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diff --git a/old/64704-0.txt b/old/64704-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ef32881..0000000 --- a/old/64704-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1947 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The story of my childhood, by Clara Barton - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The story of my childhood - -Author: Clara Barton - -Release Date: March 05, 2021 [eBook #64704] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD *** - - - - - THE STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD - - - BY - - CLARA BARTON - - - NEW YORK - THE BAKER & TAYLOR CO. - 1907 - - - - - Copyright, 1907, by - THE JOURNAL PUBLISHING CO., - Meriden, Conn. - - - THE JOURNAL PRESS. - - - - - THE STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. - - - - - PREFACE - - - _Dear Miss Clara Barton_: - - Our classes in The History of the United States are studying about - you, and we want to know more. - - Our teacher says she has seen you. That you live in, or near - Washington, District of Columbia, and that, although very busy, she - thought you might be willing to receive a short letter from us, and - I write to ask you to be so kind as to tell us what you did when you - were a little girl like us. All of us want to know. I am almost - thirteen. - - If you could send us a few words, we should all be very happy. I - write for all. - - Your little girl friend, - MARY ST. CLARE, - * * * New York. - - October third, nineteen hundred, six. - - - _Miss Clara Barton_: - - I am studying about you in my History, and what you did in the war, - and I thought I would write and ask you what you did afore you did - that. - - Yours truly, - JAMES C. HAMLIN. - - * * * Center, Iowa, - May 24th, 1906. - - - =Dear Children of the Schools:= - - Your oft-repeated appeals have reached me. They are too many and too - earnest to be disregarded; and because of them, and because of my - love for you, I have dedicated this little book to you. I have made - it small, that you may the more easily read it. I have done it in - the hope that it may give you pleasure, and in the wish that, when - you shall be women and men, you may each remember, as I do, that you - were once a child, full of childish thoughts and action, but of whom - it was said, “Suffer them to come unto Me, and forbid them not, for - of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.” - - Faithfully your friend, - CLARA BARTON. - - Glen Echo, Maryland, - May twenty-ninth, 1907. - - -[Illustration] - - - - - THE STORY OF MY CHILDHOOD. - - BY CLARA BARTON. - - -It was May—the cherry trees were in bloom. For the first time in three -years I had been able to sit for an evening among a company of persons -(invalids like myself seeking strength), trying to entertain them with -some remembrances of bygone days. I see it still, the broad parlor of -that grand old “Hillside Home,” the mother and inspiration of all the -hundreds of sanitariums and health restoring institutions of the country -to-day. I had made my home near it, at the foot of the blossoming -orchard. - -Down among the trees and twittering robins next morning came one of my -listeners; a broad-shouldered, manly looking man, the face so full of -benign intelligence that once seen was never to be forgotten. He came in -at the open door, merrily shaking off the cherry blossoms like large -flakes of early snow, an entire stranger to me until the previous -evening. He seated himself and entered into conversation with a familiar -ease that bespoke the cultured gentleman. After a few minutes he turned -earnestly to me with: “Miss Barton, I have an errand in coming to you. I -have a request to make.” - -I said I hoped I should be able to comply. He hesitated, as if thinking -how to commence, but at length said: “I want you to recall and write the -first thing you remember—the first event that made sufficient impression -upon you to be remembered.” - -I waited in silence and he went on: - -“And then I want you to write the next, and then the next, and so on, -until you have written all—everything connected with yourself and your -life that you can recall. I want it; we want it; the world wants it, and -again I ask you to do it. Can you promise me?” - -His earnest manner demanded an earnest reply. I could not promise to do -it, but would promise to consider it. - - -This was in the spring of 1876. I have never forgotten the request -through all these thirty-one busy years, and have carefully kept the -promise to consider it; and to-night take my pencil to describe the -first moment of my life that I remember. - -By the dates I must have been nearly two and a half years old, for I was -born on Christmas day, and now the lilacs were in bloom. It was a rather -newly built country house where I had commenced my earthly pilgrimage, -and being the youngest by a dozen or so years, of a family of two -brothers and two sisters, I naturally lacked child playmates and was -left much to my own entertainment. - -On this occasion I must have been enjoying a ramble by myself in the -grass-green dooryard, with the broad hand-hewn doorstep and the -traditional lilacs on either side. Suddenly my resounding cries brought -the whole family to the door in alarm. My wailing took the form of a -complaint expressed with my best linguistic ability: - -“Baby los’ ’im—pitty bird—baby los’ ’im—baby mos’ caught him—pitty -bird—baby mos’ caught ’im.” - -At length they succeeded in inducing me to listen to a question, “But -where did it go, Baby?” - -Among my heart-breaking sobs I pointed to a small round hole under the -doorstep. The terrified scream of my mother remained in my memory -forever more. Her baby had “mos’ caught” a snake. - -I recall nothing more for nearly a year and a half, when my terrors -again took possession. An esteemed and greatly beloved relative of the -family had died. The funeral services were to be held four miles away. -All the household would attend excepting myself and the younger of my -two brothers, David, some sixteen years old, who was deputed to act as -body guard, doubtless under strict orders. - -I can picture the large family sitting room with its four open windows, -which room I was not to leave, and my guardian was to remain near me. -Some outside duty called him from the house and I was left to my own -observations. A sudden thunder shower came up; massive rifts of clouds -rolled up in the east, and the lightning darted among them like blazing -fires. The thunder gave them language and my terrified imagination -endowed them with life. - -Among the animals of the farm was a huge old ram, that doubtless upon -some occasion had taught me to respect him, and of which I had a mortal -fear. My terrors transformed those rising, rolling clouds into a whole -heaven full of angry rams, marching down upon me. Again my screams -alarmed, and the poor brother, conscience stricken that he had left his -charge, rushed breathless in, to find me on the floor in hysterics, a -condition of things he had never seen; and neither memory nor history -relate how either of us got out of it. - -In these later years I have observed that writers of sketches, in a -friendly desire to compliment me, have been wont to dwell upon my -courage, representing me as personally devoid of fear, not even knowing -the feeling. However correct that may have become, it is evident I was -not constructed that way, as in the earlier years of my life I remember -nothing but fear. - -There can be no doubt that my advent into the family was at least a -novelty, as the last before me was a beautiful blue-eyed, curly-haired -little girl of a dozen summers. That the event was probably looked for -with interest is shadowed in the fact of preparations made for it. The -still existing few pieces in my possession testify to the purchase of a -full, complete and withal rather aristocratic dinner set of “Old -Willow,” which did faithful service many years; and the remaining bits -of dainty pink and white, tell of the tea set to match, in the cups of -which were told the future of many a merry party that learned their -reality through still later years, not all pink and white. - -I became the seventh member of a household consisting of the father and -mother, two sisters and two brothers, each of whom for his and her -intrinsic merits and special characteristics deserves an individual -history, which it shall be my conscientious duty to portray as far as -possible as these pages progress. For the present it is enough to say -that each one manifested an increasing personal interest in the -newcomer, and as soon as developments permitted, set about instructing -her in the various directions most in accord with the tastes and -pursuits of each. - -Of the two sisters, the elder was already a teacher. The younger -followed soon, and naturally my book education became their first care, -and under these conditions it is little to say, that I have no knowledge -of ever learning to read, or of a time that I did not do my own story -reading. The other studies followed very early. - -My elder brother, Stephen, was a noted mathematician. He inducted me -into the mystery of figures. Multiplication, division, subtraction, -halves, quarters and wholes, soon ceased to be a mystery, and no toy -equalled my little slate. But the younger brother (he of the thunder -storm and hysterics) had entirely other tastes, and would have none of -these things. My father was a lover of horses, and one of the first in -the vicinity to introduce blooded stock. He had large lands, for New -England. He raised his own colts; and Highlanders, Virginians and -Morgans pranced the fields in idle contempt of the solid old farm -horses. - -Of my brother, David, to say that he was fond of horses describes -nothing; one could almost add that he was fond of nothing else. He was -the Buffalo Bill of the surrounding country, and here commences his part -of my education. It was his delight to take me, a little girl five years -old, to the field, seize a couple of those beautiful young creatures, -broken only to the halter and bit, and gathering the reins of both -bridles firmly in hand, throw me upon the back of one colt, spring upon -the other himself, and catching me by one foot, and bidding me “cling -fast to the mane,” gallop away over field and fen, in and out among the -other colts in wild glee like ourselves. They were merry rides we took. -This was my riding school. I never had any other, but it served me well. -To this day my seat on a saddle or on the back of a horse is as secure -and tireless as in a rocking chair, and far more pleasurable. Sometimes, -in later years, when I found myself suddenly on a strange horse in a -trooper’s saddle, flying for life or liberty in front of pursuit, I -blessed the baby lessons of the wild gallops among the beautiful colts. - - -Various as were the topics of instruction pursued by my youthful -teachers, my father had still others. He was “Captain” Stephen Barton, -had served as a non-commissioned officer, under General Wayne (Mad -Anthony) in the French and Indian Wars on the then Western frontiers. -His soldier habits and tastes never left him. Those were also strong -political days—Andrew Jackson days—and very naturally my father became -my instructor in military and political lore. I listened breathlessly to -his war stories. Illustrations were called for, and we made battles and -fought them. Every shade of military etiquette was regarded. Generals, -colonels, captains and sergeants were given their proper place and rank. -So with the political world; the president, cabinet and leading officers -of the government were learned by heart, and nothing gratified the keen -humor of my father more than the parrot-like readiness with which I -lisped these often difficult names, and the accuracy with which I -repeated them upon request. My elder sister, with a teacher’s intuition, -mistrusting that my ideas on these points might be somewhat vague, -confidentially drew from me one day my impressions in regard to the -personages whose names I handled so glibly, and to the amusement of the -family found that I had no conception of their being men like other men, -but had invested them with miraculous size and importance. I thought the -president might be as large as the meeting house, and the vice-president -perhaps the size of the school house. And yet I am not going to say that -even this instruction had never any value for me. When later, I, like -all the rest of our country people, was suddenly thrust into the -mysteries of war, and had to find and take my place and part in it, I -found myself far less a stranger to the conditions than most women, or -even ordinary men for that matter; I never addressed a colonel as -captain, got my cavalry on foot, or mounted my infantry. - -My mother, like the sensible woman that she was, seeming to conclude -that there were plenty of instructors without her, attempted very -little, but rather regarded the whole thing as a sort of mental -conglomeration, and looked on with a kind of amused curiosity to see -what they would make of it. Indeed, I heard her remark many years after, -that I came out with a more level head than she would have thought -possible. - - -My first individual ownership was “Button.” In personality (if the term -be admissible), Button represented a sprightly, medium-sized, very white -dog, with silky ears, sparkling black eyes and a very short tail. His -bark spoke for itself. Button belonged to me. No other claim was -instituted, or ever had been. It was said that on my entrance into the -family, Button constituted himself my guardian. He watched my first -steps and tried to pick me up when I fell down. One was never seen -without the other. He proved an apt and obedient pupil, obeying me -precept upon precept, if not line upon line. He stood on two feet to ask -for his food, and made a bow on receiving it, walked on three legs when -very lame, and so on, after the manner of his crude instruction; went -everywhere with me through the day, waited patiently while I said my -prayers and continued his guard on the foot of the bed at night. Button -shared my board as well as my bed. This fact gave opportunity for an -amusing bit of sport for the family at my expense, as was their wont. - -One would, with considerable ado (to lend importance to the occasion), -make me a present of some divisible luxury, as cake or candies. This -called, on my part, for positive orders to all to sit down and share my -gift with me, as I never partook of it alone. A line or circle was -formed, comprising the entire family, Button occupying the last seat. I -then proceeded to make a careful hand count of each, including Button; -then retired and accurately divided my gift, a piece for each, but not -myself, as I was not in the count. I then went and gave a piece to every -one. The fun came in watching the silent wonderment and resignation with -which I contemplated my own empty hands, a condition of things I could -not at all comprehend, but made no complaint. Of course, each in -generous sympathy offered to give back to me his or her piece; but here -came in my careful mother’s protest and command, so seldom heard. “No,” -I must not be taught to think I could give a thing and still possess it, -or its value. A gift must be outright. I must do earnestly all that I -did. Each might generously give me back a very small piece, to make in -all no more than would have been my share, and I must be made to -understand that even this was a favor and not a right. I then went -around and received my crumbs. This all went well till I came to Button. -When I held out my hand for his little charity, he had nothing for me. I -could never understand this discourtesy of Button. - -This was one of the many jokes reserved for me as I grew older. But far -above and beyond it all, as the years sped on, and the hands were still, -shone the gleam of the far-sighted mother’s watchfulness that neither -toil could obscure, nor mirth relax. - - -My home instruction was by no means permitted to stand in the way of the -“regular school,” which consisted of two terms each year, of three -months each. The winter term included not only the large boys and girls, -but in reality the young men and young women of the neighborhood. An -exceptionally fine teacher often drew the daily attendance of advanced -scholars for several miles. Our district had this good fortune. I -introduce with pleasure and with reverence the name of Richard Stone; a -firmly-set, handsome young man of twenty-six or seven, of commanding -figure and presence, combining all the elements of a teacher with a -discipline never questioned. His glance of disapproval was a reprimand, -his frown something he never needed to go beyond. The love and respect -of his pupils exceeded even their fear. It was no uncommon thing for -summer teachers to come twenty miles to avail themselves of the winter -term of “Col.” Stone, for he was a high militia officer, and at that -young age was a settled man with a family of four little children. He -had married at eighteen. - -I am thus particular in my description of him, both because of my -childish worship of him, and because I shall have occasion to refer to -him later. The opening of his first term was a signal for the Barton -family, and seated on the strong shoulders of my stalwart brother -Stephen, I was taken a mile through the tall drifts to school. I have -often questioned if in this movement there might not have been a touch -of mischievous curiosity on the part of these not at all dull -youngsters, to see what my performance at school might be. - -I was, of course, the baby of the school. I recall no introduction to -the teacher, but was set down among the many pupils in the by no means -spacious room, with my spelling book and the traditional slate, from -which nothing could separate me. I was seated on one of the low benches -and sat very still. At length the majestic schoolmaster seated himself, -and taking a primer, called the class of little ones to him. He pointed -the letters to each. I named them all, and was asked to spell some -little words, “dog,” “cat,” etc., whereupon I hesitatingly informed him -that I did “not spell there.” “Where do you spell?” “I spell in -‘Artichoke,’” that being the leading word in the three syllable column -in my speller. He good naturedly conformed to my suggestion, and I was -put into the “artichoke” class to bear my part for the winter, and read -and “spell for the head.” When, after a few weeks, my brother Stephen -was declared by the committee to be too advanced for a common school, -and was placed in charge of an important school himself, my unique -transportation devolved upon the other brother, David. - -No colts now, but solid wading through the high New England drifts. - -The Rev. Mr. Menseur of the Episcopal church of Leicester, Mass., if I -recollect aright, wisely comprehending the grievous inadaptability of -the school books of that time, had compiled a small geography and atlas -suited to young children, known as Menseur’s Geography. It was a -novelty, as well as a beneficence; nothing of its kind having occurred -to makers of the school books of that day. They seemed not to have -recognized the existence of a state of childhood in the intellectual -creation. During the winter I had become the happy possessor of a -Menseur’s Geography and Atlas. It is questionable if my satisfaction was -fully shared by others of the household. I required a great deal of -assistance in the study of my maps, and became so interested that I -could not sleep, and was not willing that others should, but persisted -in waking my poor drowsy sister in the cold winter mornings to sit up in -bed and by the light of a tallow candle, help me to find mountains, -rivers, counties, oceans, lakes, islands, isthmuses, channels, cities, -towns and capitals. - -[Illustration: - - MY BIRTHPLACE. -] - -The next May the summer school opened, taught by Miss Susan Torrey. -Again, I write the name reverently, as gracing one of the most perfect -of personalities. I was not alone in my childish admiration, for her -memory remained a living reality in the town long years after the gentle -spirit fled. My sisters were both teaching other schools, and I must -make my own way, which I did, walking a mile with my one precious little -schoolmate, Nancy Fitts. Nancy Fitts! The playmate of my childhood; the -“chum” of laughing girlhood; the faithful trusted companion of young -womanhood, and the beloved life friend that the relentless grasp of time -has neither changed, nor taken from me. - -On entering the wide open door of the inviting schoolhouse, armed with -some most unsuitable reader, a spelling book, geography, atlas and -slate, I was seized with an intense fear at finding myself with no -member of the family near, and my trepidation became so visible that the -gentle teacher, relieving me of my burden of books, took me tenderly on -her lap and did her best to reassure and calm me. At length I was given -my seat, with a desk in front for my atlas and slate, my toes at least a -foot from the floor, and that became my daily, happy home for the next -three months. - - -I partially recall an event which occurred when I was five years old; -the incidents which I could not have personally remembered, must have -been supplied by later relations. It seems that I was suddenly -discovered to be alarmingly ill. In response to the terror of the -moment, the saddle was thrown on Black Stallion, the king of the herd, -his rough rider mounted and away for the doctor, on “Oxford Plain,” five -miles away. “Not at home—out on a professional drive.” Followed to -“Sutton Street,” six miles further on. “Gone.” Back over “Hog Hill” and -across the town to the west. At length overtaken and brought back at a -speed little less than that which had called him, for the doctor was a -fearless driver. The thunder of the flying hoofs and the speed of the -rider as they passed had alarmed the people. All the town knew the horse -and the rider, and knew as well that something bad had happened at -Captain Barton’s. Men dropped their work, harnessed their own teams and -drove with all haste to see if, perchance, it were anything in which -they could help. When the doctor arrived, the yard and road were filled -with people, waiting his coming and diagnosis. - -Shortly the verbal bulletin went out: “A sudden, unaccountable and -probably fatal attack of bloody dysentery and convulsions.” There was no -more for the sympathetic neighbors to do; they turned sadly away, and -with them went the report that Captain and Mrs. Barton had lost their -little baby girl. - -[Illustration: - - CAPTAIN STEPHEN BARTON, MY FATHER. -] - -[Illustration: - - SALLY STONE BARTON, MY MOTHER. -] - -Of all this I have, naturally, no recollection—neither do I know the -lapse of time till memory again got hold; but her first grasp of the -event was this: I had occupied as a bed a great cradle which had been -made for some grown invalid, and preserved in the household. I was -bolstered up in this cradle, with a little low table at the side on -which was my first meal of solid food. How I had previously been -nourished I do not know, but I can see this meal as clearly as if it had -been yesterday. A piece of brown bread crust, about two inches square, -rye and Indian, baked on the oven bottom; a tiny wine glass, my -Christmas gift, full of home-made blackberry cordial, and a wee bit of -my mother’s well cured old cheese. There was no need to caution me to -eat slowly; knowing that I could have no more, and in dread of coming to -the last morsel, I nibbled and sipped and swallowed till I mercifully -fell asleep from exhaustion. - -There are a good many men over the country who would readily believe -that sometimes, at the end of a long fast, food might have tasted very -good to me, as it did to them; but no food through the longest fast, -ever had the relish of that brown bread crust; and no royal table has -ever been so kingly as that where I presided alone over my own feast. - - -Of the succeeding years, six, seven and eight, I recall little of note -beyond my studies, excepting a propensity I indulged for writing verses, -many of which were preserved to amuse, others to tease me for many -years. Colonel Stone had closed his series of common schools, and opened -a special institution on “Oxford Plain,” known as the “Oxford High -School.” Its fame had spread for miles around, and it was regarded as -the _Ultima Thule_ for teachers, and in a manner a stepping stone or -opening door to Harvard and Yale. - -My brother Stephen had succeeded Col. Stone in the winter terms of the -home school, and my sisters mainly had charge of them in summer. Thus -six months of each year offered little change, the others were long -vacations in which the out-of-doors played by far the most prominent -part. There were garden and flower beds to be made, choice pet animals -to look after, a few needy families with little children to be thought -of, and some sewing to be attempted. These latter were in accordance -with my mother’s recommendations. I recall no season of dolls, and -believe they were never included in my curriculum. - -Meantime, I fell heir to my mother’s side saddle, a beautiful piece of -workmanship, and with some difficulty learned to adjust myself to it, a -rather useless adjustment it seemed to me at the time, which opinion I -still entertain. - -These were years of change in the family. My brothers had become of age -and were young men of strength, character and enterprise. They had -“bought out” as the term went, the two large farms of my father, and -commenced business in earnest for themselves. My father had purchased -another farm of some three hundred acres, a few miles nearer the center -of the town. - -This was a place of note, having been one of the points used for -security against the Indians by the old Huguenot Settlers of Oxford, and -which has made the town historic. Their main defense was on “Fort Hill,” -several miles to the east. I was naturally greatly interested in the -changes, and doubtless gave them all the time I could spare from my -increasing studies. I can recollect even now that my life seemed very -full for a little girl of eight years. - - -During the preceding winter I began to hear talk of my going away to -school, and it was decided that I be sent to Col. Stone’s High school, -to board in his family and go home occasionally. This arrangement, I -learned in later years, had a double object. I was what is known as a -bashful child, timid in the presence of other persons, a condition of -things found impossible to correct at home. In the hope of overcoming -this undesirable _mauvais honte_, it was decided to throw me among -strangers. - -How well I remember my advent. My father took me in his carriage with a -little dressing case which I dignified with the appellation of -“trunk”—something I had never owned. It was April—cold and bare. The -house and school rooms adjoined, and seemed enormously large. The -household was also large. The long family table with the dignified -preceptor, my loved and feared teacher at three years, at its head, -seemed to me something formidable. There were probably one hundred and -fifty pupils daily in the ample school rooms, of which I was perhaps the -youngest, except the colonel’s own children. - -My studies were chosen with great care. I remember among them, ancient -history with charts. The lessons were learned to repeat by rote. I found -difficulty both in learning the proper names and in pronouncing them, as -I had not quite outgrown my lisp. One day I had studied very hard on the -Ancient Kings of Egypt, and thought I had everything perfect, and when -the pupil above me failed to give the name of a reigning king, I -answered very promptly that it was “Potlomy.” The colonel checked with a -glance the rising laugh of the older members of the class, and told me, -very gently, that the P was silent in that word. I had, however, seen it -all, and was so overcome by mortification for my mistake, and gratitude -for the kindness of my teacher, that I burst into tears and was -permitted to leave the room. - -[Illustration: - - COLONEL RICHARD C. STONE, MY TEACHER AT THREE YEARS OF AGE. -] - -I am not sure that I was really homesick, but the days seemed very long, -especially Sundays. I was in constant dread of doing something wrong, -and one Sunday afternoon I was sure I had found my occasion. It was -early spring. The tender leaves had put out and with them the buds and -half open blossoms of the little cinnamon roses, an unfailing -ornamentation of a well kept New England home of that day. The children -of the family had gathered in the front yard, admiring the roses and -daring to pick each a little bouquet. As I stood holding mine, the heavy -door at my back swung open, and there was the colonel, in his long, -light dressing gown and slippers, direct from his study. A kindly spoken -“come with me, Clara,” nearly took my last breath. I followed his -strides through all the house, up the long flights of stairs, through -the halls of the school rooms, silently wondering what I had done more -than the others. I knew he was by no means wont to spare his own -children. I had my handful of roses—so had they. I knew it was very -wrong to have picked them, but why more wrong for me than for the -others? At length, and it seemed to me an hour, we reached the colonel’s -study, and there, advancing to meet us, was the Reverend Mr. Chandler, -the pastor of our Universalist church, whom I knew well. He greeted me -very politely and kindly, and handed the large, open school reader which -he held, to the colonel, who put it into my hands, placed me a little in -front of them, and pointing to a column of blank verse, very gently -directed me to read it. It was an extract from Campbell’s “Pleasures of -Hope,” commencing, “Unfading hope, when life’s last embers burn.” I read -it to the end, a page or two. When finished, the good pastor came -quickly and relieved me of the heavy book, and I wondered why there were -tears in his eyes. The colonel drew me to him, gently stroked my short -cropped hair, went with me down the long steps, and told me I could “go -back to the children and play.” I went much more easy in mind than I -came, but it was years before I comprehended anything about it. - -My studies gave me no trouble, but I grew very tired, felt hungry all -the time but dared not eat, grew thin and pale. The colonel noticed it, -and watching me at table found that I was eating little or nothing, -refusing everything that was offered me. Mistrusting that it was from -timidity, he had food laid on my plate, but I dared not eat it, and -finally at the end of the term a consultation was held between the -colonel, my father and our beloved family physician, Dr. Delano Pierce, -who lived within a few doors of the school, and it was decided to take -me home until a little older, and wiser, I could hope. My timid -sensitiveness must have given great annoyance to my friends. If I ever -could have gotten entirely over it, it would have given far less -annoyance and trouble to myself all through life. - -To this day, I would rather stand behind the lines of artillery at -Antietam, or cross the pontoon bridge under fire at Fredericksburg, than -to be expected to preside at a public meeting. - -Referring to the breaking up of the first home, and the removal of my -father and mother to the new one, it might be well to state the reasons -for the change. A favorite nephew of my father, Mr. Jeremiah Larned, had -died after a lingering illness, leaving a widow and four children, from -thirteen to six years of age, on the fine farm which had descended to -him from his father, Captain Jeremiah Larned, one of the leading men of -the town. Unfortunately, during his long illness the farm had become -involved to the extent of necessitating a sale. This would result in -depriving the widow and her small children of a home, and in order to -prevent this, and the disadvantages of a creditor’s sale, it was decided -that my father and a brother-in-law of Mrs. Larned, Captain Sylvester -McIntire, who had no children, purchase the farm, and remove there, -keeping the widow and children with them. - -The hill farms—for there were two—were sold to my brothers, who, -entering into partnership, constituted the well known firm of S. & D. -Barton, continuing mainly through their lives. Thus I became the -occupant of two homes, my sisters remaining with my brothers, none of -whom were married. - -The removal to the second home was a great novelty to me. I became -observant of all changes made. One of the first things found necessary -on entering a house of such ancient date, was a rather extensive -renovation, for those days, of painting and papering. The leading -artisan in that line in the town was Mr. Sylvanus Harris, a courteous -man of fine manners, good scholarly acquirements, and who, for nearly -half a lifetime, filled the office of town clerk. The records of Oxford -will bear his name and his beautiful handwriting as long as its records -exist. - -Mr. Harris was engaged to make the necessary improvements. Painting -included more then than in these later days of prepared material. The -painter brought his massive white marble slab, ground his own paints, -mixed his colors, boiled his oil, calcined his plaster, made his putty -and did scores of things that a painter of to-day would not only never -think of doing, but would often scarcely know how to do. - -Coming from the newly built house where I was born, I had seen nothing -of this kind done, and was intensely interested. I must have persisted -in making myself very numerous, for I was constantly reminded not to -“get in the gentleman’s way.” But I was not to be set aside. My combined -interest and curiosity for once overcame my timidity, and encouraged by -the mild, genial face of Mr. Harris, I gathered the courage to walk up -in front and address him: “Will you teach me to paint, sir?” “With -pleasure, little lady, if mama is willing, I should very much like your -assistance.” The consent was forthcoming, and so was a gown suited to my -new work, and I reported for duty. I question if any ordinary apprentice -was ever more faithfully and intelligently instructed in his first -month’s apprenticeship. I was taught how to hold my brushes, to take -care of them, allowed to help grind my paints, shown how to mix and -blend them, how to make putty and use it, to prepare oils and dryings, -and learned from experience that boiling oil was a great deal hotter -than boiling water, was taught to trim paper neatly, to match and help -to hang it, to make the most approved paste, and even varnished the -kitchen chairs to the entire satisfaction of my mother, which was -triumph enough for one little girl. So interested was I, that I never -wearied of my work for a day, and at the end of a month looked on sadly -as the utensils, brushes, buckets and great marble slab were taken away. -There was not a room that I had not helped to make better; there were no -longer mysteries in paint and paper. I knew them all, and that work -would bring callouses even on little hands. - -When the work was finished and everything gone, I went to my room, -lonesome in spite of myself. I found on my candle stand a box containing -a pretty little locket, neatly inscribed, “To a faithful worker.” No one -seemed to have any knowledge of it, and I never gained any. - - -The new home presented a phase of life quite unfamiliar to me. From -never having had any playmates, I now found myself one of a very lively -body of six—three boys and three girls nearer of an age than would have -been probable in the same family. My father had taken charge of the -young son of a friend—Lovett Stimpson—a fine, robust, intelligent lad of -about my age, who lived with us. - -It would be difficult to describe what this new life, for the time it -continued, became to me, or indeed I to it. As I look back upon it I -realize that we were a group of good children with honorable instincts, -obedient and kindly disposed. In later years none of us could recall a -serious difference of any kind, no cruelty and no broken faith. It took -just six, and no more, to keep a secret. But this portrayal of -characteristics gives no clue to, indeed casts no shadow, of what we -were capable of accomplishing in a day. The territorial domain comprised -something over three hundred acres. We knew it all. From “Peakèd Hill,” -to “Jim Brown’s”—across the “Flowed Swamp,” three miles, we knew every -rod of it. Old “Rocky Hills,” so high, so steep, so thickly wooded that -a horse would never attempt them, were no strangers. We knew where the -best chestnuts were. We explored the “Devil’s Den,” in spite of the -tradition that it was an abode for the tempters of Eve. The “French -River,” that later carried all the factories of North Oxford, spread -itself out in lazy rest, after its rugged leaps, as it meandered through -the broad, beautiful meadows and interval land, the pride of the farm. - -A long hewn log or pole stretched across it in its narrowest, deepest -place. I would not dare to say how long, but it could not have been more -than fourteen inches wide, and swayed and teetered from the moment the -foot touched till it left it. The waters glided still and black beneath. -It was there as a convenience for the working men in crossing from one -field to another; but if ever a week day passed that we did not cross it -several times, we knew one duty had been neglected. The only sawmill in -that section of the town was a part of my father’s possessions. The -great up-and-down saw cut its angry way through the primeval forest -giants from morning till night, and not unfrequently from night till -morning. The long saw-carriage ran far out over the raceway at the rear -end. How were we to withstand the temptation of riding out over the -rushing mill stream twenty feet below, and then coming quickly in as the -sawn log was drawn back for another cut? Hurt? Never one of us. Killed? -We knew not such a thing could be. - -There were three temptingly great barns, scattered between the house -premises and the interval. Was there ever a better opportunity for -hide-and-seek, for climbing and jumping? It would have been no athlete -at all that couldn’t jump from the great beams to the hay, in scant -summer time before the new hay came in, and land on the feet safely. -There was, and still is, directly in front of the house, a small, -circular, natural pond, fed by springs in the bottom and surrounded by a -cordon of hills forming a basin in which the little pond basks and -sleeps through the summer, but in winter becomes a thing of beauty and a -joy forever to the skater. From its sheltered position it freezes -smooth, even, and glare, and has no danger spots. I dwell upon this -description, for that little pond was my early love; the home of my -beautiful flock of graceful ducks. The boys were all fine skaters; I -wanted to skate, too, but skating had not then become customary, in -fact, not even allowable for girls; and when, one day, my father saw me -sitting on the ice attempting to put on a pair of skates, he seemed -shocked, recommended me to the house, and said something about -“tomboys.” But this did not cure my desire; nor could I understand why -it was not as well for me to skate as for the boys; I was as strong, -could run as fast and ride better, indeed they would not have presumed -to approach me with a horse. Neither could the boys understand it, and -this misconception led them into an error and me into trouble. - -One clear, cold, starlight Sunday morning, I heard a low whistle under -my open chamber window. I realized that the boys were out for a skate -and wanted to communicate with me. On going to the window, they informed -me that they had an extra pair of skates and if I could come out they -would put them on me and “learn” me how to skate. It was Sunday morning; -no one would be up till late, and the ice was so smooth and “glare.” The -stars were bright, the temptation was too great. I was in my dress in a -moment and out. The skates were fastened on firmly, one of the boy’s -wool neck “comforters” tied about my waist, to be held by the boy in -front. The other two were to stand on either side, and at a signal the -cavalcade started. Swifter and swifter we went, until at length we -reached a spot where the ice had been cracked and was full of sharp -edges. These threw me, and the speed with which we were progressing, and -the distance before we could quite come to a stop, gave terrific -opportunity for cuts and wounded knees. The opportunity was not lost. -There was more blood flowing than any of us had ever seen. Something -must be done. Now all of the wool neck comforters came into requisition; -my wounds were bound up, and I was helped into the house, with one knee -of ordinary respectable cuts and bruises; the other frightful. Then the -enormity of the transaction and its attendant difficulties began to -present themselves, and how to surround (for there was no possibility of -overcoming them), was the question. - -The most feasible way seemed to be to say nothing about it, and we -decided to all keep silent; but how to conceal the limp? I must have no -limp, but walk well. I managed breakfast without notice. Dinner not -quite so well, and I had to acknowledge that I had slipped down and hurt -my knee a little. This gave my limp more latitude, but the next day it -was so decided, that I was held up and searched. It happened that the -best knee was inspected; the stiff wool comforter soaked off, and a -suitable dressing given it. This was a great relief, as it afforded -pretext for my limp, no one observing that I limped with the wrong knee. - -But the other knee was not a wound to heal by first intention, -especially under its peculiar dressing, and finally had to be revealed. -The result was a surgical dressing and my foot held up in a chair for -three weeks, during which time I read the “Arabian Nights” from end to -end. As the first dressing was finished, I heard the surgeon say to my -father: “that was a hard case, Captain, but she stood it like a -soldier.” But when I saw how genuinely they all pitied, and how tenderly -they nursed me, even walking lightly about the house not to jar my -swollen and fevered limbs, in spite of my disobedience and detestable -deception (and persevered in at that), my Sabbath breaking and -unbecoming conduct, and all the trouble I had caused, conscience -revived, and my mental suffering far exceeded my physical. The Arabian -Nights were none too powerful a soporific to hold me in reasonable -bounds. I despised myself and failed to sleep or eat. - -My mother, perceiving my remorseful condition, came to the rescue, -telling me soothingly, that she did not think it the worst thing that -could have been done, that other little girls had probably done as -badly, and strengthened her conclusions by telling me how she once -persisted in riding a high mettled unbroken horse in opposition to her -father’s commands, and was thrown. My supposition is that she had been a -worthy mother of her equestrian son. - -The lesson was not lost on any of the group. It is very certain that -none of us, boys or girls, indulged in further smart tricks. Twenty-five -years later, when on a visit to the old home, long left, I saw my -father, then a grey-haired grandsire, out on the same little pond, -fitting the skates carefully to the feet of his little twin -granddaughters, holding them up to make their first start in safety, I -remembered my wounded knees, and blessed the great Father that progress -and change were among the possibilities of His people. - -I never learned to skate. When it became fashionable I had neither time -nor opportunity. - - -Along these lines I recall another disappointment, which, though not -vital, was still indicative of the times. During the following winter a -dancing school was opened in the hall of the one hotel on Oxford Plain, -some three miles from us. It was taught by a personal friend of my -father, a polished gentleman, resident of a neighboring town, and -teacher of English schools. By some chance I got a glimpse of the -dancing school at the opening, and was seized with a most intense desire -to go and learn to dance. With my peculiar characteristics it was -necessary for me to want a thing very much before mentioning it; but -this overcame me, especially as the cordial teacher took tea with us one -evening before going to his school, and spoke very interestingly of his -classes. I even went so far as to beg permission to go. The dance was in -my very feet. The violin haunted me. “Ladies change” and “all hands -round” sounded in my ears and woke me from my sleep at night. - -The matter was taken up in family council. I was thought to be very -young to be allowed to go to a dancing school in a hotel. Dancing at -that time was at a very low ebb in good New England society, and -besides, there was an active revival taking place in both of the -orthodox churches (or rather one a church and the other a society -without a church), and it might not be a wise, nor even a courteous, -thing to allow. Not that our family, with its well known liberal -proclivities, could have the slightest objection on that score; still, -like St. Paul, if meat were harmful to their brethren they would not eat -it, and thus it was decided that I could not go. The decision was -perfectly conscientious, kindness itself, and probably wise; but I have -wondered if they could have known (as they never did) how severe the -disappointment was, the tears it cost me in my little bed in the dark, -the music and the master’s voice still sounding in my ears, if this -knowledge would have weighed in the decision. - -I have listened to a great deal of music since then, interspersed with -very positive orders, and which generally called for “all hands round” -but the dulcet notes of the violin and the “ladies change” were missing. -Neither did I ever learn to dance. - - -From the peculiar gifts that were wont to be made me in those days, I am -led to infer that my peculiarities in the direction of the dumb animal -part of creation, were decidedly noticeable. On one occasion an English -gentleman, a friend of the family, and, like my father, a promoter of -fine stock, had been paying us a visit, and upon returning to his home, -near Boston, sent to me a beautifully soft, wool-wadded basket -containing two and a half dozens of fine, large duck’s eggs. It was not -difficult to find among the numerous feathered inhabitants of the barns, -three domestically inclined, motherly hens, willing to take charge of -the big tinted eggs, albeit not their own, giving to them the strictest -attention. The result was, that within four weeks, the shallow end of -the little pond was covered with tiny balls of yellow down floating -calmly and majestically on the water—darting rapidly this way and that, -for every fly or bug so unfortunate as to appear, while the shore -presented the scene of three of the most distracted mothers that -imagination can picture. There was nothing majestic nor calm in their -motions, and the tones which called the recreant broods were far from -soothing; but like the mothers of other wayward, unnatural offspring, -the lesson of submission was theirs to learn; and through resignation at -length came peace. - -In the course of two or three years my flock of ducks became so numerous -as to attract the attention of the wild ducks, passing over from the -northern lakes to the southern bays, and it was no uncommon thing for an -entire flock, wearied with a long journey, to alight for a few days’ -rest. My tame ducks learned athletics from these native divers and -dippers, and the scene became at times not only interesting, but -inspiring and instructive. - -It is very evident to me, as I remember it, that my aspirations were by -no means satisfied with an interest in these small specimens, such as -ducks, hens, turkeys, geese, dogs, cats, etc., of which I had no lack. -This not including canaries, of which I received from time to time a -number as gifts; but I had no pleasure in them, and although doubtless -the most inhuman thing that could have been done, I invariably opened -the cage door and let them out. - -But all that farm land, the three great barns and accompanying yards, -called for cattle. A small herd of twenty-five fine milch cows came -faithfully home each day with the lowering of the sun, for the milking -and extra supper which they knew awaited them. With the customary greed -of childhood I had laid claim to three or four of the handsomest and -tamest of them, and believing myself to be their real owner, I went -faithfully every evening to the yards to receive and look after them. My -little milk pail went as well, and I became proficient in an art never -forgotten. - -One afternoon, on going to the barn as usual, I found no cows there; all -had been driven somewhere else. As I stood in the corner of the great -yard alone, I saw three or four men—the farm hands—with one stranger -among them wearing a long, loose shirt or gown. They were all trying to -get a large red ox onto the barn floor, to which he went very -reluctantly. At length they succeeded. One of the men carried an axe, -and stepping a little to the side and back, raised it high in the air -and brought it down with a terrible blow. The ox fell, I fell too; and -the next I knew I was in the house on a bed, and all the family about -me, with the traditional camphor bottle, bathing my head to my great -discomfort. As I regained consciousness they asked me what made me fall? -I said “some one struck me.” “Oh, no,” they said, “no one struck you,” -but I was not to be convinced and proceeded to argue the case with an -impatient putting away of the hurting hands, “then what makes my head so -sore?” Happy ignorance! I had not then learned the mystery of nerves. - -I have, however, a very clear recollection of the indignation of my -father (my mother had already expressed herself on the subject), on his -return from town and hearing what had taken place. The hired men were -lined up and arraigned for “cruel carelessness.” They had “the -consideration to keep the cattle away,” he said, “but allowed that -little girl to stand in full view.” Of course, each protested he had not -seen me. I was altogether too friendly with the farm hands to hear them -blamed, especially on my account, and came promptly to their side, -assuring my father that they had not seen me, and that it was “no -matter,” I was “all well now.” But, singularly, I lost all desire for -meat, if I had ever had it—and all through life to the present, have -only eaten it when I must for the sake of appearance, or as -circumstances seemed to make it the more proper thing to do. The -bountiful ground has always yielded enough for all my needs and wants. - - -I had been eleven years old the Christmas before. Great changes had -taken place during the two or three preceding years. My energetic -brothers had outgrown farming, sold their two farms on the hill, and -come down and bought of my father all his water power on the French -River, as well as all obtainable timber land in the vicinity. The -staunch old up-and-down saw still stood in its majesty for the handling -of the forest giants too massive for a lesser power, but it was -surrounded by a cordon of belted “circulars,” whirling with a speed that -quite obscured their motion, screaming, screeching and throwing out the -product of their work in all directions; shingles, laths, thin boards, -bolters and slitters. New dams had been thrown across the shifty, -flighty stream, to be swept away in the torrents of the spring freshets -and floating ice, but replaced at once with an obstinate manliness and -enterprise that scarcely admitted of an interruption in the work. - -In a new building along the side of the dam, the great burr-stones of -that date ground out the wholesome grain of all the surrounding country, -and where I had first seen it under the control of the one lone sawyer, -now fifty of the strongest working men that could be procured, and great -four-horse teams covered the once quiet mill-yard. The entire line of -factories above had caught the inspiration, and the French River -villages of North Oxford were models of growth and activity. - -One sister had married and settled in her home near by, and a wife had -come into my eldest brother’s home. Mrs. Larned, the widow to whose -assistance my father had gone in her early desolation, had found her -children now so well grown as to make it advisable to remove to one of -the factory villages, where she became a popular boarding house keeper, -and her children operatives in the mill. - -Thus, I was again left to myself. The schools were not the best, but all -that could be done for me, in or out of them, was done. I had been -especially well taught to sew and liked it, but knitting was beyond me. -I could not be held to it, and it was given up. - -Through the confirmed invalidism of my elder sister, Dorothea, I lost -her beautiful guidance, but the watchful care of my younger sister, now -Mrs. Vassall, was truly pathetic. She never lost sight of my welfare, -and her fine literary taste was a constant inspiration. - - -While thus in the midst of my various pursuits and vocations, an -accidental turn in my wheel of fortune changed my entire course (for a -time at least) and how much bearing, if any, it may have had on the -future, I have never been able to determine. I have spoken of the -younger of my two brothers, of the firm of S. & D. Barton, as a fine -horseman. He was more than that. In these days he would have been an -athlete. The two men were but two years apart in age, of fine -disposition and excellent physical strength, integrity and courage; of -fine disposition and equable temper; yet neither of them men with whom -an opponent would carelessly or tauntingly covet an encounter. The -younger, David, from his physical activity and daring, was always -selected for any feat of danger to be performed. - -These were days when even buildings were “raised by hand.” All the -neighborhood was expected to participate in a “raising.” Upon one -occasion, an uncommonly large barn, with what was then still more -uncommon, a cellar beneath, was to be raised. The rafters must be -affixed to the ridgepole, and David Barton was assigned to this duty. -While in its performance, a timber on which he was standing, having been -weakened by an unobserved knot, suddenly gave way, and he fell directly -to the first floor, striking on his feet on another timber near the -bottom of the cellar. Without falling he leaped to the ground, and after -a few breathless minutes declared himself unhurt, but was not permitted -to return aloft. It was spoken of as a “remarkable adventure,” “a -wonderful escape,” etc., and for a few days all went well, with the -exception of a slight and quite unaccustomed headache, which continued -to increase as the July weather progressed. At length he showed symptoms -of fever; the family physician was called, and here commenced a system -of medical treatment quite unknown to our physicians of the present day, -other than as results of historical research and milestones of -scientific advancement. - -He was pronounced in a “settled fever,” which must not be “broken up,” -and could only be held in check by reducing the strength of the patient. -He had “too much blood,” was “too vigorous,” “just the patient for a -fever to ‘go hard with,’” it was said. Accordingly, the blood was taken -from time to time, as long as it seemed safe to do so. The terrible pain -in the head continued and blisters were applied to all possible places, -in the hope of withdrawing the pain. Sleepless, restless, in agony both -physical and mental, his case grew desperate. He had been my ideal from -earliest memory. I was distressed beyond measure at his condition. I had -been his little protégée, his companion, and in his nervous wretchedness -he clung to me. Thus, from the first days and nights of illness, I -remained near his side. The fever ran on and over all the traditional -turning points, seven, fourteen, twenty-one days. I could not be taken -away from him except by compulsion, and he was unhappy until my return. -I learned to take all directions for his medicines from his physician -(who had eminent counsel) and to administer them like a genuine nurse. - -My little hands became schooled to the handling of the great, loathsome, -crawling leeches which were at first so many snakes to me, and no -fingers could so painlessly dress the angry blisters; and thus it came -about, that I was the accepted and acknowledged nurse of a man almost -too ill to recover. - -Finally, as the summer passed, the fever gave way, and for a wonder the -patient did not. No physician will doubt that I had given him poison -enough to have killed him many times over, if suitably administered with -that view. He will also understand the condition in which the patient -was left. They had certainly succeeded in reducing his strength. - -Late in the autumn he stood on his feet for the first time since July. -Still sleepless, nervous, cold, dyspeptic—a mere wreck of his former -self. None were so disturbed over his condition as his kind-hearted, and -for those days, skillful physicians, who had exhausted their knowledge -and poured out their sympathy and care like water, on the patient who, -for his manliness and bravery, they had come to respect, and for his -suffering learned to love with a parent’s tenderness. - -It now became a matter of time. Councils of physicians for twenty miles -around sat in judgment on the case. They could only recommend; and more -blisters, setons and various methods of external irritation for the -withdrawal of internal pain followed, from month to month and season to -season. All these were my preferred care. - -I realize now how carefully and apprehensively the whole family watched -the little nurse, but I had no idea of it then. I thought my position -the most natural thing in the world; I almost forgot that there was an -outside to the house. - -This state of things continued with little change—a trifling gain of -strength in my patient at times—for two years, when, entirely -unexpected, the most tabooed and little known of all medical treatments, -restored him to health. It is to be remembered at that date there was no -homeopathy, no hydropathy, no sanitariums, no Christian Science, nothing -but the regular school of allopathic medicine. Medical practitioners, -baffled by lack of science, surrounded by ignorance on all such subjects -and more or less of superstition, struggled manfully on toward the -blessed light of the scientific knowledge of to-day, which they have so -richly attained. - -It was not to be wondered at that the slightest departure from the -beaten track, under these conditions, was held as unpardonable and -punishable quackery; and that the first “ism” that broke through the -defense fought the fight of a forlorn hope. There are young physicians -of good historical knowledge to-day, who have never learned that -“Thompsonianism” was that “ism”; that Dr. Samuel Thompson fought that -fight, and that they are pursuing many excellent methods which are the -result of his thought; that it was he who first advanced the theory (in -this country at least,) that fever was not the foe, but the friend of -the patient; that it was simply unequal animal warmth and vigor—that -people did not have too much blood any more than they had too much bone, -and could as ill afford to lose it; that if the blood were too thick, or -too thin, or of a bad quality, taking away a portion of it would not -rectify or purify the remainder. That a blister was not likely to soothe -a nervous patient to sleep, or to extract a pain, save by creating a -greater. But that a better way to treat disturbances was to open the -pores generally, by a vapor bath—designated “Thompson’s Steam Box,” and -greatly to be feared. He and his few followers were known as “Steam -Doctors”—and the public warned against them. - -It happened that one of his disciples, a “Steam Doctor,” residing in a -neighboring town (I will write his name in grateful remembrance—Dr. Asa -McCullum), had watched this remarkable case with interest and pity, -convinced that the right remedies had not reached it. - -He ventured at length to approach my father on the subject; then my -brother, who was willing to attempt anything short of suicide. The -result was the removal of the patient to the home asylum of the doctor -for treatment. In three weeks he was so far restored as to return home -and take his place in his business, like one come back from the dead. I -remember the greetings—the tears of gladness on the blessed face of our -family physician when he came to welcome him home: “And so, David, -something good has come out of Nazareth.” - -I was again free; my occupation gone. Life seemed very strange and idle -to me. I wondered that my father took me to ride so much, and that my -mother hoped she could make me some new clothes now, for in the two -years I had not grown an inch, had been to school one-half day, and had -gained one pound in weight. - -This singular mode of life, at so young an age, could not have been -without its characteristic effects. In some respects it had served to -heighten serious defects. The seclusion had increased the troublesome -bashfulness. I had grown even more timid, shrinking and sensitive in the -presence of others; absurdly careful and methodical for a child; afraid -of giving trouble by letting my wants be known, thereby giving the very -pain I sought to avoid, and instead of feeling that my freedom gave me -time for recreation or play, it seemed to me like time wasted, and I -looked anxiously about for some useful occupation. - -As usual, my blessed sister, Mrs. Vassall, came to the rescue. Taking -advantage of an all-absorbing love of poetry (which I always had) she -made a weapon of it by providing me with the poetical works of Walter -Scott, which I had not read, and proposed that we read them together. We -naturally commenced with “The Lady of the Lake.” I was immediately -transported to the Highlands and the Bonny Braes, plucking the heather -and broom and guiding the skiff across Loch Katrine, listening to the -sweet warning song of poor crazed Blanche of Devon, thrilling with, -“Saxon, I am Roderick Dhu,” and trudging along with the old minstrel and -Ellen to Sterling tower and the Court of Fitz-James. “Marmion” followed, -and then all the train of English poetry that a child could take in. - - -My second individual ownership was “Billy.” His personality (which I -never questioned), was represented by a high stepping brown Morgan -horse, with glossy coat, slim legs, pointed ears, long curly black mane -and tail, and weighing nearly nine hundred pounds. - -Although a good driver, his forte was the saddle. His gait (or rather, I -should say, gaits) was first a delightful single-foot; but which he had -the faculty of changing to a rack, or pace or trot, as occasion or haste -seemed to call for; and as a last resort, he could cover them all by -something one does not like to name; but we only used that gait on -extraordinary occasions. My father had purchased and given Billy to me -when about ten years old. The same figures will do for us both. - -I had three or four neighboring girl associates who also had their own -or family horses, and our riding parties were the events of the season. -Anticipating the deep, forbidding snows of the winter in New England, we -had the custom of celebrating Thanksgiving day by a final party for the -season. Even this was cold and had often some traces of snow. - -On the present occasion there were but three of us, Martha, Eveline and -myself. Martha had a fine sorrel trotter, Eveline a spirited -single-footer. The day was cold and threatening. Our ride was to -Worcester, some ten miles. When about three miles from home, on our -return, a blinding snowstorm set in, literally a gale. This either -frightened or excited Eveline’s horse, which, mastering the situation by -a quick toss of the head, and catch of the bit (a trick he evidently -understood), dropped his single-foot as something adapted to ladies and -little girls, and fell to using all the feet he had, the best he knew. -Awed by her peril, but powerless to aid, we could only follow our -fleeing comrade to be ready to help when she should fall, as we were -sure she must. The gale mercilessly increased; so did our speed. We kept -nearly alongside, every horse upon the “dead run.” - -We must have presented a striking miniature picture of the veritable -“Three Furies” on a rampage. A country road and no one passing. Martha -and myself each rushing directly past our own homes unobserved in the -storm, till at length we rounded the curve that brought the flying horse -in sight of his own stable. They had sighted the coming cavalcade. The -gates were thrown wide open, and a man stationed on either side to catch -both horse and rider when they should enter. - -Seeing the worn-out girl once safely in her father’s arms, we turned -away, with an entirely new chapter added to our very limited stock of -equestrian knowledge. We were all alive and unharmed, and I alone am -here now to tell the little stories of childhood’s terrifying dangers -and miraculous escapes. - - -We were midway between the two district schools, a long mile and a half -from either, and it frequently chanced that a season or two of -indifferent schools followed each other in train. The experiment of -sending me away to school was not to be repeated, and accordingly I was -undertaken at home. My mathematical brother, Stephen, took charge of -that department, and Mrs. Vassall the other needful studies, while my -former patient, brother David, the equestrian of early days, now grown -strong and well, kept to his rule of practical teaching. I recall -vividly the half impatient frown on his fine face when he would see me -do an awkward thing, however trivial. He detested false motions; wanted -the thing done rightly the first time. If I started to go somewhere, go, -and not turn back; if to do something, do it. I must throw a ball or a -stone with an under swing like a boy and not a girl, and must make it go -where I sent it, and not fall at my feet and foolishly laugh at it. If I -would drive a nail, strike it fairly on the head every time, and not -split the board. If I would draw a screw, turn it right the first time. -I must tie a square knot that would hold, and not tie my horse with a -slip noose and leave him to choke himself. These were little things, -still a part of the instructions not to be undervalued. In the rather -practical life which has sometimes fallen to me, I have wondered if they -were not among the most useful, and if that handsome frown were not one -of my best lessons. - -At length there came a school that could be utilized, and my family -instructors were relieved. The school to the north of us was undertaken -by Mr. Lucian Burleigh, a younger member of the noted Burleigh family, -and brother of William H. Burleigh, the poet. It seemed very strange to -me to be in school again. I had been so long accustomed to govern -myself, in a manner, that I wondered how any one should need others to -govern them. If scholars came there to learn, why should they try, or -want, to do anything else? There is no doubt that I seemed equally -unaccountable and prudish to them. - -[Illustration: - - MR. JONATHAN DANA, - - MY OXFORD TEACHER. -] - -The quick perceptions of the teacher at once comprehended the -conditions, and he treated me with the greatest consideration and -kindness; advising such changes and additions as seemed suitable, and -most in accord with the studies I had taken with me; even, as I could -later see, forming some new classes in branches outside of the customary -routine of the public school; as elementary astronomy, ancient history, -and the “Science of Language”; his own literary and scholarly tastes -pointing significantly to the latter. If Milton’s “Paradise Lost,” and -Pollok’s “Course of Time” were ever dissected, transposed, analyzed and -“parsed” by any class of vigilant youths, it was then and there. - -The winter passed all too soon. A mile and a half through the snow had -been only a pleasure. Our faithful, brotherly teacher left us, never to -return; but the still brotherly friendship between teacher and pupil -remained unbroken until his summons came. - -After a busy summer a similarly good fortune awaited me in the next -winter term of school. Mr. Jonathan Dana, one of Oxford’s most scholarly -men and a teacher of note, commenced the winter school to the south of -us. I have no words to describe the value of his instruction, nor the -pains he took with his eager pupil. I had been far too thoroughly -drilled to require time for the customary classes of the public school, -but did require instruction in branches forbidden in their lawful -curriculum. - -In spite of the labor of a school of sixty pupils of all ages, with no -assistant, I was permitted to take philosophy, chemistry and elementary -Latin—all to be taught outside of school hours. With no laboratory at -hand, I have often marveled at the amount of experimental instruction he -found it possible to give me. So generally appreciated was the -excellence of the school that the term was continued beyond the -customary three months. My grateful homage for my inestimable teacher -and his interest in his early pupil, became memories of a lifetime, and -the social acquaintance was never interrupted until the late summons -came to him, white haired and venerable, to go up higher. - -My family were all gratified by my progress and my deportment as a -student, but I was still diffident, timid, non-committal, afraid of -giving trouble and difficult to understand. My physical growth had not -met their expectations nor their hopes. I grew slowly and was still a -“little girl” in appearance. This went to show how positive the early -check had been, and how slowly the repairs were made, for it was said -that I gained an inch in height between the ages of twenty and -twenty-one. - - -The firm of my brothers, S. & D. Barton, had added to their ever -increasing business the manufacture of cloth. A factory had been erected -and a partnership entered into with Messrs. Paul and Samuel Parsons, two -elegant gentlemen among the earlier manufacturers of satinet in this -country, and the new factory was known as “The Satinet Mill of North -Oxford.” A very superior article of cloth was made, the operatives -almost entirely American, and very largely from families of the -neighborhood or surrounding country. Occupations for women were few in -those days, and often the school and music teacher, weary of the -monotonous life, sought change in the more remunerative loom of the -factory. I name this as a matter of history, as the North Oxford Mills -were the third, if not the second after Slater, who produced the first -spindle and power looms in America, at the risk of his life. - -I had been taken through the new factory by my brother; had seen these -young persons at work; watched the shuttles fly under the deft fingers -of the weavers, and felt that there was something I could do. There was -no school, I was idle. After a little quiet reflection I astonished the -family by announcing my desire to go into the mill. I wanted to weave -cloth. At first they tried laughing at me. I was too sensitive to be -dealt with in that way. Then reasoning. I was “too small”; it was not a -proper thing for me to do. But I was not easily dissuaded. One day in -the midst of a family council, my brother Stephen chanced to call. He -listened attentively, saw that I was anxious and troubled, and was -giving trouble to others as well. At length he spoke. Addressing my -mother, he said: “I do not see anything so very much out of the way in -the request. I wonder if we are not drawing the lines too tightly on our -little sister? A few years ago she wanted to learn to dance; this was -denied as frivolous and improper; now she asks to work. She took up a -work by herself and did it two years, a work that no child would be -expected to do, and did it well. She is certainly a properly behaved -little girl, and I cannot understand why we should trouble ourselves or -her so much concerning the proprieties of her life. For my part, I am -very willing to arrange a pair of looms for her and let her try.” A hush -fell on the group. My anxious mother seemed relieved. The big brother -had spoken. I crept shyly up under his stalwart arm and kissed his -bearded cheek. - -The next day a low platform was run along in front of a pair of new, -glossy looms, just by the desk of the overseer of the room. A good -weaver was given charge to instruct me, and when I stepped upon that -platform and looked down upon the evenly drawn warp and the swiftly -flying shuttles, and felt that they were mine, I imagine the sensation -was akin to that of a young queen whose foot first presses the throne. I -was too carefully watched to permit a mistake, and too interested to be -tired. Before the end of the week I was able to discharge my -instructress, or it is more probable she discharged herself in view of -my self-sufficiency. I could scarcely wait in the morning for the bell -to call me, early as it would be, and I walked up that long, outside -flight of black, greasy stairs and entered that whirring, clashing room -with as much pride and satisfaction as I would have entered the finest -and most highly embellished schoolroom. I observed that the help all -looked at me as I went in, and McDonald, the overseer, always raised his -Scotch cap a bit by the tassel, or touched his finger to the rim, -fitting so closely to his high forehead. I thought I ought to make some -acknowledgement of this, and always did so, but could not understand it. -I told my mother about it and asked her what he did it for? She said -that it was probably because I was “so little.” That perhaps if I were -as large as the other girls he might not do it. I thought this a -reasonable solution and was satisfied. - -I finished my first week, commenced my second, and went through with no -assistance. On Saturday my webs were cut from the looms, examined and -pronounced of first quality, showing great care. I took my proud record -home. The next day (Sunday), Mr. Samuel Parsons, with the prudent care -that could not trust even the watchman too implicitly, went into the -mill by himself, ascending to the picker room in the top story, where -the light, oiled wool was piled in great quantities. He casually placed -his hand upon it in passing, and observing that it felt warm, he plunged -his arm in to lift it. The flames enveloped him. He ran at full speed -the length of the building to the bell rope. The fire was there almost -before him. He gave two strokes, when the flames drove him from the -room; they licked down the air shafts and belt holes, lapping up the oil -like so much food, as it was. - -The perfection of the magnificent fire departments of the present day -was far in the future then. In three hours it was all over, and the new -North Oxford Satinet Mills were a smoking pile of rubbish, a thing of -the past. No heart was heavier than mine. The strong, energetic brothers -knew that rebuilding would commence at once, but I mourned without hope. - -If ever there were lost or omitted a well-turned joke or a bit of humor -by the various members of the Barton family it was clearly an accident, -no such omission being ever intended; and thus it was suggested to me, -that, as the fire was manifestly a case of spontaneous combustion, could -it have been that I worked so fast that the friction set the mill on -fire? That joke on me lasted many years. The mill was rebuilt, as well -as several others, some to be burned, some to be sold; but I had found -other occupations more congenial to the other members of the household, -it is to be hoped, if not to me. - -The recital of this incident by myself, or some one else, has given rise -to the bit of romance cropping out occasionally, in the sketches one -sees, that I was a factory girl and earned the money to pay off the -mortgage on my father’s farm. I wish the first statement might have been -true. Nothing to-day would gratify me more than to know that I had been -one of those self-reliant, intelligent, American-born girls like our -sweet poetess, Lucy Larcom, and like her had stood before the power -looms in the early progress of the manufactories of our great and -matchless country. I fear that my plain, simple facts will rob many a -fancy sketch of its brightest tints, as in this instance. I am compelled -to confess in regard to the second statement, that my father never had a -mortgage that I knew of, and, therefore, had no need of my brave help. -On the other hand, he had something to give to me. - - -I think it usually occurs in small communities that there is one family, -or one house, to which all strangers or new comers naturally gravitate. -Nothing was plainer than that ours was that house. All lecturers, upon -any subject, clergymen on trial, whoever had a new idea to expound and -was in need of an abiding place meanwhile, found one there. My father’s -active and liberal mind inclined him to examination and toleration, and -his cordial hospitality was seconded by my mother’s welcome to any one -who could bring new thought or culture to herself or her family. - -These were the very earliest days of phrenology. The famous brothers, O. -S. and L. N. Fowler, worthy disciples of Spurzheim and Coombe, were -commencing their lifelong work. Young men of advanced ideas, thought, -energy and purpose. - -The “Phrenological Journal,” if existing at all, was in its infancy. The -Fowler brothers were among the most interesting and popular lecturers in -the country. Two courses of lectures by L. N. Fowler were arranged for -our town; one for North and the other for South Oxford, or “Oxford -Plain,” as it is better known. He very naturally became the guest of my -father and mother. - -These two courses of lectures covered nearly a month of time. How can -the value of the results of that month, extending through a lifetime, be -put into words? How measure the worth of the ideas, the knowledge of -one’s self, and of others, growing out of it? Aside from this was his -aid and comfort to my mother in her perplexity concerning her -incomprehensible child. I recall the long, earnest talks, in which it -was evident that I was the prime subject, although not clearly realizing -it at the time. Upon one occasion there was no question. I was ill (of -mumps, I believe) and to avoid loneliness was permitted to lie on the -lounge in the large sitting room through the day. Forgetting my -presence, or believing me asleep, the conversation went on in my -hearing, portions of which at this late day I recall. My mother remarked -that none of her children had ever been so difficult to manage. “Was I -disobedient, exacting or wayward?” asked Mr. Fowler. Oh no! she often -wished I were, she would then know what to do, for I would make my wants -known, and they could be supplied. But I was so timid and afraid of -making trouble that they were in constant fear of neglecting me; I would -do without the most needed article rather than ask for it, and my -bashfulness increased rather than diminished as I grew older. As an -illustration, she stated that only last Sunday the child appeared with -bare hands when we were ready for church. Upon being asked where were -her gloves, she reluctantly replied that she “had none. They were worn -out.” Upon being asked why she had not said so and asked for others, the -reply was a burst of tears and an attempt to leave the room. “We would -not permit this unhappy day at home alone, and took her as she was,” -said my mother. All this sounded very badly to me as I heard it -rehearsed. It was all true, all wrong; would I, could I ever learn to do -better? - -Mr. Fowler replied that these characteristics were all indicated; that, -however much her friends might suffer from them, she would always suffer -more. “They may be apparently outgrown, but the sensitive nature will -always remain. She will never assert herself for herself—she will suffer -wrong first—but for others she will be perfectly fearless.” To my -mother’s anxious question, “what shall I do?” he replied, “Throw -responsibility upon her. She has all the qualities of a teacher. As soon -as her age will permit, give her a school to teach.” I well remember how -this suggestion shocked me. I should not have remembered all these -advices, but years after they were found with much more among my -mother’s carefully preserved papers; some correspondence must have -followed. The depth and faithfulness of the interest felt, was shown in -the fact that the great reader of human character, through his long life -in foreign lands as well as his own, never forgot the troublesome child. -Occasional correspondence and valued meetings across the sea marked the -milestones of life, till one road came to an end. A great and true man -and friend of humanity had gone, and the world was better for his having -lived in it. - -At the close of the second term of school, the advice was acted upon, -and it was arranged that I teach the school in District No. 9. My sister -resided within the district. How well I remember the preparations—the -efforts to look larger and older, the examination by the learned -committee of one clergyman, one lawyer and one justice of the peace; the -certificate with “excellent” added at the close; the bright May morning -over the dewy, grassy road to the schoolhouse, neither large nor new, -and not a pupil in sight. - -On entering, I found my little school of forty pupils all seated -according to their own selection, quietly waiting with folded hands. -Bright, rosy-cheeked boys and girls from four to thirteen, with the -exception of four lads, as tall and nearly as old as myself. These four -boys naturally looked a little curiously at me, as if forming an opinion -of how best to dispose of me, as rumor had it that on the preceding -summer, not being _en rapport_ with the young lady teacher, they had -excluded her from the building and taken possession themselves. All -arose as I entered, and remained standing until requested to sit. Never -having observed how schools were opened, I was compelled, as one would -say, to “blaze my own way.” I was too timid to address them, but holding -my Bible, I said they might take their Testaments and turn to the Sermon -on the Mount. All who could read, read a verse each, I reading with them -in turn. This opened the way for remarks upon the meaning of what they -had read. I found them more ready to express themselves than I had -expected, which was helpful to me as well. I asked them what they -supposed the Saviour meant by saying that they must love their enemies -and do good to them that hated and misused them? This was a hard -question, and they hesitated, until at length a little bright-eyed girl -with great earnestness replied: “I think He meant that you must be good -to everybody, and mustn’t quarrel nor make nobody feel bad, and I’m -going to try.” An ominous smile crept over the rather hard faces of my -four lads, but my response was so prompt, and my approval so hearty, -that it disappeared and they listened attentively but ventured no -remarks. With this moderate beginning the day progressed, and night -found us social, friendly and classed for a school. Country schools did -not admit of home dinners. I also remained. On the second or third day -an accident on their outside field of rough play called me to them. They -had been playing unfairly and dangerously and needed teaching, even to -play well. I must have thought they required object lessons, for almost -imperceptibly either to them or to myself, I joined in the game and was -playing with them. - -My four lads soon perceived that I was no stranger to their sports or -their tricks; that my early education had not been neglected, and that -they were not the first boys I had seen. When they found that I was as -agile and as strong as themselves, that my throw was as sure and as -straight as theirs, and that if they won a game it was because I -permitted it, their respect knew no bounds. No courtesy within their -knowledge was neglected. Their example was sufficient for the entire -school. I have seen no finer type of boys. They were faithful to me in -their boyhood, and in their manhood faithful to their country. Their -blood crimsoned its hardest fields, and the little bright-eyed girl with -the good resolve, has made her whole life a blessing to others, and -still lives to follow the teaching given her. Little Emily has “made -nobody feel bad.” - -My school was continued beyond the customary length of time, and its -only hard feature was our parting. In memory I see that pitiful group of -children sobbing their way down the hill after the last good-bye was -said, and I was little better. We had all been children together, and -when, in accordance with the then custom at town meetings, the grades of -the schools were named and No. 9 stood first for discipline, I thought -it the greatest injustice, and remonstrated, affirming that there had -been no discipline, that not one scholar had ever been disciplined. -Child that I was, I did not know that the surest test of discipline is -its absence. - -If the published school report, so misunderstood by me, had given me -displeasure, it had also given me a local reputation, quite as -unexpected. I soon found myself the recipient of numerous invitations to -teach in the nearby towns, especially such schools as required the -“discipline” so largely accredited to, and so little deserved, by me. - -Declination, on my part, was not to be thought of. All members of the -family were only too grateful for the progress I had made towards proper -self-assurance to permit any backsliding, and it was early settled that -I accept the application of the honorable committee, to teach the next -summer school at what was known as the “Mill-ward” in the adjoining town -of Charlton, commencing on the first Monday in May of the following -year—a “master” teaching the winter term. - - -One day, early in September, my brother David, now one of the active, -popular business men of the town, nearly took my breath away by inviting -me to accompany him on a journey to the state of Maine, to be present at -his wedding and with him bring back the wife who was to grace his home -and share his future life. - -There was now more lengthening of skirts, and a rush of dressmaking such -as I had never known before; and when, two weeks later, I found myself -with my brother and a rather gay party of ladies and gentlemen, friends -of his, at one of the most elegant hotels in Boston (where I had never -been) waiting the arrival of a delayed steamer, I was so overcome by the -dread of committing some impropriety or indiscretion which might -embarrass my brother that I begged him to permit me to go back home. I -was not distressed about what might be thought of _me_. I did not seem -to care much about that; but how it might reflect upon my brother, and -the mortification that my awkwardness could not fail to inflict on him. - -I had never set foot on a vessel or seagoing craft of any kind, and -when, in the glitter of that finely equipped steamer, I really crossed -over a corner of the great Atlantic ocean, the very waves of which -touched other continents as well, I felt that my world was miraculously -widening. - -It was another merry party, and magnificent spans of horses that met and -galloped away with us over the country to our destination. - -But the crowning astonishment came when I was informed that it was the -desire and decision of all parties, that I act as bridesmaid. That I -assist in introducing the younger of the guests, and stand beside the -tall, handsome young bride who was to be my sister, while she pledged -her troth to the brother dearer to me than my own life. - -This responsibility seemed to throw the whole world wide open to me. How -well I remember the tearful resolution with which I pledged myself to -try to overcome my troublesome propensities and to strive only for the -courage of the right, and for the fearlessness of true womanhood so much -needed and earnestly desired, and so painfully lacking. - -[Illustration: - - DAVID BARTON. - - MY YOUNGER BROTHER AND RIDING MASTER. -] - -November found us home again. Under the circumstances, there must -naturally be a share of social gayeties during the winter, and some -preparations for my new school duties; and I waited with more or less -apprehension for what would be my first life among strangers, and the -coming of my anticipated “First of May.” With slight variation I could -have joined truthfully in the dear old child refrain: - - “Then wake and call me early, - Call me early, mother dear,” - For that will be the veriest day - “Of all the glad New Year.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - 4. 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