ELLEN Pass J 3r)30 ) Book -El 4 5 " COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. Ell en . ELLEN THE LIFE-REVIEW OF A HUMAN SPIRIT Published by R. S. Peck & Company, Inc. (dept. e) Hartford, Conn. -s>^ x* * Copyright by Ellen. 1918 All rights reserved. MAR 13 1919 CLA512616 *> CONTENTS Page Foreword 7 Child Reminiscences 15 The Dawn of Womanhood 77 FOREWORD IFE is a school. There are grades and classes, punishments and rewards. Every- thing has its price, every cause its effect. With each step forward one changes, with each achievement something is cast aside. All things are in a state of flux. All living is a continual becoming. Consciousness is individual awareness of existence. It is an inherent conviction of personal identity — I am I. Each human spirit is an individual entity which has its first inception in fire or air through the action of Creative Mind, then struggles through progressive conditions of incarnation and environment until it passes on into high spirit planes of ripening. Every infant comes into the earth-world a waif out of the unknown. The parents believe it to be theirs — that tiny, helpless being. The mother is sure she knows it is hers — that morsel of pink flesh with mites of vine-tendril clinging fingers, but is it? The desire for warmth and comfort and the blind fumbling for food gradually develop into wider phases of perception and effort. When they do not happen to be in accord with parental traits they are usually recognized by the conventional and imaginative (7) 8 Foreword human observer as the habits and ways of some ancestor — "So like his great-grandfather Ransom !" One might as well say, "So like Ahmed, the camel driver! ,, Babies struggle instinctively to live and grow up whether born on American soil or in Eastern lands, that is the one great fundamental point of resemblance. To be sure children inherit form and feature, often to a remarkable extent. And through training and suggestion they frequently develop similarity to their physical progenitors in inclination and ideas. But then again they may be inherently opposed both to the method of training employed and the ideas upheld. Any child may be temperamentally and without fault of its own antagonized by surround- ing influences. "Not like any of the other children." And truly none of the other children are like this one or like each other, only in their cases it may not be so obvious. There is no such thing as spirit heredity. When this fact becomes generally recognized human kind will live in a new era of true freedom and individual growth such as has never yet been known on earth. Whenever human beings cease to impede each other such revelations of human power will be given to the inhabitants of the earth-world that the present dark ways of oppression, murder and devastation will be like the mould of forgotten dungeons. Foreword 9 Human safety and progress are dependent upon race-evolution attained as the sum of the higher development of individuals and made practical through the union and exercise of reason and intuition. But even with expanding human forces in almost chaotic upheaval and with hurricanes of contention blowing from all directions, there is light ahead. Great emergencies reveal great souls. Shining through the wickedness and wastefulness of war are the beauties and heroisms of sublime immolation and divine helpfulness. Out of all this carnage and agony is being born its apotheosis — the Reign of Comprehension and Compassion. And the spirit world is nearer to human reali- zation than ever before. This era of storm and stress is hastening psychic development on all sides. Death is coming to be more and more generally recognized as merely an incident in life. But this is a trying period for many human sen- sitives whose delicate organisms are impinged upon by discordant influences and who find themselves torn, wearied and debilitated by the knowledge of existing misuse of heavenly gifts. Only by a supreme effort for self-control, for power to remain helpful to other human beings can they retain poise and the ability to turn personal circumstances to such prac- tical account as is endorsed by their reason and sense of responsibility. io Foreword For eighteen years the writer of these paragraphs has had almost daily communication with spirit intelligences who give evidence of having been friends well known to her in their human phase. Of frail physique but possessing indomitable will she has been from infancy, in mental exploration, a living interrogation point. Since she was brought into the world without previous consultation (so ran the deduction even of her early childhood although not then distinctly formulated) she wanted to know why she was here, what she could do, how much living there was to life, what sort of adventures were to be hers, what there was to know that was worth knowing, and above all why did she or any one else, or the earth and sky, or the whole universe exist at all? Not an easy child to deal with and not one who belonged wholly to her time and surroundings. It is of this chameleon-hued spirit, glowing and paling in the flame and ashes of life-experience or rising phoenix-like from temporary submergence, that we give some slight account in a series of sketches, each complete in itself but forming, as a whole, a chain of unique and characteristic happenings. September, 1918 CHILDHOOD CHILD REMINISCENCES THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD The following Child Reminiscences were given by a mother to a daughter after the transition of the mother to the spirit-world. CHILD REMINISCENCES Page The Chaise-House Chamber Adventure ... 15 In Which You Resent What You Consider Un- due Familiarity 33 Early Gardening 44 Your Introduction to Mother Goose ... 52 A Tiresome Ride 57 In Which You Tell a Story . ... 66 Your First Book 70 CHILD REMINISCENCE THE CHAISE-HOUSE CHAMBER ADVENTURE OU were very small when the incident occurred which I am about to relate— a mere toddler, but your faculties in every waking moment were unfailingly on the alert. Many a time, to serve my own ends, had I endeavored to distract your attention from my employments, but you were too wary. If I believed that I had left you gloating over a gay-colored picture book or bestowing motherly cares on a doll, and became absorbed in my work or my dreams (I being always more or less of an idealist), I was soon undeceived as to your pre- occupation, for there you were close at my knees, your face turned eagerly up to mine, and some wholly unlooked for and frequently disconcerting query tripping glibly from your tongue. Even at that early age you talked quite plainly, and O, so fast — and such queer vagaries came into your infant brain! On a sultry summer afternoon I had donned a thin muslin wrapper and, after having made futile (15) 1 6 Child Reminiscences efforts to induce you to take a nap with me in our darkened bedroom, had arisen in despair to keep watchful guard over your restlessness; for in those days of plain country living I fully believed that your welfare was the first duty of my life, and trying to make you sleep, or even keep still, when you were neither sleepy nor tired, always proved useless. As soon as you had rolled out of your trundle- bed, you made a bee-line for the big dining-room outside door (the bedroom, as you remember, was on the ground floor, and opened off the dining-room). This did not suit me at all; you were evidently bent on a sally and I was in no garb to follow you. I tried to seize you, but you eluded me and slipped down the steps backward lying on your stomach — a baby fashion to which you still clung, to the extreme detriment of your clothing — then you picked yourself up in a trice and were off as fast as your legs could carry you. I, mindful of my disordered looks, rushed to the closet for a mantle and hastened forth, but you had disappeared — where to I could not imagine. You had been headed toward the front gate which you had discovered that you could open, but in the few moments that I had been delayed it did not seem possible that you could have got out of sight, yet not a glimpse could I catch of you. I knew not which way to turn. When you ran away, you usually went to see your old friend, Gen. Glidden, with Child Reminiscences 17 whom you were a prime favorite, but surely you could not have run as far as there in such a short space of time. My heart was in my mouth — what had become of you ? I thought of kidnappers. Every instant my alarm increased. If you were lost — you, the first flower of my married life, the joy of your father, the idol of your grandfather — what could we all do without our baby! Haunted by this lament, I hastened from house to house, almost suffocated with dread. Nothing had been seen of you. One person after another emerged to help me in my search; the neighborhood was soon scoured. Not a scrap of tidings could be gleaned. The mystery thickened. The excitement was intense. I, distracted, had made an almost running pilgrimage to your grandfather's which had proved a relief, for he had at once suggested the most natural contingency in the world — to hunt for you around our own place. Breathless, but determined to leave no stone unturned, I flew homeward, your grandfather following as rapidly as his years and weight would allow. "She may be at home after all," I said to the searchers who joined me on my return. "Is it the baby ye're frightened about, mum?" asked my new kitchen maid. "She's out in the barn." But that only brought a new terror into my mind. There was the horse in his stall — if the 1 8 Child Reminiscences door between the chaise-house and the stable had been left open! I ran through the wood-shed calling to you wildly. (See Note i.) As soon as I entered the chaise-house I heard, what was to me at that moment the sweetest sound that had ever met my ears — your baby voice piping forth, " Mamma, mamma, here I is!" But where? The voice seemed to come from the roof. I looked upward — and O horror of horrors! You had climbed up a long, narrow, steep staircase into the chaise-house cham- ber, as we called it. The stairs and the open place in the floor above in which they were set had no guard except a rail placed high above the flooring, so high that you could have stood under it; and there you were as I looked up, not standing and gazing over the edge of the floor, as I had feared, but what was as bad, lying flat and leaning so far forward that I expected every second to see you pitch down to destruction, for I was certain that you could never regain safety by yourself. I could not speak. There was an instant of agonizing fear, and then, standing on that ladder- like stairway, I had snatched you from your perilous position, your poor little feet banging against the railing as I clutched you to me. How I kept my balance I know not, for you were far above my head, but mother-love considered only possibility — you had to be saved. Child Reminiscences 19 A babble and confusion of neighborly rejoicing followed, from which, after grateful acknowledgment of kind help and sympathy, I, pleading my evident exhaustion, was thankful to escape, leaving you, smiling and delighted at being made so much of, in a place of benign security — your grandfather's arms. I staggered into the house, for the reaction from suspense had left my forces temporarily shat- tered. The maid, seeing my condition, quickly made me a cup of tea, which partially restored my nervous equilibrium. For hours afterward my mind was in a whirl; the details of this startling incident kept going over and over in my recollection. Though naturally of an equable temperament, this was the first great fright I had ever experienced, and your apparent nearness to that appalling state called death had given me a shock from which I could not readily recover. To you, however, the innocent cause of my harrowing reflections, the occasion had apparently been one of great enjoyment. You had had an extra visit from your grandfather — an always welcome event in your infantile existence, and it had filled you with beaming satisfaction to be made the center of friendly rejoicing, although you did not in the least understand that it was because you had been rescued from danger; so your little mind was as alive with pleasure as mine was with startled thankfulness. 20 Child Reminiscences Your father having been detained at his office, came in just at supper-time, and as you were with us, I refrained from giving him an account of the episode, thinking that I would tell him all about it after you were sound asleep at night in your old-fashioned trundle-bed. But this ignoring of what had been to you a very agreeable occurrence was not at all to your liking, so from the commanding supremacy of your high-chair you proceeded to give your father your version of the affair. "Papa, I's had a tea-party.'' "O, with your dollies, " said your father in an understanding-all-about-it tone. "No, wiv big people — grandpa, an' everybody all round here." Your father looked at me inquiringly. To be sure I was no longer in the muslin wrapper, for I always made a point of being nicely dressed when your father returned from his law-duties, but there was nothing in my costume or the appearance of the house to give color to your statement. However, you were equal to the occasion; you saw that you had roused your father's attention and were ready to take advantage of the circumstance. "I went up stairs in 'e chaise-house after kitty." "You climbed up those open stairs!" — exclaimed your father, forgetting about the tea-party in his amazement at this discovery. Child Reminiscences 21 "Yes," you replied, with perfect equanimity. "Kitty went up an' I wanted to get her, nen mamma come an' jumped me down, nen grandpa took me an' everybody talked an* say 'ey's glad I didn't fall, nen 'e party went home an' grandpa an' I had some tea." This hasty recapitulation on your part only served to mystify your father more than ever, so I tried to give him an idea of what had really happened, without letting you know what danger you had been in, and what general alarm you had caused — I having already learned that you were peculiarly impression- able, and that appeals to your feelings or conscience were best avoided when possible, for both were strongly developed, mite of a being as you were. But in spite of my good intention and cautious phrasing, my over-powering emotion as I related the tale communicated itself to your father, who, in man-like endeavor to conceal how deeply he was moved, thoughtlessly exclaimed, "Why you naughty little girl — don't you ever go up those stairs again!" This was the first intimation you had had that you were to be blamed, for in the general rejoicing at your discovery and recovery no one had alluded to your running off in spite of my attempt to stop you, or to the amazingness of your having crawled up that make-shift staircase. At your father's words 22 Child Reminiscences your face grew long instantly and you caught your breath in an ominous way that I well knew. "I runned away," you said contritely, and the tears began to trickle down your cheeks. Excited and heedless your father continued, "If I ever know of your going near that place again, I shall give you a terrible spanking." At this you turned to me with such a forlorn look that my heart was nearly broken. It sounded cruel, unmanly for your father to speak so roughly to such a fragile morsel of flesh and blood. "O Frank," I said, "don't scold the poor little thing. Be thankful she isn't dead!" My words so overcame your father that his face began to work convulsively, and unable to swallow another mouthful he rose from the table and fled to the garden to hoe and prune — his usual panacea for any mental dis- turbance. You took all this as evidence that your father was very angry with you, and your sobs quickly became hysterical. I lifted you from your high chair into my lap and tried to soothe you to quietness, but my efforts were at first unsuccessful for my own nerves had again become unstrung, through my sympathy with you, and, too, through my sympathy with your father, for I knew what tenderness lay under his assumed severity; only, what a pity that he had assumed what he did not really feel, and so torn Child Reminiscences 23 your sensitive baby breast, and made me — O so sorry for you both! After a time, your grief died down to a low, exhausted sobbing, and I sat, holding you close, with the twilight creeping on. The maid had been in and cleared the supper-table unheeded by you, the locusts were singing out in the shadows, the country night with its depth of darkness was almost upon us; and I, cowed and shaken, thought vaguely of the mystery of human pain, and of death — that strange passing into the unknown which you, tiny and inexperienced, had almost tried. It was a blessed relief when I heard your Grand- father Dean's familiar footsteps, followed immediately by his cheery voice, "Why what's this! What is the matter with my little Ellen ?" "Papa finks I'sa bad little girl. I is bad, but he finks Ts 'e baddest little girl 'at ever growed," you said, seemingly divided between your inclination to recommence sobbing, and your determination to unburden your mind to your chum, playmate and gentle mentor — that calm, kind old man who loved you as the apple of his eye. "What have you been doing that was so dreadful?" "I runned away an' climbed up 'ose ole stairs, an' papa say," but this was too much for you, and you started to, cry again. "O tut, tut!" said your grandfather, "Let's ride 24 Child Reminiscences pickaback. I didn't come over here to see you cry, I came over to have a play before you go to bed." Thankful for any ameliorating suggestion, I had you up on your grandfather's broad shoulders before you had time to express an opinion one way or another, and you were soon being toted around the yard in the warm summer night air with the stars peeping down at you from the solemn sky. Having disposed of one aching heart, I bethought me of that other who must be struggling alone with his sadness, and went in search of your father. I found him slowly pacing up and down near the garden, so slipped my arm in his and silently joined in his walk; he was a very undemonstrative man, several years my senior, and even I, his girl-wife, seldom indulged in any show of affectionate impulse when with him. After a few moments I remarked tentatively, "Well, I got her calmed down finally, and she's riding around now on Grandpa Dean's back." "She ought to be made to understand that she shouldn't do such things," said your father in a tone which I interpreted to mean, "It was my duty to set the child right, I hope you are through blam- ing me." "Yes, I know it, I was going to try to do it my- self, but wanted to get over this afternoon a little first," and I could feel that my tone meant to him, Child Reminiscences 25 "I know you are dreadfully sorry for speaking as you did. Let us forgive and forget. " At this juncture you rode up on your reliable grey-haired steed, and as soon as you came near your father you cried, "Take me, papa, please take me!" Your grandfather seeing that his reign was tem- porarily over, backed around accommodatingly for you to be transferred to your father's keeping. As quick as you could get to him you had your arms around his neck and your cheek crowded up against his. "O papa," you said, "I'll be good, Til be good," and then your tears burst forth afresh. This I knew would never do, for if you got started on another fit of weeping, no one could predict when we should ever get you to sleep for the night; so, spurred on by the exigency of the occasion, I did not wait for your father to speak, but exclaimed with determination, "Ellen, listen to me! Just tell papa that you will not go to the barn alone again until you are a big girl, then everything will be all right. Now tell him that — right off, kiss him good- night, then kiss grandpa, and then let me take you straight in to bed." My firmness checked your emotion and brought you courage, so you gave the required promise at once, adding hopefully, "I fink I'll be big pretty soon." This ending was not as satisfactory to your father 26 Child Reminiscences as yourself — he fearing that your idea of ' 'bigness' ' might differ from his, so he said, "Now take care, don't you be scaring us to pieces again, or you will fall down from somewhere and get awfully hurt." 11 'At wouldn't hurt you," you replied, half teasing, half wistful. And in this simple little query was the incipiency of that power of suggestion which has taken you into some of the most thrilling psychological situations ever experienced by a human being. In a hazy way you were wondering what all this meant; had your father been very angry — were you so very bad — would it hurt him if you were hurt — did he care for you? And so it has been time and again; you have made some exasperating little comment just at a point when a straw would show which way the wind blew — some apparently trivial assertion, quite true perhaps in one sense, wholly untrue in another, and in an instant that was revealed which another was striving to conceal. "Babies like you don't know anything about fathers." But you must have found out something about yours at that very moment in spite of his words, for you clung to him tightly and made him kiss you three times! — a most unprecedented display of affection on your father's part. I had to really disengage you to have you say goodnight to your grandfather, then I took you indoors. What a restless midget you were that night Child Reminiscences 27 The varying stimulation of several hours had keyed your susceptible organism to its highest pitch. You asked me all sorts of questions. Did I cry when I thought you were lost? Why didn't Grandma Dean come over to see you when everybody else came? If you had tumbled down and got hurt would you have been like the kitty who got stepped on one day and wouldn't wake up and play any more? What were little girls made for? Did they fly down from the sky — you saw some in a picture with wings on? And I had to do my best. I told you I was hunting for you so hard I couldn't stop to cry; and Grandma Dean didn't come over because Grandpa did not tell her how frightened we had all been (she was of a very excitable temperament and your grandfather had grown accustomed to avoiding arousing influences as far as possible) ; and yes, if you had got hurt badly you might never have waked up, like the kitten; and little girls were made to go to sleep at night when they had been racing about all day, and had had no nap; and I did not know about their flying down from the sky, but perhaps they would fly up there sometime when they got through staying on earth. "If they went to sleep and didn't wake up, how could they fly?" you queried. I drew a long breath — should I go on? But I knew I must. You had started on one of your problematic trains of thought, and 28 Child Reminiscences never would you rest or let me rest until some sort of a conclusion had been reached by you. "O every little girl is really two little girls — one that runs around and talks and plays, and another that keeps up a great thinking all the time and tells the first little girl when she is naughty; and that good little girl in you ought to tell you now that it is time for you to say your prayers and settle down and go to sleep.' ' This seemed to afford you a clue. After a moment of silence you repeated slowly, as if you were paying unusual attention to the meaning of the words, " 'Now - I - lay - me - down - to - sleep, I pray - 'e - Lord - my soul 1 — is 'at 'e uvver little girl?" "Yes, and that little girl wants you to mind me, so now finish the prayer and lie down." I had a way of sitting on the corner of your trundle-bed and un- dressing you, then instead of kneeling on the floor you used to kneel on the bed — which was much softer for your knees, putting your hands up like those little 'Praying Samuels' which the plaster-cast peddlers brought around. Instead of completing the prayer, you said, "Who is 'e Lord?" Then, not waiting for me to reply, you added — "Our Fahver in Heaven" (I had tried to teach you the Lord's Prayer) — "great big man up in 'e sky. I fink I knows him. He likes little girls. I fink I flyed in 'e sky." This was the first time Child Reminiscences 29 you had referred to what evidently seemed to you a perfectly natural acquaintance with God and heaven. I thought it merely a passing childish fancy, and little dreamed how many times within the next few years you were going to astound us with what you undoubtedly believed to be authentic information on heavenly matters, obtained from a source within yourself. At this juncture we heard someone entering the outside dining-room door. You knew the footstep and called out, "Gennul Gidden." And the General it was, looming up tall in the doorway and making us a bow accompanied by a wave of the hand, in the old-fashioned manner habitual with him. (See Note 2.) "Well, little missy, here you are, well and hearty in spite of your performances/ ' "Yes, and wide awake, too," I added. "I don't know when I shall ever get her settled down for the night, there has been so much going on today." This was, to be sure, a broad hint, but the General was one of the best natured men alive, and it was late, and you needed to be quiet. "I should have got around sooner, but I went to Charlestown today and am just home. I heard about the fracas and thought I'd stop in a minute and see that you were all right over here. I haven't had my supper yet. Wife is probably looking for 30 Child Reminiscences me, so I'm going right back." Then, addressing you, "Good night, ducky, go on with your prayers," (you were still kneeling) "and put in a word for me." "Wait, wait!" you cried as he was turning to go, stretching your arms out to him. The General, mindful of my warning and not wishing to disturb or rouse you more than was needful, bent down on one knee and leaned forward for your proffered caress. It touched me deeply to see that stalwart, elderly man, so gentle and forgiving, kneeling before you in such simple-hearted, self -forgetful fashion. "O how good you are!" I exclaimed, but scarcely were my words uttered, when the General, shy of praise, had risen and departed. "Now," said I, turning to you, "hurry with your prayers and say that 'word' for the General." You took it for granted that the "Now I lay me" had been completed, and began at once with, "Please, Lord, I say a word for Gennul Gidden an' mamma an' papa an' Granpa Dean an' Grandma" — here an over- powering drowsiness suddenly seized upon you, and you wound up abruptly with "an' everybody." For- getting your "Amen" you kissed me goodnight with eyes half closed and head nodding, and then tumbled down into a little soft heap in the bed. I placed the pillow gently under your head, but you were already limp and unconscious in sleep. Regarding you tenderly I realized how love for a Child Reminiscences 31 helpless little being committed to one's care opens one's sympathies for the whole world. I resolved to take you in the morning to your grandmother that she might join in my rejoicing over your recovery, for I knew then that all the rest of my life I should understand how mothers could yearn over their children. As I continued to gaze at you, these sayings came into my mind — " After the whirlwind cometh peace/ ' "And a little child shall lead them." NOTE 1.— PAGE 18. The house in which I was born in Claremont, New Hamp- shire, was known when my father bought it as "the old Parson Howe place" (I have heard my mother quote Parson Howe as a beau ideal of her childhood — a fine looking, florid, portly gentleman of the old school, the last in the village to wear small- clothes and shoe-buckles). The house was square-built and roomy, with a portico in front opening into a central hall. From the rear an ell rambled forth connected by a wood-shed with the chaise-house and stable. Near the chaise-house was a well with buckets, and behind the wood-shed was an ice-house filled with ice and sawdust wherein were stores of preserves or frozen poultry, according to the season. From the portico to the front gate ran a long walk bordered on each side by pink and moss edged beds in which grew clumps of fleur de lis, southernwood, tiger and Japan lilies, spiderwort, and many other old-time flowers. The outside dining-room door was on the west side of the house and opened out into a big corner lot bounded by Pleasant and Summer Streets. Six times a day a stage-coach drawn by four horses passed through Pleasant Street going to and from the railroad station three miles away. Near the big dining- room was an enormous maple tree with the earth in a double, turfy mound at its base — making a delightful place for me to 32 Child Reminiscences play with my dolls. In the distance, looking across and miles beyond Pleasant Street, was Mount Ascutney, as symmetrical as a sugar-loaf from that point of view, and always enveloped in clouds when a storm was approaching. On the east side of the house, beyond the driveway to the chaise-house, was a large garden where everything grew from potatoes and corn and tomatoes to currants and gooseberries and peppergrass. There was the big strawberry-bed in which my adored rag-doll was immolated as a scarecrow (Betsy Jane, renovated and restored and far from the scene of her early trials, is at this moment sitting in my high chair in the dining- room below). There, too, were grape-vines on trellises, and asparagus stalks waving their feathery tips. In the corner of the back yard near the garden was a barberry bush, and scattered here and there in the lots were apple and plum trees. In the front yard were syringa and rose bushes and locust trees. By one of the parlor windows was a beautiful sweet-briar, and by another a pink-tinted acacia, and near the bedroom mentioned in the Reminiscence was a group of lilacs, while all around the street-lines of the place were huge maple trees. A friend writing recently from Clare mo nt says, "Your old home has been enlarged and is a very fine old house. There is no change in the great yard — or grounds — on the western side toward Pleasant Street, but the house has been much altered inside and out. a French roof added, etc." NOTE 2.— PAGE 29. After I graduated (!) from Mrs. Petersen's "Kindergarten," mentioned in the Mother Goose Reminiscence, I went to school to Miss Mary Harrington who was prim and amiable and had curly hair, and if General Glidden came past when we were out playing at recess, all of us little girls stood in a row and took hold of our skirts at the sides and made him j. regular dancing-school curtsy. The General would always take off his hat and wave it several times as he bowed graciously and greeted us with flat- tering remarks which were sure to please his smiling little admirers. The General was liked by everybody. — E. CHILD REMINISCENCE IN WHICH YOU RESENT WHAT YOU CONSIDER UNDUE FAMILIARITY Y father — your Grandfather Dean — was a large, even-tempered, liberal-minded man. You were his first grandchild, and he naturally regarded you as a marvelous creature. Whenever you met with dis- approval elsewhere, you always felt that you could confide your grievance to him and meet with sympathy and a great-heartedness which you intuitively perceived took in your opponent as well as yourself, and which calmed you by making you see that all the worry and disturbance was not on your side. You were an active, inquisitive child. Your doings were continually taking your father and myself by surprise, and your questions were so frequently unanswerable that we often tried to avoid or ignore them. But to do either was an extremely difficult matter, for when your brain was once started on a train of thought, no diversion would as a rule prove sufficient to hold your attention more than momen- tarily. As soon as you had glanced at, or listened (33) 34 Child Reminiscences for an instant to the interruption, your mind reverted to the subject that you were pondering upon, and you would keep up your pros and cons and whys and wherefores, indicated by the most unheard of queries, until your father would be completely nonplused, and sometimes out of patience, and until I, who always tried to follow the working of your infant thought, was almost in despair. One warm, bright autumn afternoon — you were then not quite three years old — I dressed you up fresh and clean and took you with me to call on Mrs. Tappan. You were never drawn to her at all, and would have preferred going somewhere, or almost anywhere, else; however, you accompanied me peaceably and all went well until, unfortunately, Mrs. Tappan called you to her, and as you stood by her knee looking up at her she, intending it as an amiable gesture, chucked you under the chin. You were in high dudgeon at once. You did not like her, or wish her to touch you, and that little push with her fat forefinger seemed to you an insult to your dignity. You flew over to me with your face quivering and your eyes and nostrils dilated. "Mamma!" you said, "Did you see what she did? She put her finger on my froat. I want to go home." As we had only just arrived, and as Mrs. Tappan had very strenuous notions as to the way children Child Reminiscences 35 should be brought up, I tried my best to pacify you by assuring you that she did it because she liked little girls who were quiet and well-behaved, and she thought you were one of that sort. But my en- deavors amounted to nothing, except that instead of wanting to go home which had been your first impulse, you were bent upon seeing your Grandfather Dean who lived next door, and who, with that affluence of time and absence of rush which char- acterized the country living of those days, was the cashier of a bank on one side of the broad village street, and the proprietor of a store on the other side — the store being connected with his dwelling house. Finding it useless to contend with you, and the call being spoiled by your freakishness, I made an embarrassed adieu and took you to your grandfather, whom we found just leaving the bank; but when I told him that I had brought a naughty little girl to see him, he reentered the building, sat down in his big office chair, and taking you in his lap, gave you a hug and kiss and asked you to tell him all about the trouble. "Mis' Tappin is too big," you said (she was a huge woman weighing over two hundred pounds). "She isn't good to little girls. She put her finger on my froat and knocked my chin." "But Mrs. Tappan can't help being big; you shouldn't dislike her for that. Suppose that I didn't like you because you are little." 36 Child Reminiscences "I'm going to be big as mamma some day. Mis' Tappin hurt my chin." "I don't see anything the matter with it," said your grandfather, tilting it up and giving it a little nibble, which tickled you and made you squirm. I explained to him that I thought your feelings were hurt rather than your chin. "Mamma," you exclaimed, "what is feelings?" "O," I said, "when you are having a nice time you feel happy, and when Mrs. Tappan chucked you under the chin, you felt hurt. Don't you see what I mean?" You looked puzzled for a moment, and then you replied, "When I feel hurt, I's naughty. You told Grandpa there was a naughty little girl come to see him." "Well, you shouldn't have been so provoked at Mrs. Tappan. She meant to be pleasant, she thought you would like to have her give you a little caress." "She didn't give me anything," you corrected at once, as if I had made a great mistake. "O yes," I said, "a caress isn't a sugar-plum or a piece of cake, it is some nice little thing that somebody gives you — a big, tight squeeze just as Grandpa is doing now, or a pat on the head, or a little chuck under the chin like the one Mrs. Tappan gave you." "O," you interrupted, " ^at isn't a cress, 'at is a bovver!" Child Reminiscences 37 This set your grandfather into a regular chuckle of laughter. It always entertained him immensely the way you would often plunge into the very pith of a subject. However, in spite of our amusement, we both felt that a lesson in discipline should be inculcated. It certainly was not right to permit you to resent friendly advances, and then come out of the affair in a sort of triumph through having made a smart speech; so, almost at the same moment, we started to remonstrate with you. I, however, stopped speaking and let your grandfather have the field to himself, much relieved that he had undertaken to grapple with you; for, tiny as you were, no eel could have been more slippery in argument. "Now, little Miss," said he, "we have got the whole story at last. You do not like Mrs. Tappan, so you were rude and naughty when she meant to be polite to you. Do you think that is the right kind of a little girl to be — only to be good to the folks you like?" "I like you. I isn't good to you sometimes." This was certainly undeniable and rather threw your grandfather off the track for a moment, but he returned to the charge. "But you should be good to everybody, especially when they are trying to be kind to you." "Must I tell Mis' Tappin I's sorry?" "Yes, that would be the best thing you could do." 38 Child Reminiscences "But I isn't sorry. If I's good, she'll bovver me some more." This statement presented the situation so plainly, that neither your grandfather nor I knew what to suggest. Your likes and dislikes were not matters of a moment or a day. They were, even at that early age, as we two who loved you so dearly and were with you so constantly, intuitively perceived, the attractions of affinity or their corresponding repulsions — unless in those instances when you had attacks of baby philanthropy and wanted to play with some smutty child that you saw in the street, probably with the same benevolent intention that you expressed two or three years later when you appeared one day with a deformed little creature and said you had brought her home with you "because you thought she would like to have somebody nice to play with." Evidently a resolve had come into your grand- father's mind, for he spoke suddenly, "I'll tell you what you ought to do. Mrs. Tappan will probably be sitting right there on the piazza as you go along home, and you had better run in and tell her that you are going to be good the next time you come to see her. You don't want to make Mrs. Tappan feel badly do you, by showing her that you do not like her?" Upon this you puckered up your lips and blinked Child Reminiscences 39 your eyes, but all in vain ; the tears were soon falling in a shower and you were rapidly growing hysterical. What was to become of our discipline when it had to contend with seemingly uncontrollable aversion on your part? Was it worth while to make you ill and exhausted in the attempt to force you to go against a feeling you could not overcome? The main thing just then seemed to be to get you calm once more; so your grandfather arose, boosted you up on his shoulder, and told you he would give you a ride way up in the air; then he started off hatless across the street with you in an April condition between sobs and smiles, leaving me to lock the bank door and follow. By dint of much exertion on your grandfather's part to entertain you and change the current of your thought, you apparently recovered your equilibrium; but when we started to return home, I saw a serious look come into your face and you seemed rather distraught in your leave-taking. At the last moment I stepped back into the house for something I had forgotten, and when I came out Grandpa Dean said I had better hurry along for you had run on ahead. You had not gone far however, for you had found an impediment to your progress. You were trying your best to move the heavy gate which opened on to Mrs. Tappan's front walk. I came to your assis- tance anxious to see what you were about to do. 40 Child Reminiscences Mrs. Tappan, as was her custom on pleasant afternoons, was still on the piazza (as your grand- father had supposed), and you ran up the long walk, and climbed the stone steps as fast as your short legs could carry you. Panting and flushed you said to her, "I's going to be good next time." Mrs. Tappan was much pleased at your effort at reconciliation; and, for which I was very grateful on your account, did not offer to kiss you, but told you that "Mandy" had made some nice cookies that morning, and you could run right through the house to the kitchen and ask her for one. You were off like a shot, and soon returned with a big, thick cooky in which was already a semicircle bitten out by your sharp little teeth. ' 'Mandy makes good cookies," you said, with a beaming smile; and I, most thankful that you had seen fit to relieve the situation, for I liked to keep on good terms with everybody, took you away this time much lighter- hearted than I had been at our departure an hour or so before. You were anxious to return and tell your grandfather you had "been good," but I pre- vailed on you to wait until after supper, as he almost invariably strolled in for a few moments before you were put to bed. Something had happened to detain him that night and you grew more and more restless. I, too, began to be impatient for him to come, as I knew Child Reminiscences 41 from experience that when you had a confession to make you would not sleep until the matter was off your mind. However, at last, he arrived and picked you up as usual for a goodnight chat and frolic. "Grandpa!" you said, "Fs good now, and Mis' Tappin let Mandy give me a cooky." Your grandfather took in your meaning at once. "So you 'made up,' did you? You feel a great deal better, don't you, than if you had let Mrs. Tappan think you were a naughty little girl who made people feel badly by not being polite?" "You fink Fs a nice little girl when Fs good?" you remarked insinuatingly. "Why, of course, naughty little girls are not nice, are they?" "I fink Mis' Tappin's sorry she's so big," you said with apparent irrelevance. As neither your grandfather nor I knew what you were driving at, we waited to see what you would say next. "Fs glad Fs a little girl and can run round." You looked at your grandfather appealingly as though this fully explained the matter and you expected his approval. "Well, is that the reason you made up with Mrs. Tappan?" said Grandpa Dean doubtfully. "Yes, she's so big she can't do nuflfin but knit." "And that made you sorry you were cross to her?" 42 Child Reminiscences "No, Mis' Tappin couldn't put me in a closet, and I's afraid mamma would." "O ho, sly puss! So that is what you call being good. You didn't behave yourself then because you were sorry you were naughty or because poor Mrs. Tappan is so fat she can hardly move, but because you were afraid mamma would punish you by shutting you up in the sitting room closet." Your grandfather's tone was not at all com- mendatory and you were very sensitive to disapproval. Your face clouded at once. "It's awful dark — must I go in now? Will you wait till I come out?" This resignation to what you believed your probable due, touched your grandfather — and me too; particularly, as in this case it had not occurred to me to put you in the big closet where you were occasionally immured if we considered you very unmanageable. As I look back now, I feel grieved that I ever let you stay even for a few moments at a time in that unventilated air, but New England ideas regarding the proper bringing up of children, were at that day strict and uncompromising, and although I was always inclined to be lenient with you and to condone mischievousness sometimes when I ought to have been more stringent, I never dared to insist upon going against your father's decrees concerning your management. As this ebullition of dislike on your part had occurred without Child Reminiscences 43 his knowledge, and as it had been evidently distress- ing to you, I had not intended to punish you for it; and, of course, after your straightening out matters with Mrs. Tappan, I supposed the affair concluded except that I knew you would recount your spon- taneous action to your grandfather, for you were always anxious to stand well in his estimation. In answer to your forlorn inquiry, he said, "We had better let the closet go this time, I guess; but now let me tell you, little girl, that when you see a great, big, fat woman like Mrs. Tappan, you mustn't think how lucky it is that she can't run and catch you if you do something naughty, but you must think how uncomfortable she is all loaded up with flesh that way and not able to get around like other people — or like you on your little quick legs, and you must be sorry for her and not do anything to make her more uncomfortable than she is already." "Is I a bad little girl?" you asked anxiously, eager to perceive full reconciliation in your grandfather's face and tone. "O you'll do. You're good enough for your grandfather anyhow." And thereupon ensued the regular nightly frolic which you entered into bubbling over with laughter, you were so rejoiced to have everything harmonious and delightful to you once more. CHILD REMINISCENCE EARLY GARDENING HE little incident which I am about to relate, happened when you were only just beginning to talk, so this is the most infantile of any of the reminiscences which have been given you. I tell it in illus- tration of those mental tendencies toward alertness of perception and persistent studying out of whatever is to you problematical, which have been evinced throughout your human career. Your father was always fond of gardening; it was to him a pleasant and useful recreation after the confinement and anxiety of his legal occupation. You used often to toddle about after him, and if you were permitted to pull a few weeds or scrape about with a little toy hoe, you felt convinced that your spasmodic labors had been of great assistance. At one of these times when you ''assisted, " you suc- ceeded, while your father's attention was otherwise engaged, in demolishing part of a row of lettuce plants which he had just set out. When he turned and discovered you still busily employed in hoeing (44) Child Reminiscences 45 up his choice little greens, he exclaimed in impatience, "There, go into the house! You're nothing but a bother." "Papa, I isn't froo." "Well, you are being naughty now. You have spoiled all those nice little plants, and you had better run in and stay with your mamma." "Papa, I'll fix 'em jes as good as new." Then you squatted down and picked one of the broken plants out of the dirt and tried to make a little hole for it and stand it up again, but it was too much demolished to respond to your efforts. Your father watched you, partly cross and partly amused. "You see now that plants are not good for anything when they are all broken to pieces," he said. You looked at your failure to restore what you had destroyed and an idea came into your mind. "Papa, Gennul Gidden finks I's a good girl, an' I'll ask him for some lessice, an' nen I can put 'em all back." "But perhaps General Glidden won't have any to spare." "I'll see," you said, and started off minus your little hoe, and plus a great deal of dirt on your dress and hands. Your father did not like to have you running about in the street alone, even such a short distance 46 Child Reminiscences as over to the General's; besides you needed renova- tion, and we were both particular about keeping you neat and clean, so he hastened after you and took you by the hand and led you into the house. "Is I goin' to be dessed up?" you asked. "I'm going to tell mamma that you are a naughty girl and hoed up the lettuce," your father returned thoughtlessly, for he knew by experience that it was always a very grievous thing to you to be told repeatedly that you were naughty, especially when in your childish way you were doing your best to retrieve your mistakes. At this your eyes filled with tears, and giving a great sigh as if the world had suddenly become a hopeless place, you exclaimed, "I isn't naughty — you is naughty." Your father was inclined to think you impertinent and punish you at once, but you looked so disconso- late with your little flushed, tear-stained face that he thought he had better turn you over to me. I was of a very sympathetic disposition and you were my first child, and every loving mother knows what a tender tie it is that binds her to the tiny morsel of flesh which grew and quickened in her loins, so I took you up in my lap and tried to come to an understanding of the situation. Your father seeing you safely bestowed, returned to the garden. Even at that early date he shrank Child Reminiscences 47 from coming into any argument with you, for it had sometimes been proved after you had been punished that you had been in the right from your point of view; but your father's ideas of discipline were strict, and he did not always comprehend the peculiar working of your mind. As soon as we were alone you drew a long breath, gathered your forces together, and proceeded to give me an account of the affair. "I fink I isn't naughty. I hoed up papa's lessice, but I fought 'ey was wheeds, an' I want to have my face an' hands washed an' a clean dess, an' go to see Gennul Gidden cause he has everfing in his garden, an' he finks I's a nice little girl, an' he'll give me some lessice, an' nen I'll put 'em back." This seemed a comprehensive account of the matter, and I had been sewing and was tired of sitting so I was glad to gratify your wish to be fixed up clean and go to see the General who had always made a pet of you, and would, I knew, be willing to satisfy your modest desire for a few little "lessice" plants. You were as good as a mother's heart could wish and held quite still while I washed you and brushed your hair, then arrayed in a spick and span frock you delightedly led the way to see the "Gennul." We found him sitting on the front steps, and I went in to talk with Mrs. Glidden so that you should have the pleasure of explaining the object of your 48 Child Reminiscences visit without interruption. In a few moments, out of the corner of my eye, I saw you and the General going around the house toward the garden, and concluded that your scheme was prospering; but just then it occurred to Mrs. Glidden that she would like to have the General come in — perhaps she thought he would let you have too many flowers out of her beds, though she was a very impulsive person and probably could not always have given a reason for her whims. She however went out of the front door, evidently indifferent as to whether I followed or not, and hastened to the garden, where she saw the General stooping down busied about something, and you watching him with great interest. He had taken a page of the paper he had been reading, and with a knife which he had evidently secured from Pamela's* domain as he passed by, was taking up the "lessice" that you so much craved. Why Mrs. Glidden thought he ought not to have them I do not know, but she hastened forward, emptied the plants and dirt out on to the ground, shook out the paper and began to fold it up. Your face was a study as she did this. You were not fond of Mrs. Glidden and were rather afraid of her, and to find your plan which you had made such a struggle to achieve, overturned in an instant, was dumbfounding; but when you saw the General, who *Pamela was a mulatto woman who reigned in the kitchen. Child Reminiscences 49 from much experience knew the hopelessness of the situation, turn toward the house, your feelings over- came you, and you burst out crying as if your heart would break. "Why, goodness! what is the matter with the child?" exclaimed Mrs. Glidden. "She's tired. She had better go home and go to bed." "I isn't sleepy. You frowed away my lessice," you ejaculated between your sobs. "Come," said Mrs. Glidden, "I'll give you a posy." But you shook your head and clung to my skirts. I did not know what to say. If the General thought it the wisest course to do nothing more in regard to the lettuce just then, it was not for me to interfere, but I was very sorry for you, those little wasted plants would have given you so much comfort, and why Mrs. Glidden should have been seized with such a freak I could not imagine; but I wanted to console you, so I stooped down and told you not to mind anything about it, for I should get you some lettuce the next day somewhere, and we would go out in papa's garden and fix everything all up nice for him. This for a moment presented a resource to your mind, but you did not find it satisfactory for you said, "I wanted the lessice tonight so papa would know I isn't a naughty girl right off. 11 I knew then the secret of all your distress. The 50 Child Reminiscences lettuce in itself was nothing to you, but to restore it was the only way you could think of to prove to your father that you had not destroyed the plants purposely or through carelessness, and I realized that you would be inconsolable until you knew he was convinced that you had not been naughty. So I told you to wait, for I had thought of a way to fix everything all right. We walked slowly to the front gate with the General and his wife, then I made my adieux and took you home. Giving you your doll, I asked you to sit on the front piazza and not run away while I went in and told papa all about it — that you thought the lettuce plants were weeds and you had tried as hard as you could to get some more, and you hadn't been naughty at all. I found your father sitting in the dining-room by the big west door in the lingering twilight, and sat down by him and narrated your little story. I knew he was much touched, for I of all the world understood him, but he could never express deep emotion, so all he said was, "She can hoe some more tomorrow, if she wants to. She won't run off, will she?" Where- upon, I went and brought you in, assuring you that papa understood all about it and knew you were not naughty, and he thought you were such a nice little girl that he said you could hoe some more tomorrow if you wanted to. Child Reminiscences 51 Believing that you were restored to favor, you climbed up on his knee and then stood up and gave him such a hug that you cracked his linen collar, but neither he nor I — and I had ironed that collar — cared for this minor catastrophe. Then your Grand- father Dean came in and you had a great frolic with him, and got in such a gale that I was wondering how I could ever calm you down for the night; when, to crown all, the General, who had learned to adapt himself to the exigencies of his condition and to await opportunities for action, appeared with a fresh supply of "lessice." So all the clouds in your infantile horizon were gradually dispersed, and at last, rather late, you went to sleep — a happy child. CHILD REMINISCENCE YOUR INTRODUCTION TO MOTHER GOOSE OU were sent to school when you were only three years old. Mrs. Petersen was as much nurse as teacher, for she had several other babies in her chargebesi des yourself — although you would have scoffed at the idea that you were one, even if you did have to take naps on one of the benches occasionally, with a shawl or anything that came handy tucked under your head for a pillow. People in Claremont in those days did not have very luxurious ideas. The incident which I am about to relate is con- nected with one of those naps. Just as you had fallen into unconsciousness, you turned over and rolled on to the floor. The bench was made for little beings of your size and was very low, so you were not injured at all, but as soon as you came to your senses you were angry at the hurt to your dignity of tumbling on to the floor before several little girls and boys, and you said you were going straight home to tell your mamma Mrs. Petersen didn't (52) Child Reminiscences 53 keep you on the bench when you were asleep, and you shouldn't come to school any more. As you were too little to be allowed to go home alone, and as you were expected to remain until someone came for you, Mrs. Petersen tried to take you up in her lap and soothe your wounded feelings, but you jerked yourself away from her and seemed very much put out indeed, and insisted upon going home. Mrs. Petersen, however, was used to childish freaks, and she knew the only way was to divert your mind, so she led you into the kitchen and told Louisa, her daughter (who was, you remember, greatly disfigured by a harelip), to take you out in the yard to see the chickens. You turned to her quickly and said, "Mis' Peter- sen, I hasn't come to see chickies, I'se come to read in a book." Mrs. Petersen saw her advantage and followed it up at once. "O yes, so you have. I've got a book full of pictures that you have never seen, and if you won't drop it on the floor you may sit in a little chair close by me and look at it." You knew that if you began to cry to go home, probably Louisa would take you, and you were rather afraid of her when you looked at her mouth — though she was the mildest sort of a person, so you went back with Mrs. Petersen into the front room, 54 Child Reminiscences which was the schoolroom, and she gave you a "Mother Goose" to look at. You raised your hand to be allowed to speak, but Mrs. Petersen had called a class to come and recite and it was some seconds before she noticed you, so finally you pulled the skirt of her dress a little to make her look around. "Mis' Petersen," you said, "Muvver Goose is a bad old woman, 'cause she's playing horse wiv a broom." (There was a picture of her the first thing in the book, sitting astride a broomstick.) This made the children laugh, but Mrs. Petersen did not think best to reprove you violently as she had only just got you pacified, so she said, "O witches always ride on broomsticks. You keep still now and look at the other pictures." You thought quietly for a few moments, then you raised your hand again, and when Mrs. Petersen saw you and nodded, you said, "Mis' Petersen, what is whiches?" This made the children laugh again, for they were always ready to giggle at anything unusual. Mrs. Petersen replied that if you would keep still until recess she would tell you about them, so then you managed to wait for quite a while before speaking again, diverting yourself by looking through the book, but finally you got to the last page, and still it wasn't recess, and you became so impatient, that not waiting to ask leave, you jumped up and Child Reminiscences 55 said, "Mis' Petersen, is whiches crows?" The children laughed more than ever at this. Mrs. Petersen said, ''Why no, crows are birds. But you wait. It's only five minutes to recess, then Til tell you all about it." So you sat down again, but the instant the bell was jingled for recess, you sprang to her and ex- claimed, "No, crows isn't birds. I saw one in the corn when I went to ride. They make birds afraid." "O," said Mrs. Petersen, "you mean a scarecrow. No, witches are not scarecrows. Witches are only pictures of old women riding around on broom sticks, but there are not any old women that really do it." "But I guess the crow I saw was a which when she wasn't on a broom stick, for she had a long nose and looked just like Muvver Goose." (You had seen a scarecrow fixed up with a mask.) Mrs. Petersen's idea was to keep all the children in good humor rather than to maintain strict discipline, so she let the matter drop and sent you out to play; but the subject was not disposed of in your mind, for that night after you were all settled in your trundle-bed you said, "Mamma, does Muvver Goose make birds afraid?" What you were driving at, I couldn't imagine. I said, "Why, what do you mean? I don't think birds know anything about Mother Goose." 56 Child Reminiscences "Yes, I saw her in a field. She wasn't on a broom, and you said she was a crow to make birds afraid." Then I remembered that the scarecrow you had seen had a long nose and wore an old hat with the crown run up into a peak and really looked like Mother Goose, so I saw how you got your idea, but I thought it was time for you to be going to sleep so I said, "O that was an old thing that was fixed up to make the birds think there was somebody around who would drive them off if they began to eat the corn. That wasn't Mother Goose. There isn't any Mother Goose except in a book. Those are just stories to amuse little girls, so now you settle down and go to sleep." "Mamma, Muvver Goose is a which, 'cause she rides horse on a broom. Mis' Petersen said so." "Yes, but there are not any witches really, any more than there is any Mother Goose. So now, goodnight. Go right to sleep — that's a good little girl." "Well, mamma, there's crows, 'cause I saw one." So having discovered the only reality in the tangle — which was nothing but a man of straw after all, you finally settled down for the night. CHILD REMINISCENCE A TIRESOME RIDE HE little incident which I am about to relate to you this morning, happened when you were just beginning to wonder why we never caressed you and made a pet of you— by we, I mean your father and myself, for your Grandfather Dean thought there was never a child like you before (which was indeed true, for in God's infinitude of diversity no two spirits are alike in individualism). But to your grandfather's mind your peculiar idiosyncracies betokened wonderful brightness and great promise, whereas your father and I, being continually baffled by them, and not understanding the needs of your sensitive and inquiring soul, deemed it best to ignore them as far as possible. We had the ideas which generally prevailed at that time, that children should give unquestioning obedience to their elders, and that praise would engender conceit, and petty sentimentalism. We were very blind, but we suffered intensely through our blindness, especially in after life when we saw (57) 58 Child Reminiscences year by year that you withdrew into yourself and led your own life away from us. I often had gleams of illuminement, but I was naturally of a timid, yielding disposition, and I was always dominated by your father's force of will. However, I was intending to tell you this morning of an excursion which we made when you were between five and six, and your brother Frankie a little toddler just beginning to walk about. We all went by carriage to visit your father's parents, and it being too long a day's drive for such small children, we stopped over night at Walpole, which was about half way between Claremont and Chesterfield. Nothing would do as soon as you had had supper but that your father must go with you for a walk. I suppose your poor little legs were cramped, for your father had taken the buggy as being lighter for the horse, and you had sat on a small stool down in front of us through the whole twenty-mile ride; though we had stopped at Charlestown for dinner, where I had insisted upon your trying to have a nap, so your slender body had been relaxed for a time, at least. We thought perhaps you would sleep better if you walked a little although you had then red circles under your eyes from combined sunburn and tire, so your father started forth with you and I remained behind to put Frankie to bed. I was so occupied Child Reminiscences 59 with night preparations that it seemed as if I had scarcely seen you going forth when you both reappear- ed, and in a very strange fashion. You had a great tear in the skirt of your dress, your shaker bonnet had a big dent in the side, and your father was carrying you, evidently in a state of suppressed excitement. "Why, how did you get that big tear!" I exclaimed. "Did you tumble down and hurt yourself?" You said at once, "No, I isn't hurt. A man scared papa." I looked inquiringly at your father, who nodded to me slightly as much as to say, "I'll tell you about it when she doesn't hear," but he only remarked in words, that you had made quite a day of it and ought to get right to bed, so I smothered my curiosity and undressed you and put you to bed in an old- fashioned high crib which had been brought into the room for your accommodation. This struck you as very fine after your trundle- bed at home, and you said, "I think I'm most grown up now, 'cause I sleep as high as you do." I was wondering all along what had happened while you were out and why you did not speak about it, because you were usually so quick to comment on every new occurrence if we gave you a chance. Finally, when you were ready for your prayers, you said, "You wait a minute, mamma. I'm going to 60 Child Reminiscences tell God something first, and then I'll tell you what he says." I left you for a few moments, glanced at Frankie who was sleeping peacefully and then began to take down my hair — your father having gone out, as was always his custom when off on a driving trip, to see that the horse had been well fed and made com- fortable for the night. Suddenly you exclaimed, "The man didn't mean to do it, mamma. God said he was a poor mizzerble sinner and didn't know any better, and papa might as well let him alone. " "What man do you mean?" I asked. "He came up out of a cellar wiping his mouth, when papa wasn't looking, and he tumbled right against me and he said, 'Hello Sissy, whose little girl are you?' Then he tried to take me up and he fell down and papa jumped and grabbed me and I don't know how my dress got torn, and papa said, 'You dunken fool, you ought to be in jail.' Mamma, what does dunken mean?" "O when men drink a lot of rum or whiskey they do not know what they are doing and people say they are drunk." "Mamma, if that man had carried me off, I guess papa would care some 'cause he held me so tight he made me ache." "O that man couldn't have carried you off if he Child Reminiscences 61 couldn't stand up, but don't you think you had better say your prayers now and go to sleep and get rested, because we shall be in Chesterfield tomorrow and there'll be lots of things you will want to do when you get there?" You had not, however, aired all that was in your mind, and with your customary persistence you paid no attention to my suggestion, but said, "Mamma, if papa was glad the man didn't get me, why didn't he kiss me?" These questions which you were always asking at the most unexpected moments and which went not only to the heart of all matters under consideration, but which searched our own hearts as well, we always found it almost impossible to answer, for although we both loved you dearly, we could not then say so; and now we hope that our love-teaching through you will induce human parents to express all the fondness which they feel for their own offspring, for little budding spirits crave continually the warmth and sunshine of fostering affection. I said tamely, "Papa was in a hurry to bring you home, and have you get rested for tomorrow." "Mamma, I think it rests little girls to say how nice they are and kiss 'em lots of times." This pleading was too much for me, so I came to the crib and you scrambled up and reached over the railing and put your arms around my neck and 62 Child Reminiscences squeezed me till you almost strangled me, and I gave you a kiss and urged you again to say your prayers, for I had taught you as soon as you could talk to say, "Now I lay me down to sleep' ' and the "Lord's Prayer." I always had much religious feeling, though I had not learned in those days that prayer to be availing must spring from soul-impulse. You knew from experience that you had received all the petting you would be likely to have at that time, so you finally repeated the prayers and tried to settle down, but you never slept well in new sur- roundings, and the sight-seeing of the day had been too much for your impressionable nature; besides you had not carried out your recent train of thought to what you deemed a fitting conclusion, so after tossing about restlessly for a while you sat up in your crib and said, "Papa and mamma, when I used to be in heaven God let me dance and sing and play all the time, and I didn't ride in a buggy then, I flyed, and I didn't want to come away, but God said I must go somewhere else and stay till he let me come back, and I think if I should ask him, proberly he'd let you go back with me, and then we'd fly around and have an awful good time, there's such pretty things up there, and there isn't any dunken men, so papa wouldn't get scared, and when we get home again I'll ask him if we can't go." This took us so by surprise, and you rattled it all Child Reminiscences 63 off so quickly, that you managed to get it out before we interrupted, to try to hush you into calmness, for we knew that if you were encouraged to talk in your tired and excited state your tongue would run on like a little windmill. Your father crossed the room to the crib and tried to put you back on the pillow again, saying, "There, now lie down and get to sleep as soon as you can, for you know you'll have to take another good long ride tomorrow/ ' But you resisted, saying, "Papa, I isn't sleepy. Let me get up and sit in your lap and look out of the window. Isn't you glad the man didn't carry me off?" "O that man couldn't carry himself off. Now be good and lie down." "Papa, if I's good and lie down, will you hold me tight again tomorrow?" Your father winked very quickly two or three time and said, "Yes, I'll carry you down stairs and put you in the buggy, and then everybody will think you are a little baby just like Frankie." "O Papa," you said, "you could hold me up here. Isn't I a nice little girl?" When I look back now and see what we really suffered in hardening our hearts to your constant pleading, through our mistaken human views, I feel that we needed pity almost more than you. As 64 Child Reminiscences is often the case when human beings are deeply moved and are determined to display no emotion, your father assumed a harshness which he did not feel, and said, "I shall have to punish you if you do not stop talking and lie right down and go to sleep when I tell you to." "Papa, I isn't naughty, " you said, "but I guess I'll lie down and ask God about it, and p'raps he'll let me go back pretty soon, for I think it's too much work for you and mamma to have a little girl round." This made your father look rather shamefaced, and feel very conscience-stricken, but he thought he ought not to relent more than to say, "There, I see you're going to be good now and go right to sleep." We saw that you were still awake when we put out the light, but thought you would drop off soon if it was dark and quiet. We were however mistaken in this, for after a long pause we heard you say softly, "Dear Mr. God, please let me go back! Papa and mamma has got Frankie and I don't like to ride on a cricket in a buggy very well, and I think I should like to go back very much indeed." Your father and I kept perfectly still to make you believe we were asleep, and I think too, that each wished to have the other think that he or she slept, for the baring of your innocent soul made our spirits shrink. But whatever answer God — or that inner clear-sightedness which seemed to you to be Child Reminiscences 65 God — made to your entreaty we never knew, for finally fatigue subdued your restless body and your unworldly brain, and you slept in all the abandon- ment of childish helplessness, among those who in spirit-knowledge were not as wise as yourself.* *See "The Dawn of Womanhood," page 109 — "Child -theology." CHILD REMINISCENCE IN WHICH YOU TELL A STORY DO not think you remember much about your Grandfather Dean, as he died while you were still so young, but you were his first grandchild and he was very fond of you, and always held you on his knee and talked to you a great deal whenever he was at our house. You considered you had a superior claim upon his attention, and never hesitated to express yourself to him with the utmost frankness, feeling sure that even if he thought necessary to reprove you, you would be immediately afterward reinstated in his good graces. You had upon one occasion given a very imagina- tive account of an occurrence which we afterward discovered had never happened at all. It surprised your grandfather very much, and you, perceiving his astonishment, hastened to embellish your tale in such striking fashion that we were all amazed, and concluded at the time that you were not telling the truth; but we hardly knew what was best to say to you, for we had then no proof that what you were (66) Child Reminiscences 67 saying was not the case, so we passed the matter over without much comment, which seemed to rather pique you, and you slid down from your grandfather's knee and went and sat on a cricket off by yourself. Later, when you were going to bed, you announced that you should not say your prayers as you thought God would rather not have you talk to him until you had seen about something, and you couldn't see about it very well until the next day. I told you I thought it would be very naughty of you if you didn't say your prayers, but you said it was something you knew all about and you guessed God would take care of you one night without any prayers, so as I could not prevail upon you to say them, I decided, as I frequently did, that it was better to let you have your own way than to contend with you, which would probably result in your becoming so excited that you would not sleep at all. But you did not sleep very well as it was. You turned and tossed, and had to be covered up several times in the course of the night, and in the morning, the first thing, you wanted to know if you could go over "to see grandpa." I was too busy that morning to go with you, but as good luck would have it, your grandfather came in quite early of an errand, and you flew to him with the most urgent expression on your face that I had ever seen, and said, "Grandpa, I made it up — every 68 Child Reminiscences bit. It was just like a story in a book, wasn't it? But God told me never to do so again unless I wrote it down in a book, so everybody would know it didn't really happen. " "O that was it, was it?" said your grandfather, "then you didn't tell a lie on purpose." "O grandpa," you exclaimed, "I didn't tell a lie at all. I just told a story to see if you would like to hear me talk." This amused your grandfather and me so much, that we both laughed heartily and you saw that you were forgiven, but you still did not have everything off your mind it seems, for you ran into the bedroom as fast as you could, and in a surprisingly short time returned saying, "I've said my prayers now, and God said, 'Go my child, and sin no more'." We really couldn't help laughing again at this, and your grandfather said, "Who told you anything about sinning? What does sin mean?" "Grandpa Dean," you exclaimed, with the utmost severity that you could muster, "if I was a grown up man and didn't know what sin was, I would be ashamed of myself! Sin means not to love God, and God thought I didn't love him when I told you that story, because it made you think that I was a naughty girl, and he said I never ought to do any- thing to make folks think I was naughty when I wasn't." Child Reminiscences 69 This quite nonplused us for the moment, then your grandfather said mildly, "But you didn't tell me who told you anything about sin." You said, "I heard Bishop Chase talk about it in church ; and I asked God what it was, and he said it was sin not to love Him." By this time, all the doubtful points seemed to have been cleared up, so your grandfather took you up and kissed you, and said he thought you were going to be a good little girl and write a fine storybook some day. Then he took his departure, but his remark gave you food for reflection, with what result you shall hear some other time if you feel inclined. CHILD REMINISCENCE YOUR FIRST BOOK E did not perceive the outcome of your grandfather's story-book suggestion for several days, and then it burst upon us in a very unexpected fashion. We had left you sitting by the parlor window looking out at the snow, as this was in the fall and you know our snow-storms came early in New Hampshire. You were resting your chin on the window-sill, for you were just tall enough to do that as you sat in an ordinary chair, and were evidently in a brown study over something. Your father had come in from the office earlier than usual and had called me into the dining-room to help him with some papers — you remember that I often made copies for him. Suddenly we heard you talking to yourself, and as the doors were open, we could not very well help hearing, besides we were so amazed that we listened involuntarily, and this is what you were saying, "And the Lord took that child and made her into a good woman, but he had to work very hard to do it, (70) Child Reminiscences 71 for she did not know how to be right. When she told things just as God said they were, everybody thought she told lies; and when she made up things to see if they wouldn't like them they thought she told lies then too, and she didn't know how to make folks know when she didn't tell lies; but one day she thought she would see if she couldn't make them believe her, so she made up a story about a little girl, and she said it over and over to herself until she knew it by heart, and then she said it to her papa and mamma, and this was the story. "There was once a little girl who used to live with God and know him very well, but he told her to go and live in Claremont till he got ready to let her come back, and although she didn't like Clare- mont anywhere near as well as heaven, she had to stay because she didn't know the way back to heaven, and when she asked him how long she had got to stay he said she couldn't come back till she grew up and was as old as 'old Mrs. Peter Parmalee'. "Then she asked him if she had got to take snuff, and he said no, that snuff wasn't good to take, but Mrs. Parmalee didn't know any better; but he said when she was old she would show folks how to know when little girls did not tell lies, and the way to do it would be for folks to ask little girls to tell them all about it first before they made up their minds and then they'd be likely to know what 72 Child Reminiscences was lies and what wasn't, and the little girls would feel real happy if their papas and mammas talked with them about things just as they did with grown- up people. "And when God told this little girl that she was going to make little girls have such a nice time when she was an old lady, she said, 'Thank you, God, very much indeed, but p'raps somebody will write this story for me now in a book and papas and mammas can read it and they will know how to find out when little girls don't tell lies before I'm grown up and old as old Mrs. Peter Parmalee.' " Your father looked at me across the table (I was copying a deed for him on the big table in the dining-room), and we both knew that our judgment was there in your little form. Just then you came running into the room, but finding us busy, you saw it was no time to carry out your project which, we felt, was to have me write down your story for you. So you went back into the parlor without saying anything, and then profound silence reigned for such a long time that I finally, curious to see what you were doing, got up and looked into the room. You had found a piece of brown wrapping paper and a short piece of lead pencil that happened to be in my work-basket, and were down on the floor working with might and main at your story. You had written in capitals, "THAR WAS WUNS A" Child Reminiscences 73 As soon as you saw me you scrambled up from the floor and hurried to me with the paper in your hand, exclaiming, "O mamma, I've made up a story about a little girl. Mayn't I tell it to you, and won't you write it down for me, and then let papa read it — and Grandpa Dean?" And I told you I would. As soon as the deed was finished, I wrote the story down for you, and you had learned it by heart so you gave it almost word for word as you had said it when we overheard you, and that evening, although you were in bed when your grandfather came in, you rushed out with the story (for you had insisted upon taking it to bed with you) , and nothing would do but you must sit upon his knee while he read it. I got a blanket and wrapped around you, and you looked like a little mummy, except your face, and that was all alive with excitement, while your grandfather put on his glasses and read the story. "Well said! Why that's a regular Sunday-school story. We'll have to have it printed." When your grandfather said that, you became so ecstatic that regardless of the blanket, you sprang down to the floor, jumped up and down and clapped your hands. "O grandpa, you thought I'd have to wait till I was grown up to write a story-book." But I saw you were becoming so waked up that 74 Child Reminiscences something must be done to change the current of your thought, so I promised that if you would go back to bed, I would print it for you the very next day — which I did, putting it together in pages like a little book. You were very proud of it, and showed it to General Glidden, and talked of it a great deal for a day or two; then new fancies came into your mind, and none of us thought enough of your child- wisdom to save any record of it. So the tiny book was finally burned up as rubbish, and little knew we then, that when we passed on to the earth-plane, all the records of your childish soul-struggles and of our earth-blunders would be here to confront us. NOTE When mother gave me the little story of the Tiresome Ride — which had evidently seemed especially tiresome to me when I recalled how I "flyed" in heaven (See page 62), it brought to my mind Ernest Crosby's dainty fantasy wherein his spirit too, remembered that it used to soar "demurely and safe" through the heavenly air. "SOMEWHERE" 'I'm sure that somewhere, I know not when, I lived very far from the haunts of men; For still as a child, There was something wild That thrilled my heart every now and then. Child Reminiscences 75 "I'm sure that at sometime, I know not where, I used to float, float, float through the air; Because, when I dream, I so often seem To be soaring demurely and safe up there." At the end of the Reminiscence, when mother came to my prayer to "go back" (See page 64), some chord of sympathy brought William Watson's yearning "World-Strangeness" into my thought. "WORLD-STRANGENESS" "Strange the world about me lies, Never yet familiar grown — Still disturbs me with surprise, Haunts me like a face half known. "In this house with starry dome, Floored with gem-like plains and seas, Shall I never be at home, Never wholly be at ease? "On from room to room I stray, Yet my Host can ne'er espy, And I know not to this day Whether guest or captive I. "So, between the starry dome And the floors of plains and seas, I have never felt at home, Never wholly been at ease." — E. THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD A BOOK FOR MOTHERS Given by a Spirit Mother to her Human Daughter. CONTENTS Page Spring Flowers 81 1 'Weighed in the Balances and Found Wanting* ' 86 The Treasures of the Heart ...... 96 The Sartdy Hollow Episode and its Moral . 100 Mammon Revealed Through a Child's Clear- Sight 108 The Governor's Repartee 124 Concluding Paragraphs 13° THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD SPRING FLOWERS HILDREN are the blossoms of human life — the dainty, tender expression of God's Love-purpose through which fleshly en- casement is made for developing spirits. Nowhere in the universe are infants born except on earth. Nowhere else exists the parenthood of sex. Nowhere is Love made manifest through the relation of family dependence save on earth. Earthly conditions form the root and base of spirit states of finer and more perfect phase. The beginnings of these spirit states may and do obtain on earth, though often unrecognized and unappre- ciated by those who, seeing not what may be seen, are blind. Wherever the preeminent desire for self-gratifi- cation is merged into the yearning for self-expansion through Love-service, the human spirit begins to open in heavenly efflorescence. The absorbing, care-bestowing affection of a mother for her child is the purest type of benign (81) 82 The Dawn of Womanhood unselfishness known to human cognizance. In the marital relation, the romance of youth, the blending of mutual interest and the growing compulsion of habit, aid in the welding of unbreakable chains; but in the natural course of human development there comes a time when parents must allow their children to think for themselves and to lead their own lives. Well is it then if guardianship can relax to meet the demands of ripening individuality, and if affection can bind youthful impetuosity to sober judgment. You, being my first child, were to me the object of great wonderment, and the subject on which much theorizing was tried. I found repeatedly that it was as necessary for me to learn from you, as for you to learn from me. Even the tiniest baby is an unwitting instructor to that mother who longs to bring her spirit treasure into glowing human man- ifestation. Its nestling search for sustenance, its evident craving for warmth, its assertive helplessness making constant appeal to devotion; the beginnings of attention to objects, sounds, conditions; the coming on of notice and desire inspired by outward things; the gradual mental connection of the inner entity of the little newcomer with its companions and surroundings; then the struggles and strivings to come to knowledge and action— the creeping, toddling, walking; the gurgling, stammering, talking The Dawn of Womanhood 83 — with comprehension always in advance of expres- sion, till finally there stands before the astonished gaze of all who realize the constant miracle of in- dividuality — a new person on the earth who has come to find his birthright. And the birthright of every child of God, no matter who his human foster parents may be, is to learn to love. You came into the world knowing this truth; therein lay the germ of that psychical clear-sighted- ness which has now developed into mediumship. You tried your best in your infantile way to show your father and myself those things which you intuitively knew, but we hardened our hearts in human blind- ness and let you plead in vain. Not that we were intentionally unkind, for we both of us loved you absorbingly; but there was at that time in New England a shamefacedness about showing emotion and a puritanical belief in self-restraint which nipped in the bud many of the delicate outreachings of human child-spirits. The embarrassment that you often caused would be incomprehensible to those parents who regard their little ones as toys of the nursery, and later as mechanisms to be trained and brought into conven- tional attitudes, both of thought and action, by hired teachers. You lived with me in your infancy. You were scarcely out of my thought for a moment, and but seldom out of my sight. Your father was a rising 84 The Dawn of Womanhood lawyer, and was at all times preoccupied with his work and ambition. Besides, he made a hobby of his garden, and an imperative recreation of his whist-club. You were not morning, noon and night in his consciousness, as you were in mine. It was, then, especially appointed for me to encourage and guide your growing faculties. I surely tried with conscientious striving to lead you in the way that you should go, but I was not much more than a child myself, and you were a problem that would have confounded the wisest of mothers. Where you got the ideas which you fre- quently brought forth to the utter confusion of your listeners, no one could imagine. They were evolved from an inner consciousness with which we were not in sympathy, and of which we were afraid. Like many another inquiring brain which seeks or gives forth information regardless of outer circumstances, you were often une enfant terrible. And you were all the more to be dreaded because you possessed that strange insight which made many of your statements incontrovertible from your own point of view, even when they were appalling revelations of the views of others. From the very outset of your human career you never made life easy for those who came under your observation, because you were liable at any moment to stir their consciences. But also from The Dawn of Womanhood 85 your birth until the present moment there have been human beings who have learned through you truths which they greatly needed to know. As all things in the universe inherently seek their affinities, so have those whom you needed — and those who needed you — come to you; and many times when the need was past, the lesson learned, and the affinity released, has each passed on to fresh fields and studies: but always in your recollection has the fact that friendship was once in living manifestation towered over all disagreement or disillusion. Never in your spirit has there lived a spark of hatred toward any being. Never have you felt that revenge could right wrong. Never have you believed that anything in the universe could be greater than Love, so now you have come to a normal (though, as yet among human beings, unusual) phase of development, where you can be instructed in Love-teaching by intelli- gences who have passed beyond death, and who are able to review with unbiased judgment your human past and their own. THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD "WEIGHED IN THE BALANCES AND FOUND WANTING" ARENTS seldom think of how they them- selves seem to the little minds in their charge — those opening intellects peering into the unknown and untried whirl around them. Usually, at first, budding spirits are timid and willing to take the estimates of their guardians respecting matters and circum- stances which attract their attention, but infant brains frequently keep up a great pondering of which their elders are unconscious. Many things are weighed and sifted of which they are supposed to know noth- ing, owing to a habit at all times prevalent among grown-up human beings, of ignoring child-listeners, believing that the subjects mentioned are either beyond their comprehension or unnoticed by them. You began to study out things for yourself at the earliest stages of your life, as none of us who were in your infant circle of friends and protectors were ever allowed to forget for any lengthy period. The conflict between your sense of right and wrong, (86) The Dawn of Womanhood 87 and expediency was soon inaugurated. As you had been confused in that memorable call upon Mrs. Tappan* between personal repulsion and social com- plaisance, between your dread of renewed fondling and your wish to retain your grandfather's approval and had finally compromised with the various de- mands clamoring in your own mind by deciding upon what seemed to you a course of general advisability; so, as the requirements of worldly judgment began gradually to present themselves, you were often forced to try to find some way of reconciling your individual standards to existent views and conditions. This tendency was made evident in an early incident which I now relate. You always discussed all sorts of matters with my father, your Grandfather Dean, who bestowed upon you that wealth of idolatry which often falls to the lot of the first grandchild, although he never allowed his prepossession to prevent the kindly expression of his opinion whenever you indulged in any freak which he felt needed reproval. You had informed him one day to his surprise, that you thought he liked you much better when you had been naughty for he always gave you some candy and was as good as could be after you had been punished. This being true as a general statement, your grand- *See "Child Reminiscence"— "In Which You Resent What You Consider Undue Familiarity." 88 The Dawn of Womanhood father did not on the instant think what to reply (he was at all times a deliberate man) so before he had collected himself, you continued, "If folks like me better after I've been naughty, what's the use of being good all the time?" Your grandfather had now got the drift of your argument and thought it behooved him to take the twist out of your reasoning, so he said, "People are not good to you after you have been naughty because they approve of the naughtiness, but because they are sorry you did anything you ought not to, and they are glad it is over — the punishment and all, and they hope you will not do it again.' ' "But being shut up in the closet" (the usual form of discipline through which we tried to impress our views upon you, when you seemed obdurate in opinion or rebellious in action) "isn't very bad, if I'm going to be liked more bimeby." So here, you see, was the same old problem pre- senting itself to you which comes up often to all human minds. Why should the prodigal be received with joy and feasting while the labors of the exemplary one are taken as a matter of course and bring him no special festival of rejoicing? Why should recon- ciliation arouse emotional outpouring which faithful stability may fail to incite? Why should sin waken the heart while saintliness may leave it quiescent? You knew, little child as you were, that love was The Dawn of Womanhood 89 the best thing in the world, but why did you apparent- ly obtain more of that which was best when you had done your worst? Was it then true that you ought to do what you felt that you ought not to do, if you wanted to be loved? And surely you wanted that more than anything else that you knew about. Your grandfather saw your quandary and at- tempted to straighten out your perceptions by assuring you that you would have no candy from him the next time you were naughty, that he had given it to you to make up for your having been in the closet, but if you were going to be naughty and get yourself shut up in order to have the candy, he should give you no more. He was not going to encourage little girls to be naughty, because when they did wrong things it made everybody all around them very uncomfortable and unhappy. But there was still another view of the subject which you felt that your grandfather had not con- sidered. " Grandpa," you said, "if I did everything just so all the time, wouldn't I be let alone?" I suppose it was in your mind how many times I had tried to have you amuse yourself when I wanted to do other things, and how often you had been reproved for chattering when your father wished to read his paper or to have me help him with his law-copying. "O well, little girls shouldn't want the whole field to themselves. They should be seen and not heard." 90 The Dawn of Womanhood You quickly replied, "I never am heard, for I never get a chance to say anything unless everyone else is talking — only when you come." Your grandfather expressed his conviction that you ought to have a chance to speak now and then all by yourself. This verdict remained in your mind (as well as the still unsolved puzzle about being naughty), and the next time we had company you came to me and inquired when you were going to speak. You said you had learned a piece which you thought everybody would like to hear, but I did not inquire what it was for I thought children must be kept in the back- ground; so you went away and cried all the after- noon, for you thought I was very unkind and did not love you in the least. But when evening came you said, as I was sitting in the parlor by the window, "O mamma, I've thought Why you didn't want me to speak my piece. You were afraid the ladies would praise me, and you think children ought not to be praised, but I think they ought, for they are not so bad as you believe, and sometime they are going to be angels and sing before the throne of God." I was so conscience-stricken that I drew you to me and kissed you and said you should recite the piece to me then, but you replied you had not in- tended to make me say that, and you felt that I The Dawn of Womanhood 91 had said it because you had spoken as you did, and you thought you ought not to say it, although it was one that you had made up yourself, and you had tried to have it as pretty as you could. I was not able to prevail upon you to recite it at that time, but the next day you came to me and said that if I would like to hear you speak your piece you would do so. I told you I wished to hear it very much indeed, so you began — "I shall be an angel bright Singing in the land of light, And I long to end my days With an infant song of praise/ ' Your little brother Frankie had recently died, and at this suggestion of your departure, I was so overcome that I began to cry and your father came in to see what the matter was, for he was in the bed- room preparing to go out and had not heard what you had said. You were so astonished at the effect of your piece that you threw your arms around my neck and said, "O mamma, I'm not going now. I only thought how nice it would be to be an angel and not have anyone tell me I was naughty any more, and I thought that was a very pretty verse. But if you don't like it, I will tear it up and make another about being naughty, for I think people like naughty children 92 The Dawn of Womanhood best. They always do more for them if they are naughty than if they are good, and I could make up a very pretty verse about it if you would like to have me. This so diverted my attention that I began to laugh in hysterical fashion and your father joined in. Then you thought you had been very funny, and you said, "What a good time we are having — all of us together! I think I shall make a verse every day, for I never had such a good time with you before." I began to cry again at this, for I felt that we never had been much company for you, and your little mind was striving to come into sympathy with ours and we did not know how to receive it. Your father was so affected that he went into the bed-room and shut the door, and when he came back his eyes were red as though he had been weeping, and you said, "Papa, I thought I could make you try to love me if I said what came into my mind, but I don't usually say what I think, for I know you don't believe children should speak unless they are spoken to." Your father was so taken aback that he did not know what to say, and the situation was very em- barrassing for us all. You thought you had said something which he could not answer, and you felt shy and hurt, and I did not know what to do, so we were all in a perplexing study when your Grand- father Dean came in. The Dawn of Womanhood 93 That helped matters, for he immediately took you up and inquired what the matter was. You said you thought it was that you had said something which papa couldn't find out, for he had been thinking about it ever since, and you couldn't help him for he never wanted you to speak when he was thinking; but if he had let you tell him what it was, he would have known in a minute, for you knew that the trouble was that he didn't know how to love you. But he could learn — it wasn't very hard. If he would let you show him, you thought he would love you very much in a little while. This only made matters much worse, for your father never could show his fondness for his children. Even when they were very little, he did not caress them as most fathers do, although his feeling for them was deep and tender. Grandpa Dean thought he could help matters by saying something, so he told you that you did not know what love was. But you said you had asked God about it, and he had told you that love was the most beautiful thing in the world, and if everyone loved each other they would be so happy that the world would be just as nice as heaven, and when you grew up you thought you should spend your time telling people that if they only loved each other they needn't go to heaven, for they would have it right at home. 94 The Dawn of Womanhood As you may suppose, we were more surprised than ever. We could not imagine where you got such ideas, for we had never told them to you and we thought you must have learned them at Sunday- school. But you said you didn't — that when you wanted to know anything you asked God about it, and he always told you, for he was a very good God and always paid attention when little girls talked to him, and you had talked with him a great deal and he had told you ever so many more things that you would tell us if we wanted to know them. But you supposed we thought that little children should not speak unless they were spoken to, and so you had never told us anything about them, but you thought they would be good for us to know, for we were so uncertain about what we ought to do a great many times that if we would let you tell us what God said to you, you were sure we would know exactly what to do. When you had said this we were so dumbfounded that we were all speechless, but finally your father said he thought you ought to go to bed and as we could not talk with you on these subjects, to bed you had to go. I lay awake nearly all night wondering if you were about to die or what was going to become of you, for I had never imagined that a child could talk as you did. The Dawn of Womanhood 95 You did not sleep very well and in the morning you said you had been talking with God in the night, and he told you that you had better not say any more about such things, for people didn't believe you and it only made them unhappy, so you should not tell anything more that God told you. But you were going to talk with him just the same yourself, for he understood everything you said, and always tried to make you feel as if you had a right to live in the world, and as if you would sometime be a good woman who would do something to make the world better. This was the end of that episode, but we all considered it very remarkable as you were only seven years old. Our grief over Frankie's death -was still fresh in our minds, and it seemed to us almost unbearable that you should talk to us in that way, though we knew that you did not realize how it hurt us. But we could not learn to show our love for you in spite of your offer to teach us, so all went on as before, and we never developed the affectional part of your nature in the least. Later on you turned to others to find what was lacking in us and we were forced to behold this, sorrowing because of our own helplessness. "As the sowing so shall the harvest be." THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD THE TREASURES OF THE HEART HEN the mother's heart expands in sym- pathy with the persistent striving of her offspring to come to self-development, each little growing individual feels that there is for him a heaven of appreciation and a haven of succor. Every child craves mother-love, as plants crave sunlight. The father may be the adored good fellow, the jolly companion who comes home at night and visits with his little ones ; but every baby breast is choking down sobs of loneliness if it has no mother-care to shelter it and no mother-warmth to give it comfort. The missions of man and woman are, and will remain, different, as long as humanity endures. When this great, preordained fact of nature is given its due weight, it will be discerned by all ripened minds that therein lies the solution of that wide-spread discord occasioned by masculine brutality and en- croachment, and by feminine rebellion or enforced submission . Sex is far more than a matter of organism . Sex in its inherency is that spiritual conformation of (96) The Dawn of Womanhood 97 qualities which divides all beings into two comple- mentary classes. On the spirit-plane of existence no individual possesses organs either of digestion or procreation. Such organs have their uses only on earth, where material bodies are renewed through the consumption of material food, and where flesh-envelopes are created for the reception of those spirits who are repeatedly incarnating during their embryotic phases of development. To the human thought, sexual joy above and far beyond carnality is inconceivable, save in those rare cases where spirits have experienced a transcendent phase of love while still in human manifestation. Those phases of sex of which human beings have a glimmering comprehension when they see a wild animal which no man can safely approach give willing submission and affection to a woman, or when they behold a lost and frightened child instinctively single out among passers-by a man with his heart brim full of compassion for every helpless creature and run to him for protection — endure and grow through all eternity. The love of a mother on earth is divine; the mother-love of a spirit on the angel-plane embraces all divinity. The love of every created spirit rises through the finite to the infinite. The spiritual development of every man on earth may be gauged 98 The Dawn of Womanhood through his reverence, or through his disregard for motherhood; for in this one department of contin- gency are all the attributes of his nature involved. A boy who has no respect for his mother, will, as a man, have no consideration for his wife. A girl without regard for a loving mother's wishes, will meet with many buffets from a retaliating world, for lack of filial affection forms no recommendation or attraction in the eyes of the discerning. Ideals live even in the most uncultured portions of the human race. Except in human beings of the very lowest type whose perverted instincts of self- preservation induce them to make way with the old and helpless, filial duty is regarded as a virtue. Therefore — O may all mothers think of this! — should parents, and mothers especially (for mothers are usually nearer than fathers to children during their infant years) instil into the wakening faculties of these developing spirits committed to their care, a foun- dation of belief in goodness as the mainspring of all action, and in Love as the drawing of affinity which binds all beings into one great family as the children of God. Then would every human individual look back upon his childhood as the plane where his soul first began consciously to live, and upon his mother as the high-priest who led him wondering into the reverences and revelations of the higher phases of human life. The Dawn of Womanhood 99 But the questions of children are often hard to answer. These little single-minded creatures, observ- ing but one subject which for the moment holds their attention, and unknowing to all sorts of conventional considerations which might later on restrain expres- sion or bias judgment, often plunge unconsciously into depths which their elders are unable through lack of thought and training to discuss with them. Thus their normal explorative impulses are thrust aside, and their curiosity is intensified through bafflement. The time will come, as the human race ripens, when mothers will learn how to talk with their children on all subjects. It is very simple when once known. There is the body and the soul, matter and spirit, to everything, but neither should be considered separately. Therein lies the saving grace of spiritual knowledge: all is good, therefore goodness must com- prise all. Body is the vehicle of the soul. Earthly conditions are but temporary, and should be employed in con- scious furtherance of heavenly design. Through tender and close human association the heart expands in such glowing warmth that every spirit can, if it will, possess those treasures which are beyond price, and which give a foretaste of angelic illuminement. THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD THE SANDY HOLLOW EPISODE AND ITS MORAL S a text for counsel, I will give an account of a queer little escapade of yours which happened when you were about five years old. Your father and I went out driving just after supper one summer evening. We had a girl living with us whom we considered trust- worthy, so as Frankie was asleep, we told her to look after you until we returned, which we thought would be in about an hour; but your father stopped to see a farmer just outside the village on a little matter of business, and left me sitting in the carriage so long holding the reins — which I was always rather nervous about — that I was intensely relieved when I saw him coming out of the house, and beckoned to him to hurry. I also urged him to drive rapidly going home, and as my uneasiness communicated itself to him, we returned at race-horse speed — and none too soon, for poor Mary was in great alarm. Frankie had waked up and she could not leave him, and you had disappeared. She said you had (100) The Dawn of Womanhood 101 been there only a few moments before, playing around the kitchen steps, and when she heard Frankie cry and went in to him you must have run away, for she had called you since, and you neither answered nor came. Evidently her shouting, and finding his mother gone, had not agreed with Frankie at all, for the tears were rolling down his cheeks and he was sobbing as if his heart would break. I tried to soothe him and sent Mary to tell your father that she could not find you. Your father hitched the horse and came in to me. By that time Frankie was quiet and held out his arms to his father who at once took him, and I started out for a neighborhood search. Fortunately I heard news of you at once. You had been seen running as fast as your little legs could carry you toward Sandy Hollow. It was then almost dark and I did not like that neighborhood for you, so I hastened on, inquiring fruitlessly of two or three whom I passed, if they had seen a little girl running away. At last, just as I was passing Mrs. Sankey's, I looked in and there you were — and what do you think you were doing? Mrs. Sankey was sitting in the doorway and you were in her lap hugging her. Mrs. Sankey was a very fat and not very prepos- sessing negress whom we often had to do washing for us. She had always made much of you in the word-fondling way that darkeys have, but I had never known her to touch you, and I was astonished 102 The Dawn of Womanhood to find you in such close proximity, and very far from pleased, although I liked Mrs. Sankey well enough in what I considered her place. When you saw me you jumped down and ran to me, exclaiming "0 mamma, I didn't run away to be naughty, but I thought of- something to tell Mrs. Sankey that God told me about?, and she said I was a honey-dear to come and tell her." In the meantime Mrs. Sankey had arisen, and was scraping and bowing, and said she "war jes gwine to bring de blessed chile home." You know I was always kind in my manner to persons of inferior development, so I said a few words pleasantly to Mrs. Sankey, and then started for home with you, walking so rapidly that you had to run almost, to keep up. At last you gasped out that you had lost your "breff", so I went more slowly, but did not say anything, as I thought it would be better to wait until we got into the house and see what you had to say before I scolded you. Besides, I had learned from experience, that the less I said to you the sooner you thought things out for yourself, for it always distressed you very much to have people keep silent and act as if they felt badly because you had done things they thought were wrong. When we came in we had the house to ourselves. Frankie was again asleep in his crib. Your father l The Dawn of Womanhood 103 was presumably looking after the horse, and Mary had probably betaken herself to the kitchen doorstep where she usually sat in the evening, so I took you up in my lap to have a talk with you. But you did not wait for me to begin. You said, "I think I know what you're going to say, mamma," (you spoke at that age almost as plainly as anyone — it was only occasionally that you mispronounced a word) "you think it was very naughty for me to run away when you told me never to do it again, but I thought Td have time to go and tell Mrs. Sankey something that God said about her before you got back, and when you know what it was, p'raps you wouldn't call it 'running away' this time 'cause I didn't run away to stay, I was coming right back. You see I was wondering what made Mrs. Sankey so black that it wouldn't wash off, and God said she'd be just as white as anybody when she got to heaven, and I thought she'd be so glad to know about it that I ran straight off to tell her. I was coming right back, truly!" "Yes, but when I told you to stay with Mary until we came home you ought to have done it. You could have told Mrs. Sankey just as well the next time she came here." "But, mamma, if you were as black as Mrs. Sankey wouldn't you want to know it just as soon as you could, if you were going to be white?" 104 The Dawn of Womanhood "Why if Mrs. Sankey didn't know anything about it, it wouldn't make any difference to her to wait a while; besides it may be sometime before she goes to heaven." "Well, mamma, if anybody knew anything nice about me and didn't tell me about it, I should think they were real mean." "But why did you sit in Mrs. Sankey's lap and put your arms around her neck?" "I think Mrs. Sankey is a very good woman if she is black, and probably she's sorry she isn't white, and I thought God would like to have me be nice to her, but I don't like her up close to very well, so unless God says I must do it again, I don't think I shall." I told you I was very glad to hear that, for I didn't think it was a good idea for little girls to be sitting in everybody's laps, and I hoped too that you wouldn't run away again when we were gone. Whereupon you said, "Mamma, I saw Mary sitting in Patrick's lap one night, and she liked it very well. I don't care much about it now, so I think I'll wait till I'm as big as Mary." This took me completely by surprise and entirely turned the current of my thought. Your father and I had very prim New England ideas of the way girls should be brought up, and to have you state your intention of sitting in laps when you were as The Dawn of Womanhood 105 big as Mary, seemed to me quite appalling, so I said very severely, "Mary doesn't know any better, but you must never do anything like that when you are grown up." You seemed to be studying upon something for a moment, then you inquired, "Mamma, girls never sit in girls' laps when they are grown up, do they?" I felt that we were getting into deep waters, and I had better hurry you off to bed, so pretending not to notice what you said, I exclaimed at the lateness of the hour and began to undress you. But you were not to be baffled so easily. You said, "Mamma, there's lots of things I'm going to find out about when I'm grown up, I want to know why girls like boys more'n girls, and" — Fortunately your father came in at this juncture, and I told him where I found you, but that I thought you were going to be good and not run off the next time we left you at home. At this you said, "Mamma, if you took me, I couldn't run off." This really sounded very cunning in you, and we could not help laughing, so you thought we were all "made up," and went to bed very peaceably. According to the old saying, "The child is father of the man"; but the child is also, as well, the mother of the woman. 106 The Dawn of Womanhood You, with your unworldly perception and curious attempts to follow its promptings, were in incipiency the woman seeking for her ideals in the midst of material incomprehension and conventional barriers. As you had been, in the Sandy Hollow episode, repulsed in your philanthropic self-giving through your native fastidiousness; so, later on, were you forced by inward shrinking to retreat from many attempts to carry out what you interpreted as a cor- rect and literal version of the Golden Rule. You found that the requirements of the world were to a certain extent arbitrary, even when they defied your conscience. It was the same old problem. If you were to seem right to yourself, how were you also to seem right to others? And if you were to do right, how were you also to like it yourself? You wished to be good. You also wished to be happy. But above all else you wished to find love; and love, with you, was always of transcendent type — according to your evolving comprehension. Noth- ing, in your classification, passed beyond "liking", unless you clothed the regard with resplendent ideal- ity. But alas! As must happen to youthful enthu- siasts, crude in a world of crudeness, you struggled much and often against disillusionment. And through all the mazes and phases of romantic interest into which you were drawn by affinity and circumstance, / was never made your confidante — The Dawn of Womanhood 107 either in your pleasures or your disappointments. O mothers of earth, if you would live near to your daughters in their early hours of delight in world-attraction, or of grief at the overthrowing of ideals built upon weak foundations, give them your help at the very outset of life. Every normal impulse, or desire for knowledge, is right and pure; and the inclinations of children would seldom be abnormal if mothers guided their thought to the spiritual phases of all human living. Let children learn that the protection of every being weaker than himself is the glory of man, and that sympathy is the key note to universal influence in woman — then, O ye mothers, shall your teachings be offered on the altar of humanity, and the coming generations shall be the living testimony of your achievement. THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD MAMMON REVEALED THROUGH A CHILD'S CLEAR-SIGHT N the ineffability of God's wisdom, He gave to all spirits free-will within the limits of their organism; else how could the great aim of creation — that Love should be made manifest — have been accomplished? Is ' not every ideal conceived through com- parison? Could heaven be heavenly if monotonous? Would it be possible to recognize Love as the extreme of ecstacy if one had never known the blackness of living without being conscious of Love's omnipresent existence? Look at the mythologies and theologies which have sprung into being through the imagination of human beings who have not developed past the leading of animal appetite and brute force. Could any members of the human race ever evolve to a realization that Love is a higher governing power than tyrannical might, save by the practical appli- cation of beliefs through human living? Can human- kind continue to evolve until such consciousness (108) The Dawn of Womanhood 109 shall become general, unless the devastating horrors of crudeness make them turn for refuge to the vitalizing joys of Love? How useless the wholesale murder and wreckage, the widowhood and orphanhood of war, when Love might settle every conflict! How useless the des- truction of innocents through poverty and child- labor, when the earth has enough for all! How useless the crushing processes of the world, when the atmosphere teems with regenerating forces which might be transmuted into mental and bodily devel- opment! Now the psychic era of the human race has begun. Despite the methods of past barbarism not yet cast aside and freshly invented Rightfulness, Love has come into the consciousness of mankind to stay and to reign ; for Love seeks only the kingship of gentleness and the kingdom of hearts. Few there are who cannot be won by tender consideration, or held by the ownership of affinity. God loves every one of his children. And when they learn to love, they know from whence all Love proceeds; for they love Love, and Love is God in emanation. Thus may all spirit children find their Soul-Progenitor — their Father and Mother in One. Your child-theology was on this plan and very simple. It was and is the only theology which will no The Dawn of Womanhood stand the wear and tear of eternally progressing ages — God is the universal Parent, and Love is the only saving grace in the universe. The Right Reverend Carleton Chase, Episcopal Bishop of New Hampshire, was the spiritual shepherd under whose pastorate your infant years were passed. Dignified, slow, mild, kindly, liberal in advance of his time, and charitable to the extent of his means, this stately, old-fashioned gentleman ministered to his flock in simplicity and earnestness. Although your father was firm in his belief that young children should not be baptized in any church, as he thought they ought not to be pledged without their consent to canons of belief which they might not be able to endorse at maturity, yet as I was a devoted member and attendant of the Episcopal Church, and as he had much regard for conventional propriety, you were early accustomed to church- going and to Sunday-school routine. Though, in accordance with your father's wishes you were never baptized as a child, and in accordance with your own decisions, you have never been baptized as girl or woman; yet never have you been — either as child, girl, or woman — an irreligious human being. But what had the church to do with God? — was a query which attacked your child mind. Not that you asked the question in precisely those words, but the problem in some of its ramifications was contin- The Dawn of Womanhood in ually presenting itself to you, whenever you had attended a service in the church edifice. Your first cause for wonderment was that the Bishop should wear a black silk "p'lisse" and a white "comforter". (Long silk garments called pelisses were the mode then for women. And in those cold New England winters, long white worsted scarfs were much used as head or neck gear, for extra warmth. The Bishop's "comforter" to be sure was made of linen, and was in truth a surplice under his black satin vestment, but the white coming down in front beneath the black robe evidently gave you the idea of the white scarfs you often saw.) You considered such garments very inappropriate for the Bishop, and inquired why he kept them on in church. As I happened to be the person interrogated, I told you that he wore them as a mark of respect while he was going through with the service. The phrase, "mark of respect" was beyond your comprehension, but you were averse to admitting that you could not understand me, so you said, "If he keeps his cloak on, why doesn't he wear a hat?" "But it wouldn't be proper to wear a hat. Gen- tlemen do not wear hats in any house — especially in church." "They don't wear p'lisses either," you returned. H2 The Dawn of Womanhood I hoped you were going to drop the subject with this, but you had as yet gained no information re- garding your first question, so you began again, "Mamma, what does Bishop Chase keep on his p'lisse for in church?'' Finding that I must, I endeavored to explain. "That is not a pelisse, it is a robe. Bishops always wear them when they are praying and preaching in church. " "Does God like them better if they dress up like that?" I was truly thankful to see your Grandfather Dean approaching the house, and exclaimed, "There's grandpa. Run and meet him." You acted upon my suggestion with the utmost willingness, but this diversion only interrupted you momentarily. As soon as your grandfather had greeted us both, for I had followed you to the door, you said, "Grandpa, isn't it funny? Bishop Chase thinks God wants him to wear a cloak in church." "Why, who said so?" returned your grandfather. "He wears it every time he preaches, mamma says, and he always talks about God when he preaches, so I s'pose he thinks God wants him to wear it. What does God want him to do that for?" "Don't you wear your best clothes when you go to church?" "But I don't wear a cloak only when it's cold, The Dawn of Womanhood 113 and Bishop Chase wears it just the same when it's hot." "His robe isn't a cloak. It is a custom for bishops to wear robes and surplices in church." "What do they do it for?" By this time you had your grandfather stranded as well as myself. Neither of us knew what to tell you. That wearing vestments was a custom in the Episcopal Church did not explain to you in the least why God should want such a custom or why anyone should think He wanted it. Suddenly an idea came into my mind which I hoped might turn the current of your persistency. "Tell grandpa," I said, "what tunes you like best when you go to church." You were very observant about music, and began early to recognize different airs that you heard played or sung; and a little later you used to pick them out on the piano, note by note. "I like carols best;" you said promptly. "I like to sing 'em to the tree. Bishop Chase doesn't wear his p'lisse to the Christmas tree." "But they have the carols and the tree at the Bishop's house," I said. "They sing carols to the Sunday-school, too, and that's in the church." Then, turning to your grand- father you continued, "Grandpa, can't Bishop Chase talk about God and say his prayers anywhere? I can. What makes him have a church to do it in?" U4 The Dawn of Womanhood "O that's so people can go and hear him. They couldn't all get into his house. " "What do they want to hear him talk and pray for anyway, can't they talk to God themselves and say their own prayers?" "But you like to go to church, don't you, and see all the people and hear the music?" "Yes, I like to go, but I don't like to stay. When Bishop Chase talks up in the pulpit, it makes me ache keeping still, it takes him so long." "When you are older you will understand better what the Bishop is preaching about, then you will be more interested and the time will not seem so long." "You go to sleep, grandpa, so you don't know how long it is. If what Bishop Chase says is nicer to grown-up folks, why don't you stay awake and hear him?" Having brought the conversation to another un- answerable point, your grandfather and I with one accord felt that a change of base was necessary, and we were both casting about in our minds for something to say or do which would start you off on a new tack, when you observed with a triumphant air, "I think you like naps better'n to hear Bishop Chase talk when you go to church. I don't like to hear him talk, too." When you said this, you looked at your grand- The Dawn of Womanhood 115 father as though there could be no question about his sympathy on this subject, but you were wholly unprepared when he said, "Don't you think your mother had better leave you at home after this when she goes to church? You don't think Bishop Chase ought to wear his robe, and you don't like to hear him preach. How do you think he would like it, if everybody who went to church found fault with him?" You grew anxious and puzzled at once. Your grandfather had spoken seriously. Had you been naughty? You did not see exactly how, you had merely asked for information and said what you thought. But right in the midst of your quandary, coming from what recess of your child mind no one could have told, these remarks tripped glibly and half defiantly from your tongue. "He'd have to leave his p'lisse home and stop talking. I guess God wouldn't care. I think God likes everybody to talk with him any time. I don't believe he wants me to ache hearing about him. I think little girls ought to have a good time to church." "Well, what do you think they ought to do?" asked your grandfather, humoring this new departure on your part. "I think they might take their dolls and play with 'em. I feel gooder when I play with dolls. I feel naughty when I ache 'cause I keep still. Mamma n6 The Dawn of Womanhood said good people went to church, but I'm not good when I ache." "Why that's the very time to show how good you can be," said your grandfather. "It's easy enough for anyone to be good when nothing bothers him, but that is not the same kind of 'being good' that it is to be good natured and cheerful when things don't go right." "If I'm good when I feel naughty, am I gooder?" "You mean if you do what you know you ought to do when you don't want to do it, you are better than when you do good just because you are good? Yes, I rather think you are." "Whether your grandfather's statement conveyed any clear idea to your mind, I do not know, but your answer would indicate that you saw one phase of his argument, for you said, "I'm going to feel just as naughty as I can next Sunday. It's nice to feel naughty if it makes me gooder when I keep still." This deduction was in such complete opposition to the saying, "As one thinketh in his heart, so is he", that your grandfather thought he must not leave you with any such wrong impression, so he immediately said, "You must never be naughty on purpose about anything." Quick as a flash you retaliated, "Grandpa Dean, you said I'd be gooder if I was naughty first." "I meant," said your grandfather rather weakly, The Dawn of Womanhood 117 "if you were naughty without meaning to be naughty.' ' "I'm not naughty, when I don't mean to be naughty," you replied decidedly. "Well," said your grandfather, feeling that the argument was becoming complicated and bent on compromise, "I think you mean to be good most of the time." This was branching off a little from your train of thought, but your grandfather's tone, though conciliatory, indicated that he had had enough of the subject, and as he started off at once on another topic, your quibbling was brought to an end tem- porarily. The element of brightness and rejoicing which pervaded the church services at the Christmas season found echoing joyousness in your impres- sionable nature. The rehearsals of the carols were lively episodes in your existence. Sometimes, too, you were permitted to aid in winding the hundreds of yards of wreathing with which the church was decorated, by handing sprigs of spruce or ground- pine or laurel to the young women of the congregation who were making the preparations an occasion for ostensibly much-needed assistance from all the avail- able beaux. And this delightful stir and bustle was to culminate in two crowning events — the Christmas Eve service n8 The Dawn of Womanhood when it would seem to you like fairy land to dash in a sleigh across the snowy common up to the en- trance of the old round church with its two rows of many-paned, candle-lighted windows gleaming like circlets of flaming gems; while within, the glittering chandeliers, the wreathing everywhere, the festival music, the crowd filling even the extra benches which were placed in the aisles after the pews were full, thrilled you with tense excitement. Then soon afterward there would be the wonderful Christmas-tree, with an informal gathering of all the children of the parish in the big double parlors of the Bishop's house, where an exceedingly active Santa Claus was personated by one of the Bishop's sons — although he appeared merely as a guarantee of the source of the gifts which were already upon or around the tree — and where, after the Bishop had made a short address and the carols had been tuned forth by many childish voices, the gayest of cornucopias, the most dashing of dolls and the safest of story books were bestowed upon the little beings who were still to be jubilantly feasted on cakes and oranges and candy. It was after you had been brought home from one of these gatherings with the reflection of the child pleasure by which you had been surrounded still shining in your face, with the tapers and tinsel of the tree still bobbing before your eyes, and the The Dawn of Womanhood 119 carols still singing in your brain, that you burst forth into the following ecstatic commendation of the scene, and philanthropic proposal. "O mamma, I had a beautiful time, and every child in the church had a present off of the tree — I heard Hattie Chase say so. Don't you think God must have been very glad? I s'pose he thinks somebody's going to take care of everybody, doesn't he, long's he's so busy up in heaven he can't come down and do it himself? Wasn't the tree just lovely with all those sparkly things on it? Do you think there's any children in town that didn't get any presents? Can't I have a tree for them in our parlor? Probably Mr. Chase would come over and be Santa Claus, too. — Papa, can I have a tree and ask all the children to come that didn't get any presents off of Bishop Chase's tree. Your father was a kind-hearted man, but he had struggled to make his own way in the world, and his views of life comprehended rather the contending against obstacles, than the wholesale, and under the circumstances wholly impracticable (for our parlor could never have held the children in the place who had received no presents from the " Bishop's Christmas-tree") benevolence which you advocated, so he said, "O come, you've got a new doll and an orange and a cornucopia from the tree. That's enough for one evening. You just settle down now 120 The Dawn of Womanhood and go to sleep, and don't be thinking about Christ- mas-trees for the whole town." "But, papa, if I didn't have any tree to go to, wouldn't you like to have someone have one for me?" "Well, you've just been to one, so you needn't think anything about that. You'd better not talk any more. You'll get so wide awake you won't go to sleep all night." "I'd go to sleep right off, papa, if you said I might have the tree, I'd be so glad." I succeeded here in calling your attention to the fact that you had not yet said your prayers, so you went through with the "Lord's Prayer" and "Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep" at a prodigious rate, and then after the lapse of a few moments, during which we vainly hoped you had given up the contest and subsided for the night, you suddenly said, "Papa and mamma! I'll tell you what we can do. If I can't have a tree here in our parlor, I can have a picnic for everybody next summer out in our lot, can't I?" The idea of having our beautiful great grass-plot trodden down and spoiled by a crowd did not appeal to your father in the least, and he considered that he might as well exert a little authority and demolish your philanthropic imaginings once for all, so he said, "It's as much as I can do to look after one little girl who is always wanting a great deal more than The Dawn of Womanhood 121 she's got. You needn't think you can have all the children in town swarming around here for a tree, or picnic, or anything else. Their fathers and mothers look out for them just as we do for you. You needn't worry about them any more. They'll get along all right, but you wont, if you don't keep still and go to sleep." I do not think your father intended this as a threat of punishment but only as a statement that you would, generally speaking, be much better off if you would quiet down and get rested; but he spoke hastily, without thinking how his words would impress your quick sensitiveness, so his real wish to ensure your comfort and his own was overthrown in an instant by your exclaiming, "Papa, I guess if other people's little girls can't say anything after they've gone to bed, they'd wish their papas liked 'em more. Here, mamma, take my new doll. I don't want her. I'm going to give her to one little girl anyway, if I do have to be shut up in the closet tomorrow morning." And then at last, sad but not without some con- solation — for when I took the new doll away I gave you your favorite old rag-doll in its place — you settled down wearily and soon dropped off into a restless sleep. A child in the surrender of unconsciousness, helpless, at the mercy of its guardians, its whole 122 The Dawn of Womanhood presence bespeaking its unknowingness of evil, an aureole of innocence emanating from its unwordly brain, clinging even in sleep to something that it loves — what can be more appealing to one who knows the thorny and intricate paths of human self -development ! I was of a more introspective temperament than your father — his thought being generally bent upon the stern realities and practical duties of life, while I was given to saunterings and wanderings on the planes of motive and imagination. I often wondered what your ' 'grown-up' ' life would be. Although we had not at that time thought of moving away from Claremont, yet it never seemed to me that you could become a quiet, home-abiding matron in a country village. There was such persistency in your mental grasp, and such an extension of view beyond the ordinary conventional interpretation of ideas, even in your infancy, that I felt as if neither we nor the town could set a limit to your explorations ; so, excepting in those occasional moments when your strange recountals of your " talks with God" terrified me with the suggestion of your early translation to a realm beyond death, I somehow grew gradually to believe that you would carve out for yourself some phenomenal career. In the matter of having you taught not only the essentials of education but also the fashionable The Dawn of Womanhood 123 accomplishments of the day — music, French and drawing, your father was determined that you should have every advantage which his circumstances would warrant; so your studies had a wide compass even before you came into your "teens." Of the intermediate period in your history between your child fancies and your woman disillusionments a review will be given by Ruthea in a small book which is to be entitled, "Heart Gleanings. A Study of Girlhood." I shall not therefore extend my recital of your child episodes much further as the object for which they have been given — the depiction of your early impulsions and characteristics, has already been attained; but I would like to conclude my narration with an account of a little incident which will form a clue as it were to the next (and last) volume of this series. THE DAWN OF WOMANHOOD THE GOVERNOR'S REPARTEE HE whist-club to which reference has been made as being the special form of amuse- ment which most appealed to your father, was composed of four men who for years were fast cronies and jovial companions whether the cards decreed them to be partners or opponents. Mr. Lewis Perry, tall, gaunt, large-framed, red-haired, a dry wit and "odd stick" generally; Mr. Albert Rossiter, mild, quiet, with an Emersonian cast of features; and Gover- nor Metcalf, a huge, genial individual, well liked both in his social and political aspects, together with your father, composed a quartette of harmonious measure in the usually dull prose of country living. Their whist evenings were sessions of real enjoy- ment. Each being famed for his skill, and knowing every crook and turn of the others' play, it was like seeing the cutting of a two-edged sword to watch the advance of the game. Intent, absorbed, the heavy bangs of clenched fists as the cards were cast on the table betokening their growing excitement, the last (124) The Dawn of Womanhood 125 round would end in a melee of laughs or half-shouts, or deprecatory grunts or groans, according as to whether the ebullition proceeded from the winning or losing side. Then all the tongues would be loosed, for excepting while dealing, not a sound would be heard during the progress of the game except the heavy thuds on the strong old mahogany card-table. Surely few tables of modern make could have with- stood such forcible manipulation. You were often hovering about as the gentlemen arrived and never failed to receive cordial greetings — the Governor always noticed you especially, as he and your father were legal chums as well as social comrades, and the families had long been on friendly terms. The why of the terrible pounding that these famous whist-men always indulged in, you never could fathom. It jarred on your high-strung nerves, and you regarded it as wholly unnecessary and very disagreeable. Another thing which you did not at all admire was the Governor's extreme corpulency, but the mental evolvement from these two dislikes could certainly never have proceeded from any brain but the one pertaining to your own unique personality. I had found that there was not much use in insisting upon your going to bed early on whist nights, for you were always on the qui vive with the unusual stir in the house, so I had grown lax about 126 The Dawn of Womanhood the matter and allowed you to sit up while a game or two was going on. You would peep furtively in at the parlor door, or else follow me about, in my dining room superintendence, for a late hearty supper was always the rule. Chicken sandwiches, mince pie, fruit cake, cider, or other edibles and drinkables equally substantial, were considered none too solid after the concentration of the game. Old fashioned dietaries displayed generous hospitality rather than sanitary consideration, as your father, alas! realized in after years when he had become a confirmed dyspeptic. When the general sound of voices notified you that a game was concluded, you would slip shyly into the parlor, for no matter how lively or hilarious the discussion, your father's guests, whenever you appeared, always turned to you for a few moments while the cards were being packed, shuffled and dealt for the next round. On one of these occasions, the Governor said to you jocosely, "Well, I suppose when you grow up and get married, you'll let your husband play whist, won't you?" "Yes," you instantly returned, "on a feather bed. Then I shan't hear him pound." There was a great laugh at your reply and Mr. Perry said, "Why, can you hear us out in the other room? I thought we were still as mice. You don't The Dawn of Womanhood 127 mean to say that we pound on the table? I'm surprised." You returned, half in pique, for you thought that Mr. Perry was "making fun" of you. "I think all your hands are black and blue, and probably the table is full of dents." "O, no," said Mr. Perry, reaching an arm around you and drawing you up close to him and to the table, "Look at it! Smooth as glass. And see my hand. It's red and hairy enough, but not a bit black and blue. O you must have imagined about that pounding." Mr. Perry was a great tease as you had before discovered, so you thought you would defend your- self this time by paying him in his own coin. "Yes," you said with a beaming smile, "I dreamed it. No- body pounded at all. I could hear the clock in the front hall tick every minute. It was so still I went to sleep and dreamed about the pounding." "There, Perry, youVe got it now," said the Gov- ernor. "The child can talk nonsense just as fast as you can." You saw that the Governor was siding with you, but the impersonal reference to "the child" and styling your remark "nonsense" touched your dignity, so you slipped away from Mr. Perry's encircling arm and ran to the door of the room, where, poised as if in the midst of flight, you said emphatically, "Gov- 128 The Dawn of Womanhood ernor Metcalf, it is nonsense to tell lies, whether you're little or grown up." "And it's nonsense to be too solemn, little girl, any time. Come shake hands and make up." At this juncture it dawned upon you that perhaps you were not being polite to take things so seriously when every one was trying to be jolly, so you went and shook hands with the Governor very prettily and said, "I suppose if I was as big as you, I should not mind little things. " "I don't see but you've 'got it' now, Governor," said Mr. Perry. "Ellen seems to think nothing hurts you if you're only big enough." "O the bigger you are, the more chance of being hit," said the Governor, doubtless thinking of the forked tongues and poisoned arrows which assail every one in public life. Here you interposed with a deduction which was intended to restore the general equilibrium, but which flew wide of the mark. "If Mr. Perry could cut off his head and Governor Metcalf could cut off his stomach and give 'em to Mr. Rossiter and papa, you'd all be just so big, wouldn't you?" (Mr. Rossiter being the shortest of the four and your father at that time rather thin, it struck you that a physical distribution of the kind you mentioned would be a great improvement, and in the Governor's case would do away with a cor- The Dawn of Womanhood 129 porosity which, you judged, as you had taken his remark literally, was not appreciated by himself any more than by you. "Now, Ellen," said the Governor, "you are getting rather too personal. You could never make Mr. Perry lose his head, and I don't believe I shall ever lose my stomach this side of the grave, but I will tell you what you will lose if you don't look out" (here your eyes opened wide in a startled gaze — had you been saying something dreadful?) "and that is, the knack of making men believe that they're all right just as they are. Why, dear me, when you get older you'll scare the beaux so they won't dare come near you. You'll be telling them all something is the matter with them." Now this was intended for pure jollity on the part of the Governor, but you really wanted to be liked, and even at that early age two elements were contending in your consciousness — the feeling that you could attract, and the wondering as to when, and how much of, what seemed to you truth, should be told. So after a moment of puzzlement during which the whole tableful of players were looking at you quizzically, you said simply, "I won't scare 'em very bad." "Not so bad but what they'll come back, I guess." With the Governor's repartee the conversation 130 The Dawn of Womanhood • ended, for your father reminded him that it was his lead, and in a moment the fresh game was in full swing. Seeing that your fleeting ascendency was past, you returned to me, leaving the enthusiasts to a resumption of their pounding which had been by no means imaginary on your part. May 4, 1906. We feel that no more appropriate ending for this little volume could be devised than to use for that purpose a few paragraphs of remonstrance and advice which were addressed to my daughter by me during the preparation of this child-history, some months since. In small compass, they prove that the traits of her childhood are still inherent parts of her nature: extreme impressionability and consequent physical reaction; determination to know for herself why things are thus and so; doubt of her own powers and need of encouragement while still irresistably impelled in idiosyncratically individual directions; involuntary rebellion against the platitudes and repetitions of elementary conditions of development; conscientious hesitation in regard to blaming others for her own decisions and actions; and above and beyond and dominating all other characteristics, The Dawn of Womanhood 131 the resolution to come, through whatever snares or pitfalls or mistakes, to the Highest in herself; for she knows that by this attainment only can her life be made of use to others. THE PARAGRAPHS OF REMONSTRANCE AND ADVICE. Sept. 23, 1905. My dear daughter: Before resuming work on the book I should like to say a few words to you. As you know, your human life will be whatever you choose to make it. You are a phenominally impres- sionable person and your whole organism echoes your mental states. You are not ill and there is no reason whatever why you should become so, but there is every good and sufficient reason why you should throw aside your melancholy and discouragement and enter wholeheartedly into our plans. Your faculties work in special channels which we understand, even better than you do yourself. If you will follow our directions for a few weeks longer, we shall be able to bring forward proof of your in- fluence which will convince you that you are in the right path. Your whole soul rebels at the inanity of conventional existence. Never could you return to a plane of living where you never were at home. You must go on- — to meet your waiting fate. 132 The Dawn of Womanhood Your latest phase of mental distress has been the idea that the faithful depiction of the thought-pro- cesses of your early years would reflect upon your respect for your father and myself. You think that with your temperament you would have tried a variety of experiments on and with human beings whatever your earliest instructions may have been. This is doubtless true, but it is nevertheless certain that your father's and my ideas, being opposed to inherent tendencies in yourself, separated you from us; so that except in those matters where we required literal and practical obedience we had little or no guiding or restraining influence over you. You were always trying to find out what you could do with life and with individuals, and were always wondering why you were always trying to do this. After we had finally succeeded in making you lay aside and ignore your infant mediumistic tendencies, you came to the conclusion that the only way for you to accomplish anything was by being ' 'smart in your studies. As the result of our efforts to prevent you from being vain, you had decided that you were very homely, so as you had been obliged to give up talking about God and Love, and supposed yourself an extremely plain child, you could see no special line in which to exercise your eager, involuntary, searching for modes of progress, except to learn as much from books as possible. The Dawn of Womanhood 133 To be sure, this conviction was broken in upon by the discovery that you could influence affinitized individuals of the opposite sex to do and say things which were surprising to themselves, and which afforded you very curious entertainment and more interesting phases of study than were contained in your books. But I will leave this portion of your history to be dwelt upon by Ruthia after a manner of his own; and will say no more this morning except to assure you that in the matter of the stand taken by your father and myself during the infant portion of your life, you had surely then no responsibility for what we saw fit to do, and neither have you now. If we deem it wisest and best for our spiritual purposes to record our human mistakes you may be certain that it has been decided upon only after careful reflection, and because we regard it as necessary in order to depict graphically and truly the beginning of your human psychological evolution. In conclusion let me say, for myself, a few words to each reader of this little book. Dear child of God, brother or sister to all created spirits: — Nothing on any plane of existence, either on earth or in heaven can bring you happiness — save Love. Nothing else exists which can elevate your 134 The Dawn of Womanhood thought, vivify your conscience and glorify your action. Slavery is damnable, duty is cold; but no bounds can limit Love and nothing which the spirit does freely (and the spirit lives in Love) can be duty. Hell is but the reflection of human ignorance. If one loves enough in hell, he leaves it behind and goes to heaven. Cruelty, poverty — what are they but proofs that human beings have not learned to love? Enjoyment of tawdry glitter, drugged exhilaration or oblivion, blind waste of life-force — what are they all but infantile soul-graspings for something beyond the crushing of human routine and the dullness of human undevelopment. O reader of these my words, with- whom I now commune, let your heart overflow with pity and charity and tolerance and helpfulness for each one of God's creatures. At the core of every being, felon or saint, is the seed of immortality, and no spirit passes to immortal life without being fitted therefor. Despise no comrade because he or she takes the longest and darkest road to heaven. He will surely be there later on. All spirits must learn to love. And all who love must, as sparks fly upward, rise to that glorious inheritance of eternal and beatific progression decreed for them by a loving and omniscient Father. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide Treatment Date: Nov. 2004 PreservationTechnologies A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive Cranberry Township, PA 16066 (724)779-2111