridgman, who had just been led out of darkness into the light of -life and joy by a certain Dr. Howe, a man of whom people spoke as a -modern paladin of romance, a Roland or Bayard. She saw him, and felt at -once that he was the most remarkable man she had ever known. He, on his -part, saw a youthful prophetess, radiant and inspired, crowned with -golden hair. Acquaintance ripened into friendship, friendship into love; -and so it happened that, in the year 1843, Samuel G. Howe and Julia -Ward were married. The next chapter shall tell you of Julia Ward Howe, -as we, her children, have known her. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -OUR MOTHER. - -(MRS JULIA WARD HOWE.) - - -Our mother’s story should be sung rather than said, so much has music to -do with it. My earliest recollection of my mother is of her standing by -the piano in the great dining-room, dressed in black velvet, with her -beautiful neck and arms bare, and singing to us. Her voice was a very -rare and perfect one, we have since learned; we knew then only that we -did not care to hear any one else sing when we might hear her. The time -for singing was at twilight, when the dancing was over, and we gathered -breathless and exhausted about the piano for the last and greatest -treat. Then the beautiful voice would break out, and flood the room with -melody, and fill our childish hearts with almost painful rapture. Our -mother knew all the songs in the world,--that was our firm belief. -Certainly we never found an end to her repertory. - -There were German student songs, which she had learned from her brother -when he came back from Heidelberg,--merry, jovial ditties, with choruses -of “Juvevallera!” and “Za hi! Za he! Za ho-o-o-o-o-oh!” in which we -joined with boundless enthusiasm. There were gay little French songs, -all ripple and sparkle and trill; and soft, melting Italian serenades -and barcaroles, which we thought must be like the notes of the -nightingale. And when we called to have our favorites repeated again and -again, she would sing them over and over with never failing patience; -and not one of us ever guessed, as we listened with all our souls, that -the cunning mother was giving us a French lesson, or a German or Italian -lesson, as the case might be, and that what was learned in that way -would never be forgotten all our lives long. - -Besides the foreign songs, there were many songs of our mother’s own -making, which we were never weary of hearing. Sometimes - -[Illustration: JULIA WARD HOWE.] - -she composed a melody for some old ballad, but more often the words and -music both were hers. Where were such nonsense-songs as hers? - - “Little old dog sits under the chair, - Twenty-five grasshoppers snarled in his hair. - Little old dog’s beginning to snore, - Mother forbids him to do so no more.” - -Or again,-- - - “Hush, my darling, don’t you cry! - Your sweetheart will come by and by. - When he comes, he’ll come in green,-- - That’s a sign that you’re his queen. - - “Hush, my darling, don’t you cry! - Your sweetheart will come by and by. - When he comes, he’ll come in blue,-- - That’s a sign that he’ll be true.” - -And so on through all the colors of the rainbow, till finally -expectation was wrought up to the highest pitch by the concluding lines: - - “When he comes, he’ll come in gray,-- - That’s a sign he’ll come to-day!” - -Then it was a pleasant thing that each child could have his or her own -particular song merely for the asking. Laura well remembers her -good-night song, which was sung to the very prettiest tune in the world: - - “Sleep, my little child, - So gentle, sweet, and mild! - The little lamb has gone to rest, - The little bird is in its nest,”-- - -“Put in the donkey!” cried Laura, at this point of the first singing. -“Please put in the donkey!” So the mother went on,-- - - “The little donkey in the stable - Sleeps as sound as he is able; - All things now their rest pursue, - You are sleepy too.” - -It was with this song sounding softly in her ears, and with the -beautiful hand, like soft warm ivory, stroking her hair, that Laura used -to fall asleep. Do you not envy the child? - -Maud’s songs were perhaps the loveliest of all, though they could not be -dearer than my donkey-song. Here is one of them:-- - - “Baby with the hat and plume, - And the scarlet cloak so fine, - Come where thou hast rest and room, - Little baby mine! - - “Whence those eyes so crystal clear? - Whence those curls, so silky soft? - Thou art Mother’s darling dear, - I have told thee oft. - - “I have told thee many times, - And repeat it yet again, - Wreathing thee about with rhymes - Like a flowery chain,-- - - “Rhymes that sever and unite - As the blossom fetters do, - As the mother’s weary night - Happy days renew.” - -Perhaps some of my readers may already know the lovely verses called -“Baby’s Shoes.” - - “Little feet, pretty feet, - Feet of fairy Maud,-- - Fair and fleet, trim and neat, - Carry her abroad! - - “Be as wings, tiny things, - To my butterfly; - In the flowers, hours on hours, - Let my darling lie. - - “Shine ye must, in the dust, - Twinkle as she runs, - Threading a necklace gay, - Through the summer suns. - - “Stringing days, borrowing phrase, - Weaving wondrous plots, - With her eyes blue and wise - As forget-me-nots - - * * * * * - - “Cinderel, grown a belle, - Coming from her ball, - Frightened much, let just such - A tiny slipper fall. - - “If men knew as I do - Half thy sweets, my own, - They’d not delay another day,-- - I should be alone. - - “Come and go, friend and foe, - Fairy Prince most fine! - Take your gear otherwhere! - Maud is only mine.” - -But it was not all singing, of course. Our mother read to us a great -deal too, and told us stories, from the Trojan War down to “Puss in -Boots.” It was under her care, I think, that we used to look over the -“Shakspere book.” This was a huge folio, bound in rusty-brown leather, -and containing the famous Boydell prints illustrating the plays of -Shakspere. The frontispiece represented Shakspere nursed by Tragedy and -Comedy,--the prettiest, chubbiest of babies, seated on the ground with -his little toes curled up under him, while a lovely, laughing lady bent -down to whisper in his ear; and another one, grave but no less -beautiful, gazed earnestly upon him. Then came the “Tempest,”--oh, most -lovely! The first picture showed Ariel dancing along the “yellow sands,” -while Prospero waved him on with a commanding gesture; in the second, -Miranda, all white and lovely, was coming out of the darksome cavern, -and smiling with tender compassion on Ferdinand, who was trying to lift -an impossible log. Then there was the delicious terror of the “Macbeth” -pictures, with the witches and Banquo’s ghost. But soon our mother would -turn the page and show us the exquisite figure of Puck, sitting on a -toadstool, and make us shout with laughter over Nick Bottom and his -rustic mates. From these magic pages we learned to hate Richard III. -duly, and to love the little princes, whom Northcote’s lovely picture -showed in white-satin doublet and hose, embracing each other, while the -wicked uncle glowered at them from behind; and we wept over the second -picture, where they lay asleep, unconscious of the fierce faces bending -over them. Yes, we loved the “Shakspere book” very much. - -Sometimes our mother would give us a party,--and that was sure to be a -delightful affair, with charades or magic lantern or something of the -kind. Here is an account of one such party, written by our mother -herself in a letter to her sister, which lies before me:-- - - “My guests arrived in omnibus loads at four o’clock. My notes to - parents concluded with the following P. S.: ‘Return omnibus - provided, with insurance against plum-cake and other accidents.’ A - donkey carriage afforded great amusement out of doors, together - with swing, bowling-alley, and the Great Junk. [I have not - mentioned the Junk yet, but you shall hear of it in good time.] - While all this was going on, the H.’s, J. S., and I prepared a - theatrical exhibition, of which I had made a hasty outline. It was - the story of ‘Blue Beard.’ We had curtains which drew back and - forth, and regular footlights. You can’t think how good it was! - There were four scenes. My antique cabinet was the ‘Blue Beard’ - cabinet; we yelled in delightful chorus when the door was opened, - and the children stretched their necks to the last degree to see - the horrible sight. The curtain closed upon a fainting-fit, done by - four women. In the third scene we were scrubbing the fatal key, - when I cried out, ‘Try the mustang liniment! It’s _the_ liniment - for us, for you know we _must hang_ if we don’t succeed!’ This, - which was made on the spur of the moment, overcame the whole - audience with laughter, and I myself shook so that I had to go down - into the tub in which we were scrubbing the key. Well, to make a - long story short, our play was very successful, and immediately - afterward came supper. There were four long tables for the - children; twenty sat at each. Ice-cream, cake, blancmange, and - delicious sugar-plums, also oranges, etc., were served up ‘in - style.’ We had our supper a little later. Three omnibus-loads went - from my door; the last--the grown people--at nine o’clock.” - -In another letter to the same dear sister, our mother says:-- - - “I have written a play for our doll theatre, and performed it - yesterday afternoon with great success. It occupied nearly an hour. - I had alternately to grunt and squeak the parts, while Chev played - the puppets. [Chev was the name by which she always called our - father; it was an abbreviation of Chevalier, for he was always to - her the ‘knight without reproach or fear.’] The effect was really - extremely good. The spectators were in a dark room, and the little - theatre, lighted by a lamp from the top, looked very pretty.” - -This may have been the play of “Beauty and the Beast,” of which the -manuscript is unhappily lost. I can recall but one passage: - - “But he thought on ‘Beauty’s’ flower, - And he popped into a bower, - And he plucked the fairest rose - That grew beneath his nose.” - -I remember the theatre well, and the puppets. They were quite unearthly -in their beauty,--all except the “Beast,” a strange, fur-covered -monstrosity. The “Prince” was gilded in a most enchanting manner, and -his mustache curled with an expression of royal pride. I have seen no -other prince like him. - -All this was at Green Peace; but many as are the associations with her -beloved presence there, it is at the Valley that I most constantly -picture our mother. She loved the Valley more than any other place on -earth, I think; so it is always pleasant to fancy her there. Study -formed always an important part of her life. It was her delight and -recreation, when wearied with household cares, to plunge into German -metaphysics, or into the works of the Latin poets, whom she greatly -loved. She has told, in one of her own poems, how she used to sit under -the apple-trees with her favorite poet,-- - - “Here amid shadows, lovingly embracing, - Dropt from above by apple-trees unfruitful, - With a chance scholar, caught and held to help me, - Read I in Horace,” etc. - -But I do not think she had great need of the “chance scholar.” I -remember the book well,--two great brown volumes, morocco-bound, with -“Horatius Ed. Orelli” on the back. We naturally supposed this to be the -writer’s entire name; and to this day, ‘Quintus Horatius Flaccus’ -(though I have nothing to say against its authenticity) does not seem to -me as _real_ a name as “Horatius Ed. Orelli.” - -Our mother’s books,--alas that we should have been so familiar with the -outside of them, and have known so little of the inside! There was -Tacitus, who was high-shouldered and pleasant to handle, being bound in -smooth brown calf. There was Kant, who could not spell his own name (we -thought it ought to begin with a C!). There was Spinoza, whom we fancied -a hunchback, with a long, thin, vibrating nose. (“What’s in a name?” A -great deal, dear Juliet, I assure you.) Fichte had a sneezing sort of -face, with the nose all “squinnied up,” as we used to say; and as for -Hilpert, who wrote the great German dictionary, there can be no -reasonable doubt that he was a cripple and went on crutches, though I -have no authority to give for the fact beyond the resemblance of his -name to the Scotch verb “hirple,” meaning “to hobble.” - -Very, very much our mother loved her books. Yet how quickly were they -laid aside when any head was bumped, any knee scratched, any finger cut! -When we tumbled down and hurt ourselves, our father always cried, “Jump -up and take another!” and that was very good for us; but our mother’s -kiss made it easier to jump up. - -Horace could be brought out under the apple-trees; even Kant and Spinoza -sometimes came there, though I doubt whether they enjoyed the fresh air. -But our mother had other work besides study, and many of her most -precious hours were spent each day at the little black table in her own -room, where papers lay heaped like snowdrifts. Here she wrote the -beautiful poems, the brilliant essays, the earnest and thoughtful -addresses, which have given pleasure and help and comfort to so many -people throughout the length and breadth of the land. Many of her words -have become household sayings which we could not spare; but there is one -poem which every child knows, at whose opening line every heart, from -youth to age, must thrill,--“The Battle Hymn of the Republic.” Thirty -years have passed since this noble poem was written. It came in that -first year of the war, like the sound of a silver trumpet, like the -flash of a lifted sword; and all men felt that this was the word for -which they had been waiting. You shall hear, in our mother’s own words, -how it came to be written:-- - - “In the late autumn of the year 1861 I visited the national capital - in company with my husband Dr. Howe, and a party of friends, among - whom were Governor and Mrs. Andrew, Mr. and Mrs. E. P. Whipple, and - my dear pastor Rev. James Freeman Clarke. - - “The journey was one of vivid, even romantic interest. We were - about to see the grim Demon of War face to face; and long before we - reached the city his presence made itself felt in the blaze of - fires along the road where sat or stood our pickets, guarding the - road on which we travelled. - - “One day we drove out to attend a review of troops, appointed to - take place some distance from the city. In the carriage with me - were James Freeman Clarke and Mr. and Mrs. Whipple. The day was - fine, and everything promised well; but a sudden surprise on the - part of the enemy interrupted the proceedings before they were well - begun. A small body of our men had been surrounded and cut off from - their companions; reinforcements were sent to their assistance, and - the expected pageant was necessarily given up. The troops who were - to have taken part in it were ordered back to their quarters, and - we also turned our horses’ heads homeward. - - “For a long distance the foot-soldiers nearly filled the road. They - were before and behind, and we were obliged to drive very slowly. - We presently began to sing some of the well-known songs of the war, - and among them-- - - ‘John Brown’s body lies a-mouldering in the grave.’ - - This seemed to please the soldiers, who cried, ‘Good for you!’ and - themselves took up the strain. Mr. Clarke said to me, ‘You ought to - write some new words to that tune.’ I replied that I had often - wished to do so. - - “In spite of the excitement of the day I went to bed and slept as - usual, but awoke next morning in the gray of the early dawn, and to - my astonishment found that the wished-for lines were arranging - themselves in my brain. I lay quite still until the last verse had - completed itself in my thoughts, then hastily rose, saying to - myself, ‘I shall lose this if I don’t write it down immediately.’ I - searched for a sheet of paper and an old stump of a pen which I had - had the night before, and began to scrawl the lines almost without - looking, as I had learned to do by often scratching down verses in - the darkened room where my little children were sleeping. Having - completed this, I lay down again and fell asleep, but not without - feeling that something of importance had happened to me. - - “The poem was published soon after this time in the Atlantic - Monthly. It first came prominently into notice when Chaplain - McCabe, newly released from Libby Prison, gave a lecture in - Washington, and in the course of it told how he and his - fellow-prisoners, having somehow become possessed of a copy of the - ‘Battle Hymn,’ sang it with a will in their prison, on receiving - surreptitious tidings of a Union victory.” - -Our mother’s genius might soar as high as heaven on the wings of such a -song as this; but we always considered that she was tied to our little -string, and we never doubted (alas!) our perfect right to pull her down -to earth whenever a matter of importance--such as a doll’s funeral or a -sick kitten--was at hand. - -To her our confidences were made, for she had a rare understanding of -the child-mind. We were always sure that Mamma knew “just how it was.” - -To her did Julia, at the age of five, or it may have been six, impart -the first utterances of her infant Muse. “Mamma,” said the child, -trembling with delight and awe, “I have made a poem, and set it to -music!” Of course our mother was deeply interested, and begged to hear -the composition; whereupon, encouraged by her voice and smile, Julia -sang as follows:-- - -[Illustration: Music - -I had a lit-tle boy; -He died when he was young.] - -[Illusration: Music - -As soon as he was dead, -He walked upon his tongue!] - -Our mother’s ear for music was exquisitely fine,--so fine, that when she -was in her own room, and a child practising below-stairs played a false -note, she would open her door and cry, “B _flat_, clear! not B natural!” -This being; so, it was grievous to her when one day, during her precious -study hour, Harry came and chanted outside her door: - - “Hong-kong! hong-kong! hong-kong!” - -“Harry!” she cried, “do stop that dreadful noise!” But when the little -lad showed a piteous face, and said reproachfully, “Why, Mamma, I was -singing to you!” who so ready as our mother to listen to the funny song -and thank the child for it? - -When ten-year-old Laura wrote, in a certain precious little volume bound -in Scotch plaid, “Whence these longings after the infinite?” (I cannot -remember any more!) be sure that if any eyes were suffered to rest upon -the sacred lines they were those kind, clear, understanding gray eyes of -our mother. - -Through all and round all, like a laughing river, flowed the current of -her wit and fun. No child could be sad in her company. If we were cold, -there was a merry bout of “fisticuffs” to warm us; if we were too warm, -there was a song or story while we sat still and “cooled off.” We all -had nicknames, our own names being often too sober to suit her laughing -mood. We were “Petotty,” “Jehu,” “Wolly,” and “Bunks of Bunktown.” - -[Illustration: JULIA ROMANA HOWE.] - -On one occasion our mother’s presence of mind saved the life of the -child Laura, then a baby of two years old. We were all staying at the -Institution for some reason, and the nursery was in the fourth story of -the lofty building. One day our mother came into the room, and to her -horror saw little Laura rolling about on the broad window-sill, the -window being wide open; only a few inches space between her and the -edge, and then--the street, fifty feet below! The nurse was, I know not -where,--anywhere save where she ought to have been. Our mother stepped -quickly and quietly back out of sight, and called gently, “Laura! come -here, dear! Come to me! I have something to show you.” A moment’s -agonized pause,--and then she heard the little feet patter on the floor, -and in another instant held the child clasped in her arms. If she had -screamed, or rushed forward, the child would have started, and probably -would have fallen and been dashed to pieces. - -It was very strange to us to find other children holding their revels -without their father and mother. “Papa and Mamma” were always the life -and soul of ours. - -Our mother’s letters to her sister are delightful, and abound in -allusions to the children. In one of them she playfully upbraids her -sister for want of attention to the needs of the baby of the day, in -what she calls “Family Trochaics”:-- - - “Send along that other pink shoe - You have been so long in knitting! - Are you not ashamed to think that - Wool was paid for at Miss Carman’s - With explicit understanding - You should knit it for my baby? - And that baby’s now a-barefoot, - While your own, no doubt, has choice of - Pink, blue, yellow--every color, - For its little drawn-up toe-toes, - For its toe-toes, small as green peas, - Counted daily by the mother, - To be sure that none is missing!” - -Our mother could find amusement in almost anything. Even a winter day of -pouring rain, which made other housewives groan and shake their heads at -thought of the washing, could draw from her the following lines:-- - - -THE RAINY DAY. - -(_After Longfellow._) - - The morn was dark, the weather low, - The household fed by gaslight show,-- - When from the street a shriek arose: - The milkman, bellowing through his nose, - Expluvior! - - The butcher came, a walking flood, - Drenching the kitchen where he stood: - “Deucalion is your name, I pray?” - “Moses!” he choked, and slid away. - Expluvior! - - The neighbor had a coach and pair - To struggle out and take the air; - Slip-slop, the loose galoshes went; - I watched his paddling with content. - Expluvior! - - A wretch came floundering up the ice - (The rain had washed it smooth and nice), - Two ribs stove in above his head, - As, turning inside out, he said, - Expluvior! - -No doubt, alas! we often imposed upon the tenderness of this dear -mother. She was always absent-minded, and of this quality advantage was -sometimes taken. One day, when guests were dining with her, Harry came -and asked if he might do something that happened to be against the -rules. “No, dear,” said our mother, and went on with the conversation. -In a few moments Harry was at her elbow again with the same question, -and received the same answer. This was repeated an indefinite number of -times; at length our mother awoke suddenly to the absurdity of it, and, -turning to the child, said: “Harry, what do you mean by asking me this -question over and over again, when I have said ‘no’ each time?” -“Because,” was the reply, “Flossy said that if I asked often enough, you -might say ‘yes!’” - -I am glad to say that our mother did _not_ “say yes” on this occasion. -But, on the other hand, Maud was not whipped for taking the cherries, -when she needed a whipping sorely. The story is this: it was in the -silent days of her babyhood, for Maud did not speak a single word till -she was two years and a half old; then she said, one day, “Look at that -little dog!” and after that talked as well as any child. But if she did -not speak in those baby days, she thought a great deal. One day she -thought she wanted some wild cherries from the little tree by the -stone-wall, down behind the corn-crib at the Valley. So she took them, -such being her disposition. Our mother, coming upon the child thus, -forbade her strictly to touch the cherries, showing her at the same time -a little switch, and saying: “If you eat any more cherries, I shall have -to whip you with this switch!” She went into the house, and forgot the -incident. But presently Maud appeared, with a bunch of cherries in one -hand and the switch in the other. Fixing her great blue eyes on our -mother with earnest meaning, she put the cherries in her mouth, and then -held out the switch. Alas! and our mother--did--not--whip her! I mention -this merely to show that our mother was (and, indeed, is) mortal. But -Maud was the baby, and the prettiest thing in the world, and had a way -with her that was very hard to resist. - -It was worth while to have measles and things of that sort, not because -one had stewed prunes and cream-toast--oh, no!--but because our mother -sat by us, and sang “Lord Thomas and Fair Elinor,” or some mystic -ballad. - -The walks with her are never to be forgotten,--twilight walks round the -hill behind the house, with the wonderful sunset deepening over the bay, -turning all the world to gold and jewels; or through the Valley itself, -the lovely wild glen, with its waterfall and its murmuring stream, and -the solemn Norway firs, with their warning fingers. The stream was clear -as crystal, its rocky banks fringed with jewel-weed and rushes; the -level sward was smooth and green as emerald. By the waterfall stood an -old mill, whose black walls looked down on a deep brown pool, into which -the foaming cascade fell with a musical, rushing sound. I have described -the Valley very fully elsewhere,[2] but cannot resist dwelling on its -beauty again in connection with our mother,--who loved so to wander -through it, or to sit with her work under the huge ash-tree in the -middle, where - -[Illustration: JULIA WARD HOWE. - -(From a recent photograph.)] - -our father had placed seats and a rustic table. Here, and in the lovely, -lonely fields, as we walked, our mother talked with us, and we might -share the rich treasures of her thought. - - “And oh the words that fell from her mouth - Were words of wonder and words of truth!” - -One such word, dropped in the course of conversation as the maiden in -the fairy-story dropped diamonds and pearls, comes now to my mind, and I -shall write it here because it is good to think of and to say over to -one’s self:-- - - “I gave my son a palace - And a kingdom to control,-- - The palace of his body, - The kingdom of his soul.” - -In the Valley, too, many famous parties and picnics were given. The -latter are to be remembered with especial delight. A picnic with our -mother and one without her are two very different things. I never knew -that a picnic could be dull till I grew up and went to one where that -brilliant, gracious presence was lacking. The games we played, the -songs we sang, the garlands of oak and maple leaves that we wove, -listening to the gay talk if we were little, joining in it when we were -older; the simple feast, and then the improvised charades or tableaux, -always merry, often graceful and lovely!--ah, these are things to -remember! - -Our mother’s hospitality was boundless. She loved to fill the little -house to overflowing in summer days, when every one was glad to get out -into the fresh, green country. Often the beds were all filled, and we -children had to take to sofas and cots: once, I remember, Harry slept on -a mattress laid on top of the piano, there being no other vacant spot. - -Sometimes strangers as well as friends shared this kindly hospitality. I -well remember one wild stormy night, when two men knocked at the door -and begged for a night’s lodging. They were walking to the town, they -said, five miles distant, but had been overtaken by the storm. The -people at the farm-house near by had refused to take them in; there was -no other shelter near. Our mother hesitated a moment. Our father was -away; the old coachman slept in the barn, at some distance from the -house; she was alone with the children and the two maids, and Julia was -ill with a fever. These men might be vagabonds, or worse. Should she let -them in? Then, perhaps, she may have heard, amid the howling of the -storm, a voice which she has followed all her life, saying, “I was a -stranger, and ye took me in!” She bade the men enter, in God’s name, and -gave them food, and then led them to an upper bedroom, cautioning them -to tread softly as they passed the door of the sick child’s room. - -Well, that is all. Nothing happened. The men proved to be quiet, -respectable persons, who departed, thankful, the next morning. - -The music of our mother’s life is still sounding on, noble, helpful, and -beautiful. Many people may still look into her serene face, and hear her -silver voice; and no one will look or hear without being the better for -it. I cannot close this chapter better than with some of her own -words,--a poem which I wish every child, and every grown person too, -who reads this might learn by heart. - - -A PARABLE. - - “I sent a child of mine to-day: - I hope you used him well.” - “Now, Lord, no visitor of yours - Has waited at my bell. - - “The children of the millionaire - Run up and down our street; - I glory in their well-combed hair, - Their dress and trim complete. - - “But yours would in a chariot come - With thoroughbreds so gay, - And little merry maids and men - To cheer him on his way.” - - “Stood, then, no child before your door?” - The Lord, persistent, said. - “Only a ragged beggar-boy, - With rough and frowzy head. - - “The dirt was crusted on his skin, - His muddy feet were bare; - The cook gave victuals from within: - I cursed his coming there.” - - What sorrow, silvered with a smile, - Glides o’er the face divine? - What tenderest whisper thrills rebuke? - “The beggar-boy was mine!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -OUR TEACHERS. - - -I do not know why we had so many teachers. No doubt it was partly -because we were very troublesome children. But I think it was also -partly owing to the fact that our father was constantly overrun by needy -foreigners seeking employment. He was a philanthropist; he had been -abroad, and spoke foreign languages,--that was enough! His office was -besieged by “all peoples, nations, and languages,”--all, as a rule, -hungry,--Greeks, Germans, Poles, Hungarians, occasionally a Frenchman or -an Englishman, though these last were rare. Many of them were political -exiles; sometimes they brought letters from friends in Europe, sometimes -not. - -Our father’s heart never failed to respond to any appeal of this kind -when the applicant really wanted work; for sturdy beggars he had no -mercy. So it sometimes happened that, while waiting for something else -to turn up, the exile of the day would be set to teaching us,--partly to -give him employment, partly also by way of finding out what he knew and -was fit for. In this way did Professor Feaster (this may not be the -correct spelling, but it was our way, and suited him well) come to be -our tutor for a time. He was a very stout man, so stout that we -considered him a second Daniel Lambert. He may have been an excellent -teacher, but almost my only recollection of him is that he made the most -enchanting little paper houses, with green doors and blinds that opened -and shut. He painted the inside of the houses in some mysterious -way,--at least there were patterns on the floor, like mosaic-work,--and -the only drawback to our perfect happiness on receiving one of them was -that we were too big to get inside. - -I say this is almost my only recollection of this worthy man; but candor -compels me to add that the other picture which his name conjures up is -of Harry and Laura marching round the dining-room table, each -shouldering a log of wood, and shouting,-- - - “We’ll kill old Feaster! - We’ll kill old Feaster!” - -This was very naughty indeed; but, as I have said before, we were often -naughty. - -One thing more I do recollect about poor Professor Feaster. Flossy was -at once his delight and his terror. She was so bright, so original, -so--alas! so impish. She used to climb up on his back, lean over his -shoulder, and pull out his watch to see if the lesson-hour were over. To -be sure, she was only eight at this time, and possibly the scenes from -“Wilhelm Tell” which he loved to declaim with republican fervor may have -been rather beyond her infant comprehension. - -One day Flossy made up her mind that the Professor should take her way -about something--I quite forget what--rather than his own. She set -herself deliberately against him,--three feet to six!--and declared that -he should do as she said. The poor Professor looked down on this fiery -pygmy with eyes that sparkled through his gold-bowed spectacles. “I haf -refused,” he cried in desperation, “to opey ze Emperor of Austria, mees! -Do you sink I will opey _you?_” - -Then there was Madame S----, a Danish lady, very worthy, very -accomplished, and--ugly enough to frighten all knowledge out of a -child’s head. She was my childish ideal of personal uncomeliness, yet -she was most good and kind. - -It was whispered that she had come to this country with intent to join -the Mormons (of course we heard nothing of this till years after), but -the plan had fallen through; she, Madame S----, did not understand why, -but our mother, on looking at her, thought the explanation not so -difficult. She had a religion of her own, this poor, good, ugly dame. It -was probably an entirely harmless one, though she startled our mother -one day by approving the action of certain fanatics who had killed one -of their number (by his own consent) because he had a devil. “If he did -have a devil,” quoth Madame, beaming mildly over the purple -morning-glory she was crocheting, “it may have been a good thing that he -was killed.” - -As I say, this startled our mother, who began to wonder what would -happen if Madame S---- should take it into her head that any of our -family was possessed by a devil; but neither poison nor dagger appeared, -and Madame was never anything but the meekest of women. - -I must not forget to say that before she began to teach she had wished -to become a lecturer. She had a lecture all ready; it began with a -poetical outburst, as follows: - - “I am a Dane! I am a Dane! - I am not ashamed of the royal name!” - -But we never heard of its being delivered. I find this mention of Madame -S---- in a letter from our mother to her sister:-- - - “Danish woman very ugly, - But remarkably instructive,-- - Drawing, painting, French, and German, - Fancy-work of all descriptions, - With geography and grammar. - She will teach for very little, - And is a superior person.” - -I remember some of the fancy-work. There were pink-worsted roses, very -wonderful,--really not at all like the common roses one sees in gardens. -You wound the worsted round and round, spirally, and then you ran your -needle down through the petal and pulled it a little; this, as any -person of intelligence will readily perceive, made a rose-petal with a -dent of the proper shape in it. These petals had to be pressed in a book -to keep them flat, while others were making. Sometimes, years and years -after, one would find two or three of them between the leaves of an old -volume of “Punch,” or some other book; and instantly would rise up -before the mind’s eye the figure of Madame S----, with scarlet face and -dark-green dress, and a very remarkable nose. - -Flossy reminds me that she always smelt of peppermint. So she did, poor -lady! and probably took it for its medicinal properties. - -Then there was the wax fruit. You young people of sophisticated to-day, -who make such things of real beauty with your skilful, -kindergarten-trained fingers, what would you say to the wax fruit and -flowers of our childhood? Perhaps you would like to know how to make -them. We bought wax at the apothecary’s, white wax, in round flat cakes, -pleasant to nibble, and altogether gratifying,--wax, and chrome-yellow -and carmine, the colors in powder. We put the wax in a pipkin (I always -say “pipkin” when I have a chance, because it is such a charming word; -but if my readers prefer “saucepan,” let them have it by all means!)--we -put it, I say, in a pipkin, and melted it. (For a pleasure wholly -without alloy, I can recommend the poking and punching of half-melted -wax.) Then, when it was ready, we stirred in the yellow powder, which -produced a fine Bartlett color. Then we poured the mixture--oh, -joy!--into the two pear or peach shaped halves of the plaster mold, and -clapped them together; and when the pear or peach was cool and dry, we -took a camel’s-hair brush and painted a carmine cheek on one side. I do -not say that this was art, or advancement of culture; I do not say that -its results were anything but hideous and abnormal; but I do maintain -that it was a delightful and enchanting amusement. And if there was a -point of rapture beyond this, it was the coloring of melted wax to a -delicate rose hue, and dipping into it a dear little spaddle (which, be -it explained to the ignorant, is a flat disk with a handle to it) and -taking out liquid rose-petals, which hardened in a few minutes and were -rolled delicately off with the finger. When one had enough (say, rather, -when one could tear one’s self away from the magic pipkin), one put the -petals together; and there you had a rose that was like nothing upon -earth. - -After all, were wax flowers so much more hideous, I wonder, than some -things one sees to-day? Why is it that such a stigma attaches to the -very name of them? Why do not people go any longer to see the wax -figures in the Boston Museum? Perhaps they are not there now; perhaps -they are grown forlorn and dilapidated--indeed, they never were very -splendid!--and have been hustled away into some dim lumber-room, from -whose corners they glare out at the errant call-boy of the theatre, and -frighten him into fits. Daniel Lambert, in scarlet waistcoat and -knee-breeches! the “Drunkard’s Career,” the bare recollection of which -brings a thrill of horror,--there was one child at least who regarded -you as miracles of art! - -Speaking of wax reminds me of Monsieur N----, who gave us, I am inclined -to think, our first French lessons, besides those we received from our -mother. He was a very French Frenchman, with blond mustache and imperial -waxed à la Louis Napoleon, and a military carriage. He had been a -soldier, and taught fencing as well as French, though not to us. This -unhappy gentleman had married a Smyrniote woman, out of gratitude to her -family, who had rescued him from some pressing danger. Apparently he did -them a great service by marrying the young woman and taking her away, -for she had a violent temper,--was, in short, a perfect vixen. The evils -of this were perhaps lessened by the fact that she could not speak -French, while her husband had no knowledge of her native Greek. It is -the simple truth that this singular couple in their disputes, which -unfortunately were many, used often to come and ask our father to act as -interpreter between them. Monsieur N---- himself was a kind man, and a -very good teacher. - -There is a tale told of a christening feast which he gave in honor of -Candide, his eldest child. Julia and Flossy were invited, and also the -governess of the time, whoever she was. The company went in two hacks to -the priest’s house, where the ceremony was to be performed; on the way -the rival hackmen fell out, and jeered at each other, and, whipping up -their lean horses, made frantic efforts each to obtain the front rank in -the small cortége. Whereupon Monsieur N----, very angry at this -infringement of the dignity of the occasion, thrust his head out of the -window and shrieked to his hackman:-- - -“Firts or sekind, vich you bleece!” which delighted the children more -than any other part of the entertainment. - -There was poor Miss R----, whom I recall with mingled dislike and -compassion. She must have been very young, and she had about as much -idea of managing children (we required a great deal of managing) as a -tree might have. Her one idea of discipline was to give us -“misdemeanors,” which in ordinary speech were “black marks.” What is it -I hear her say in the monotonous sing-song voice which always -exasperated us?--“Doctor, Laura has had fourteen misdemeanors!” Then -Laura was put to bed, no doubt very properly; but she has always felt -that she need not have had the “misdemeanors” if the teaching had been a -little different. Miss R---- it was who took away the glass eye-cup; -therefore I am aware that I cannot think of her with clear and -unprejudiced mind. But she must have had bitter times with us, poor -thing! I can distinctly remember Flossy urging Harry, with fiery zeal, -not to recite his geography lesson,--I cannot imagine why. - -Miss R---- often rocked in the junk with us. That reminds me that I -promised to describe the junk. But how shall I picture that perennial -fount of joy? It was crescent-shaped, or rather it was like a -longitudinal slice cut out of a watermelon. Magnify the slice a -hundred-fold; put seats up and down the sides, with iron bars in front -to hold on by; set it on two grooved rails and paint it red,--there you -have the junk! Nay! you have it not entire; for it should be filled with -rosy, shouting children, standing or sitting, holding on by the bars and -rocking with might and main,-- - - “Yo-ho! Here we go! - Up and down! Heigh-ho!” - -Why are there no junks nowadays? Surely it would be better for us, body -and mind, if there were; for, as for the one, the rocking exercised -every muscle in the whole bodily frame, and as for the other, black Care -could not enter the junk (at least he did not), nor weariness, nor -“shadow of annoyance.” There ought to be a junk on Boston Common, free -to all, and half a dozen in Central Park; and I hope every young person -who reads these words will suggest this device to his parents or -guardians. - -But teaching is not entirely confined to the archery practice of the -young idea; and any account of our teachers would be incomplete without -mention of our dancing-master,--of _the_ dancing-master, for there was -but one. You remember that the dandy in “Punch,” being asked of whom he -buys his hats, replies: “Scott. Is there another fellah?” Even so it -would be difficult for the Boston generation of middle or elder life to -acknowledge that there could have been “another fellah” to teach dancing -besides Lorenzo Papanti. Who does not remember--nay! who could ever -forget--that tall, graceful figure; that marvellous elastic glide, like -a wave flowing over glass? Who could ever forget the shrewd, kindly -smile when he was pleased, the keen lightning of his glance when -angered? What if he did rap our toes sometimes till the timorous wept, -and those of stouter heart flushed scarlet, and clenched their small -hands and inly vowed revenge? No doubt we richly deserved it, and it did -us good. - -If I were to hear a certain strain played in the desert of Sahara or on -the plains of Idaho, I should instantly “forward and back and cross -over,”--and so, I warrant, would most of my generation of Boston people. -There is one grave and courteous gentleman of my acquaintance, whom to -see dance the shawl-dance with his fairy sister was a dream of poetry. -As for the gavotte--O beautiful Amy! O lovely Alice! I see you now, with -your short, silken skirts flowing out to extreme limit of crinoline; -with your fair locks confined by the discreet net, sometimes of brown or -scarlet chenille, sometimes of finest silk; with snowy stockings, and -slippers fastened by elastic bands crossed over the foot and behind the -ankle; with arms and neck bare. If your daughters to-day chance upon a -photograph of you taken in those days, they laugh and ask mamma how she -could wear such queer things, and make such a fright of herself! But I -remember how lovely you were, and how perfectly you always dressed, and -with what exquisite grace you danced the gavotte. - -[Illustration: LAURA E. RICHARDS.] - -So, I think, all we who jumped and changed our feet, who pirouetted and -chasséed under Mr. Papanti, owe him a debt of gratitude. His hall was a -paradise, the stiff little dressing-room, with its rows of shoe-boxes, -the antechamber of delight,--and thereby hangs a tale. The child Laura -grew up, and married one who had jumped and changed his feet beside her -at Papanti’s, and they two went to Europe and saw many strange lands and -things; and it fell upon a time that they were storm-bound in a little -wretch of a grimy steamer in the Gulf of Corinth. With them was a -travelling companion who also had had the luck to be born in Boston, and -to go to dancing-school; the other passengers were a Greek, an Italian, -and--I think the third was a German, but as he was seasick it made no -difference. Three days were we shut up there while the storm raged and -bellowed, and right thankful we were for the snug little harbor which -stretched its protecting arms between us and the white churning waste of -billows outside the bar. - -We played games to make the time pass; we talked endlessly,--and in the -course of talk it naturally came to pass that we told of our adventures, -and where we came from, and, in short, who we were. The Greek gentleman -turned out to be an old acquaintance of our father, and was greatly -overjoyed to see me, and told me many interesting things about the old -fighting-days of the revolution. The Italian spoke little during this -conversation, but when he heard the word “Boston” he pricked up his -ears; and when a pause came, he asked if we came from Boston. “Yes,” we -all answered, with the inward satisfaction which every Bostonian feels -at being able to make the reply. And had we ever heard, in Boston, he -went on to inquire, of “un certo Papanti, maestro di ballo?” “Heard of -him!” cried the three dancing-school children,--“we never heard of any -one else!” Thereupon ensued much delighted questioning and -counter-questioning. This gentleman came from Leghorn, Mr. Papanti’s -native city. He knew his family; they were excellent people. Lorenzo -himself he had never seen, as he left Italy so many years ago; but -reports had reached Leghorn that he was very successful,--that he taught -the best people (O Beacon street! O purple windows and brown-stone -fronts, I should think so!); that he had invented “un piano sopra -molle,” a floor on springs. Was this true? Whereupon we took up our -parable, and unfolded to the Livornese mind the glory of Papanti, till -he fairly glowed with pride in his famous fellow-townsman. - -And, finally, was not this a pleasant little episode in a storm-bound -steamer in the Gulf of Corinth? - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -OUR FRIENDS. - - -We had so many friends that I hardly know where to begin. First of all, -perhaps, I should put the dear old Scotch lady whom we called “D. D.” -She had another name, but that is nobody’s business but her own. D. D. -was a thousand years old. She always said so when we asked her age, and -she certainly ought to have known. No one would have thought it to look -at her, for she had not a single gray hair, and her eyes were as bright -and black as a young girl’s. One of the pleasantest things about her was -the way she dressed, in summer particularly. She wore a gown of white -dimity, always spotlessly clean, made with a single plain skirt, and a -jacket. The jacket was a little open in front, showing a handkerchief of -white net fastened with a brooch of hair in the shape of a harp. -Fashions made no difference to D. D. People might wear green or yellow -or purple, as they pleased,--she wore her white dimity; and we children -knew instinctively that it was the prettiest and most becoming dress -that she could have chosen. - -Another wonderful thing about D. D. was her store-closet. There never -was such a closet as that! It was all full of glass jars, and the jars -were full of cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves and raisins, and all manner -of good things. Yes, and they were not screwed down tight, as jars are -likely to be nowadays; but one could take off the top, and see what was -inside; and if it was cinnamon, one might take even a whole stick, and -D. D. would not mind. Sometimes a friend of hers who lived at the South -would send her a barrel of oranges (she called it a “bar’l of awnges,” -because she was Scotch, and we thought it sounded a great deal prettier -than the common way), and then we had glorious times; for D. D. thought -oranges were very good for us, and we thought so too. Then she had some -very delightful and interesting drawers, full of old daguerreotypes and -pieces of coral, and all kinds of alicumtweezles. Have I explained -before that “alicumtweezles” are nearly the same as “picknickles” and -“bucknickles”? - -D. D.’s son was a gallant young soldier, and it was his hair that she -wore in the harp-shaped brooch. Many of the daguerreotypes were of him, -and he certainly was as handsome a fellow as any mother could wish a son -to be. When we went to take tea with D. D., which was quite often, we -always looked over her treasures, and asked the same questions over and -over, the dear old lady never losing patience with us. And such jam as -we had for tea! D. D.’s jams and jellies were famous, and she often made -our whole provision of sweet things for the winter. Then we were sure of -having the best quince marmalade and the clearest jelly; while as for -the peach marmalade--no words can describe it! - -D. D. was a wonderful nurse; and when we were ill she often came and -helped our mother in taking care of us. Then she would sing us her -song,--a song that no one but D. D. and the fortunate children who had -her for a friend ever heard. It is such a good song that I must write it -down, being very sure that D. D. would not care. - - “There was an old man. and he was mad, - And he ran up the steeple; - He took off his great big hat. - And waved it over the people.” - -To D. D. we owe the preservation of one of Laura’s first compositions, -written when she was ten years old. She gave it to the good lady, who -kept it for many years in her treasure-drawer till Laura’s own children -were old enough to read it. It is a story, and is called-- - - -LOST AND FOUND. - - Marion Gray, a lovely girl of thirteen, one day tied on her gypsy - hat, and, singing a merry song, bade good-by to her mother, and ran - quickly toward the forest. She was the youngest daughter of Sir - Edward Gray, a celebrated nobleman in great favor with the king, - and consequently Marion had everything she wished for. When she - reached the wood she set her basket down under a chestnut-tree, - and climbing up into the branches she shook them till the ripe - fruit came tumbling down. She then jumped down, and having filled - her basket was proceeding to another tree, when all of a sudden a - dark-looking man stepped out, who, when she attempted to fly, - struck her severely with a stick, and she fell senseless to the - ground. - - Meanwhile all was in confusion at the manorhouse. Marion’s faithful - dog Carlo had seen the man lurking in the thicket, and had tried to - warn his mistress of the danger. But seeing she did not mind, the - minute he saw the man prepare to spring out he had run to the - house. He made them understand that some one had stolen Marion. - “Who, Carlo, who?” exclaimed the agonized mother. Carlo instantly - picked up some A-B-C blocks which lay on the floor, and putting - together the letters that form the word “Gypsies,” looked up at his - master and wagged his tail. “The Gypsies!” exclaimed Sir Edward; - “alas! if the gypsies have stolen our child, we shall never see her - again.” Nevertheless they searched and searched the wood, but no - trace of her was to be found. - - * * * * * - - “Hush! here she is! Isn’t she a beauty?” - - “Yes! but what is her name?” - - “Marion Gray. I picked her up in the wood. A splendid addition to - our train, for she can beg charity and a night’s lodging; and then - the easiest thing in the world is just to find out where they keep - the key, and let us in. Hush! hush! she’s coming to.” - - These words were spoken by a withered hag of seventy and the man - who had stolen her. Slowly Marion opened her eyes, and what was her - horror to find herself in a gypsy camp! - - I will skip over the five long years of pain and suffering, and - come to the end of my story. Five years have passed, and the new - king sits on his royal throne, judging and condemning a band of - gypsies. They are all condemned but one young girl, who stands with - downcast eyes before him; but when she hears her doom, she raises - her dark flashing eyes on the king. A piercing shriek is heard, the - crown and sceptre roll down the steps of the throne, and Marion - Gray is clasped in her father’s arms! - -Another dear friend was Miss Mary. She was a small, brisk woman, with -“New England” written all over her. She used to stay with us a good -deal, helping my mother in household matters, or writing for our father; -and we all loved her dearly. She had the most beautiful hair, masses -and masses of it, of a deep auburn, and waving in a lovely fashion. She -it was who used to say, “Hurrah for Jackson!” whenever anything met her -special approval; and we all learned to say it too, and to this day some -of us cheer the name of “Old Hickory,” who has been in his grave these -fifty years. Miss Mary came of seafaring people, and had many strange -stories of wreck and tempest, of which we were never weary. Miss Mary’s -energy was untiring, her activity unceasing. She used to make long -woodland expeditions with us in the woods around the Valley, leading the -way “over hill, over dale, thorough bush, thorough brier,” finding all -manner of wild-wood treasures,--creeping-jenny, and ferns and mosses -without end,--which were brought home to decorate the parlors. She knew -the name of every plant, and what it was good for. She knew when the -barberries must be gathered, and when the mullein flowers were ready. -She walked so fast and so far that she wore out an unreasonable number -of shoes in a season. - -Speaking of her shoes reminds me that at the fire of which I spoke in a -previous chapter, at the Institution for the Blind, Miss Mary was the -first person to give the alarm. She had on a brand-new pair of morocco -slippers when the fire broke out, and by the time it was extinguished -they were in holes. This will give you some idea of Miss Mary’s energy. - -Then there was Mr. Ford, one of the very best of our friends. He was a -sort of factotum of our father, and, like The Bishop in the “Bab -Ballads,” was “short and stout and round-about, and zealous as could -be.” We were very fond of trotting at his heels, and loved to pull him -about and tease him, which the good man never seemed to resent. Once, -however, we carried our teasing too far, as you shall hear. One day our -mother was sitting quietly at her writing, thinking that the children -were all happy and good, and possessing her soul in patience. Suddenly -to her appeared Julia, her hair flying, eyes wide open, mouth -ditto,--the picture of despair. - -“Oh, Mamma!” gasped the child, “I have done the most dreadful thing! Oh, -the most dreadful, terrible thing!” - -“What is it?” exclaimed our mother, dropping her pen in distress; “what -have you done, dear? Tell me quickly!” - -“Oh, I cannot tell you!” sobbed the child; “I cannot!” - -“Have you set the house on fire?” cried our mother. - -“Oh, worse than that!” gasped poor Julia, “much worse!” - -“Have you dropped the baby?” - -“Worse than that!” - -Now, there _was_ nothing worse than dropping the baby, so our mother -began to feel relieved. - -“Tell me at once, Julia,” she said, “what you have done!” - -“I--I--” sobbed poor Julia,--“I pulled--I pulled--off--Mr. Ford’s wig!” - -There were few people we loved better than Tomty, the gardener. This -dear, good man must have been a martyr to our pranks, and the only -wonder is that he was able to do any gardening at all. It was “Tomty” -here and “Tomty” there, from morning till night. When Laura wanted her -bonnet-strings tied (oh, that odious little bonnet! with the rows of -pink and green quilled ribbon which was always coming off), she never -thought of going into the house to Mary, though Mary was good and kind -too,--she always ran to Tomty, who must “lay down the shovel and the -hoe,” and fashion bow-knots with his big, clumsy, good-natured fingers. -When Harry was playing out in the hot sun without a hat, and Mary called -to him to come in like a good boy and get his hat, did he go? Oh, no! He -tumbled the potatoes or apples out of Tomty’s basket, and put that on -his head instead of a hat, and it answered just as well. - -Poor, dear Tomty! He went to California in later years, and was cruelly -murdered by some base wretches for the sake of a little money which he -had saved. - -Somehow we had not very many friends of our own age. I suppose one -reason was that we were so many ourselves that there were always enough -to have a good time. - -There were one or two little girls who used to go with us on the famous -maying-parties, which were great occasions. On May-day morning we would -take to ourselves baskets,--some full of goodies, some empty,--and start -for a pleasant wooded place not far from Green Peace. Here, on a sunny -slope where the savins grew not too thickly to prevent the sun from -shining merrily down on the mossy sward, we would pitch our tent (only -there was no tent), and prepare to be perfectly happy. We gathered such -early flowers as were to be found, and made garlands of them; we chose a -queen and crowned her; and then we had a feast, which was really the -object of the whole expedition. - -It was the proper thing to buy certain viands for this feast, the home -dainties being considered not sufficiently rare. - -Well, we ate our oranges and nibbled our cocoanut, and the older ones -drank the milk, if there was any in the nut: this was considered the -very height of luxury, and the little ones knew it was too much for -them to expect. I cannot remember whether we were generally ill after -these feasts, but I think it highly probable. - -In mentioning our friends, is it right to pass over the good -“four-footers,” who were so patient with us, and bore with so many of -our vagaries? Can we ever forget Oggy the Steamboat, so called from the -loudness of her purring? Do not some of us still think with compunction -of the day when this good cat was put in a tin pan, and covered over -with a pot-lid, while on the lid was set her deadly enemy Ella, the fat -King Charles spaniel? What a snarling ensued! what growls, hisses, -yells, mingled with the clashing of tin and the “unseemly laughter” of -naughty children! - -And Lion, the good Newfoundland dog, who let us ride on his back--when -he was in the mood, and tumbled us off when he was not! He was a dear -dog; but Fannie, his mate, was anything but amiable, and sometimes gave -sore offence to visitors by snapping at their heels and growling. - -But if the cats and dogs suffered from us, we suffered from José! O -José! what a tyrannous little beast you were! Never was a brown donkey -prettier, I am quite sure; never did a brown donkey have his own way so -completely. - -Whether a child could take a ride or not depended entirely on whether -José was in the mood for it. If not, he trotted a little way till he got -the child alone; and then he calmly rubbed off his rider against a tree -or fence, and trotted away to the stable. Of course this was when we -were very little; but by the time the little ones were big enough to -manage him José was dead; so some of us never “got even with him,” as -the boys say. When the dearest uncle in the world sent us the -donkey-carriage, things went better; for the obstinate little brown -gentleman could not get rid of that, of course, and there were many -delightful drives, with much jingling of harness and all manner of style -and splendor. - -These were some of our friends, two-footers and four-footers. There were -many others, of course, but time and space fail to tell of them. After -all, perhaps they were just like other children’s friends. I must not -weary my readers by rambling on indefinitely in these long-untrodden -paths; but I wish other children could have heard Oggy purr! - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -OUR GUESTS. - - -Many interesting visitors came and went, both at Green Peace and the -Valley,--many more than I can recollect. The visit of Kossuth, the great -Hungarian patriot, made no impression upon me, as I was only a year old -when he came to this country; but there was a great reception for him at -Green Peace, and many people assembled to do honor to the brave man who -had tried so hard to free his country from the Austrian yoke, and had so -nearly succeeded. I remember a certain hat, which we younger children -firmly believed to have been his, though I have since been informed that -we were mistaken. At all events, we used to play with the hat (I wonder -whose it was!) under this impression, and it formed an important -element in “dressing up,” which was one of our chief delights. - -One child would put on Kossuth’s hat, another Lord Byron’s helmet,--a -superb affair of steel and gold, which had been given to our father in -Greece, after Byron’s death (we ought not to have been allowed to touch -so precious a relic, far less to dress up in it!); while a third would -appropriate a charming little square Polish cap of fine scarlet, which -ought to have belonged to Thaddeus of Warsaw, but did not, I fear. - -What pleasant things we had to dress up in! There was our father’s -wedding-coat, bright blue, with brass buttons; and the waistcoat he had -worn with it, white satin with raised velvet flowers,--such a fine -waistcoat! There were two embroidered crape gowns which had been our -grandmother’s, with waists a few inches long, and long, skimp skirts; -and the striped blue and yellow moiré, which our mother had worn in some -private theatricals,--that was beyond description! And the white gauze -with gold flounces--oh! and the peach-blossom silk with flowers all over -it--ah! - -But this is a digression, and has nothing whatever to do with our -guests, who never played “dressing up,” that I can remember. - -One of our most frequent visitors at Green Peace was the great statesman -and patriot, Charles Sumner. He was a very dear friend of our father, -and they loved to be together whenever the strenuous business of their -lives would permit. - -We children used to call Mr. Sumner “the Harmless Giant;” and indeed he -was very kind to us, and had always a pleasant word for us in that deep, -melodious voice which no one, once hearing it, could ever forget. He -towered above us to what seemed an enormous height; yet we were told -that he stood six feet in his stockings,--no more. This impression being -made on Laura’s mind, she was used to employ the great senator as an -imaginary foot-rule (six-foot rule, I should say), and, until she was -almost a woman grown, would measure a thing in her own mind by saying -“two feet higher than Mr. Sumner,” or “twice as high as Mr. Summer,” as -the case might be. I can remember him carrying the baby Maud on his -shoulder, and bowing his lofty crest to pass through the doorway. -Sometimes his mother, Madam Sumner, came with him, a gracious and -charming old lady. I am told that on a day when she was spending an hour -at Green Peace, and sitting in the parlor window with our mother, Laura -felt it incumbent upon her to entertain the distinguished visitor; so, -being arrayed in her best white frock, she took up her station on the -gravel path below the window, and filling a little basket with gravel, -proceeded to pour it over her head, exclaiming, “Mit Humner! hee my -ektibiton!” This meant “exhibition.” Laura could not pronounce the -letter S in childhood’s happy hour. “Mamma,” she would say, if she saw -our mother look grave, “Id you had? Why id you had?” and then she would -bring a doll’s dish, or it might be a saucepan, and give it to her -mother and say, with infinite satisfaction, “Dere! ’mooge you’helf wid -dat!” - -Another ever welcome guest was John A. Andrew, the great War Governor, -as we loved to call him. He was not governor in those days,--that is, -when I first remember him; but he was then, as always, one of the most -delightful of men. Who else could tell a story with such exquisite -humor? The stories themselves were better than any others, but his way -of telling them set every word in gold. The very sound of his voice made -the air brighter and warmer, and his own delightful atmosphere of sunny -geniality went always with him. That was a wonderful evening when at one -of our parties some scenes from Thackeray’s “The Rose and the Ring” were -given. Our mother was Countess Gruffanuff, our father Kutasoff Hedzoff; -Governor Andrew took the part of Prince Bulbo, while Flossy made a -sprightly Angelica, and Julia as Betsinda was a vision of rarest beauty. -I cannot remember who was Prince Giglio, but the figure of Bulbo, with -closely curling hair, his fine face aglow with merriment, and the magic -rose in his buttonhole, comes distinctly before me. - -Who were the guests at those dinner-parties so well remembered? Alas! I -know not. Great people they often were, famous men and women, who -talked, no doubt, brilliantly and delightfully. But is it their -conversation which lingers like a charm in my memory? Again, alas! my -recollection is of finger-bowls, crimson and purple, which sang beneath -the wetted finger of some kindly elder; of almonds and raisins, and -bonbons mystic, wonderful, all gauze and tinsel and silver paper, with -flat pieces of red sugar within. The red sugar was something of an -anticlimax after the splendors of its envelope, being insipidly sweet, -with no special flavor. The scent of coffee comes back to me, rich, -delicious, breathing of “the golden days of good Haroun Alraschid.” We -were never allowed to drink coffee or tea; but standing by our mother’s -chair, just before saying good-night, we received the most exquisite -dainty the world afforded,--a “coffee-duck,” which to the ignorant is -explained to be a lump of sugar dipped in coffee (black coffee, _bien -entendu_) and held in the amber liquid till it begins to melt in -delicious “honeycomb” (this was probably the true ambrosia of the gods); -and then we said good-night, and--and--went and begged the cook for a -“whip,” or some “floating-island,” or a piece of frosted cake! Was it -strange that occasionally, after one of these feasts, Laura could not -sleep, and was smitten with the “terror by night” (it was generally a -locomotive which was coming in at the window to annihilate her; Julia -was the one who used to weep at night for fear of foxes), and would come -trotting down into the lighted drawing-room, among all the silks and -satins, arrayed in the simple garment known as a “leg-nightgown,” -demanding her mother? Ay, and I remember that she always got her mother, -too. - -But these guests? I remember the great Professor Agassiz, with his wise, -kindly face and genial smile. I can see him putting sugar into his -coffee, lump after lump, till it stood up above the liquid like one of -his own glaciers. I remember all the “Abolition” leaders, for our own -parents were stanch Abolitionists, and worked heart and soul for the -cause of freedom. I remember when Swedish ships came into Boston Harbor, -probably for the express purpose of filling our parlors with fair-haired -officers, wonderful, magnificent, shining with epaulets and buttons. -There may have been other reasons for the visit; there may have been -deep political designs, and all manner of mysteries relating to the -peace of nations I know not. But I know that there was a little -midshipman in white trousers, who danced with Laura, and made her a bow -afterward and said, “I tanks you for de polska.” He was a dear little -midshipman! There was an admiral too, who corresponded more or less with -Southey’s description,-- - - “And last of all an admiral came, - A terrible man with a terrible name,-- - A name which, you all must know very well, - Nobody can speak, and nobody can spell.” - -The admiral said to Harry, “I understand you shall not go to sea in -future times?” and that is all I remember about him. - -I remember Charlotte Cushman, the great actress and noble woman, who was -a dear friend of our mother; with a deep, vibrating, melodious voice, -and a strong, almost masculine face, which was full of wisdom and -kindliness. - -I remember Edwin Booth, in the early days, when his brilliant genius and -the splendor of his melancholy beauty were taking all hearts by storm. -He was very shy, this all-powerful Richelieu, this conquering Richard, -this princely Hamlet. He came to a party given in his honor by our -mother, and instead of talking to all the fine people who were dying for -a word with him, he spent nearly the whole evening in a corner with -little Maud, who enjoyed herself immensely. What wonder, when he made -dolls for her out of handkerchiefs, and danced them with dramatic -fervor? She was very gracious to Mr. Booth, which was a good thing; for -one never knew just what Maud would say or do. Truth compels me to add -that she was the _enfant terrible_ of the family, and that the elders -always trembled when visitors noticed or caressed the beautiful child. - -One day, I remember, a very wise and learned man came to Green Peace to -see our mother,--a man of high reputation, and withal a valued friend. -He was fond of children, and took Maud on his knee, meaning to have a -pleasant chat with her. But Maud fixed her great gray eyes on him, and -surveyed him with an air of keen and hostile criticism. “What makes all -those little red lines in your nose?” she asked, after an ominous -silence. Mr. H----, somewhat taken aback, explained as well as he could -the nature of the veins, and our mother was about to send the child on -some suddenly-bethought-of errand, when her clear, melodious voice broke -out again, relentless, insistent: “Do you know, I think you are the -ugliest man I ever saw in my life!” “That will do, Maud!” said Mr. -H----, putting her down from his knee. “You are charming, but you may go -now, my dear.” Then he and our mother both tried to become very much -interested in metaphysics; and next day he went and asked a mutual -friend if he were really the ugliest man that ever was seen, telling -her what Maud had said. - -Again, there was a certain acquaintance--long since dead--who was in the -habit of making interminable calls at Green Peace, and who would talk by -the hour together without pausing. Our parents were often wearied by -this gentleman’s conversational powers, and one of them (let this be a -warning to young and old) chanced one day to speak of him in Maud’s -hearing as “a great bore.” This was enough! The next time the unlucky -talker appeared, the child ran up to him, and greeted him cordially -with, “How do you do, bore? Oh, you great bore!” A quick-witted friend -who was in the room instantly asked Mr. S---- if he had seen the copy of -Snyder’s “Boar Hunt” which our father had lately bought, thinking it -better that he should fancy himself addressed as a beast of the forest -than as _Borus humanus_; but he kept his own counsel, and we never knew -what he really thought of Maud’s greeting. - -But of all visitors at either house, there was one whom we loved more -than all others put together. Marked with a white stone was the happy -day which brought the wonderful uncle, the fairy godfather, the -realization of all that is delightful in man, to Green Peace or the -Valley. Uncle Sam Ward!--uncle by adoption to half the young people he -knew, but our very own uncle, our mother’s beloved brother. We might -have said to him, with Shelley,-- - - “Rarely, rarely comest thou, - Spirit of delight!” - -for he was a busy man, and Washington was a long way off; but when he -did come, as I said, it was a golden day. We fairly smothered him,--each -child wanting to sit on his knee, to see his great watch, and the -wonderful sapphire that he always wore on his little finger. Then he -must sing for us; and he would sing the old Studenten Lieder in his -full, joyous voice; but he must always wind up with “Balzoroschko -Schnego” (at least that is what it sounded like), a certain Polish -drinking-song, in which he sneezed and yodeled, and did all kinds of -wonderful things. - -Then would come an hour of quiet talk with our mother, when we knew -enough to be silent and listen,--feeling, perhaps, rather than realizing -that it was not a common privilege to listen to such talk. - -“No matter how much I may differ from Sam Ward in principles or -opinion,” said Charles Sumner once, “when I have been with him five -minutes, I forget everything except that he is the most delightful man -in the world.” - -Again (but this was the least part of the pleasure), he never came -empty-handed. Now it was a basket of wonderful peaches, which he thought -might rival ours; now a gold bracelet for a niece’s wrist; now a -beautiful book, or a pretty dress-pattern that had caught his eye in -some shop-window. Now he came direct from South America, bringing for -our mother a silver pitcher which he had won as a prize at a -shooting-match in Paraguay. One of us will never forget being waked in -the gray dawn of a summer morning at the Valley, by the sound of a -voice singing outside,--will never forget creeping to the window and -peeping out through the blinds. There on the door-step stood the fairy -uncle, with a great basket of peaches beside him; and he was singing the -lovely old French song, which has always since then seemed to me to -belong to him: - - “Noble Châtelaine, - Voyez notre peine, - Et dans vos domaines - Rendez charité! - Voyez le disgrace - Qui nous menace, - Et donnez, par grace, - L’hospitalité! - Toi que je révère, - Entends ma prière. - O Dieu tutelaire, - Viens dans ta bonte, - Pour sauver l’innocence, - Et que ta puissance - Un jour recompense - L’hospitalité!” - -There is no sweeter song. And do you think we did not tumble into our -clothes and rush down, in wrappers, in petticoats, in whatever gown -could be most quickly put on, and unbar the door, and bring the dear -wanderer in, with joyful cries, with laughter, almost with tears of pure -pleasure? - -All, that was “long ago and long ago;” and now the kind uncle, the great -heart that overflowed with love and charity and goodwill to all human -kind, has passed through another door, and will not return! Be sure that -on knocking at that white portal, he found hospitality within. - - * * * * * - -And now it is time that these rambling notes should draw to a close. -There are many things that I might still speak of. But, after all, long -ago _is_ long ago, and these glimpses of our happy childhood must -necessarily be fragmentary and brief. I trust they may have given -pleasure to some children. I wish all childhood might be as bright, as -happy, as free from care or sorrow, as was ours. - - -THE END. - - -FOOTNOTES: - -[1] I find it to be stone clover. - -[2] In the book entitled “Queen Hildegarde.” - - - - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's When I was your age, by Laura E. 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