. ...... ■■' ' ■ ' ■ S '-■■■ * .' ''fifty, : '' r ' *' "•'! '-'"- "■.'•>. "■■ ' /: ■'"■A . , m 1 ¥9 ■*?i 4 .fe iR 8 ,?! to'4 LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN B L964341 I.H.S. ^ \SL*~>t*+.^« c-c. . / /I r \ (0<7^ if /?Z4> Copyright June i, 1925 By CORNELIA GRAY LUNT Evanston, Illinois Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Chicago, 1847-1864 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood To My Dear Nieces, My Grandnieces and My Cousins, I DEDICATE THIS BOOK. In Memory of the Loved Ones Who Have Gone Before and the Young and Untried Who Come After. HAIL AND FAREWELL t p Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood u He Most Lives Who Most Enjoys Most Loves and Most Forgives." Page 5 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood PROLOGUE Dearest Aunt: Many, many a time I entertain myself by recounting the tales you have told from the innumerable experiences of your life. Sometimes the story will come to me in its vivid entirety, but alas — often it is elusive and only the fragrance or color of it remains. These memories of your yesterdays seem to me like myriad colored leaves, caught up and whirled against the Heavens by the winds of Autumn. The tender green experiences of childhood — the roseate ones of middle life — and the golden happenings of later years! Will you not immortalize them in this little book? By writing these "Leaves of Memory" you have it in your power to put at interest whatever pleasure this gift may bring you. Thus all who love you may benefit. In giving us a record of your memories we shall, as the case may be — enjoy delight — be inspired to noble deeds — or perhaps, reach for the Stars! Lovingly and Longingly Colorado Springs. Regina Lunt Dodge. January 1923 "Anchorfast" Evanston, February 4, 1923 Beloved Niece Regina: When last Christmas brought that attractive Blank-Book, blue covered and gold lettered, I smiled at the idea of filling it as your tender words suggested. I thought of the genuine disabilities of age that are apt to affect our entire concep- tion of the value of various incidents; and of the danger always of an excessive sympathy with oneself which fails to bring out errors or admit deficiencies. But your letter has moved me by its affectionate claim for the young of our family — and that I may not be wholly forgotten, and at your asking, the tide of existence drifts backward, the films of memory unroll and I recall how unknown to me many small and seemingly indefinite currents altered unexpectedly the whole course of life. There are no little things, all are vital forces which for me could be neither measured nor altered. The simplest incidents develop in such widely different directions, and make a mark there is no obliterating. Most of us in the few years of a very ordinary existence have witnessed many- strange things, have stumbled across fundamentally curious ones, and after all have often found ourselves sitting on the wrong side of the fence! There is nothing in my life remarkable, or worthy of record as I see it now. I mean it is distinctly on the average plane, except for the fact of enjoyment, and the surroundings 01 comfort and indulgence, which made for buoyancy and developed ease and freedom. Hut if you think that your children will find value or feel interest in scenes or sketches of their (Irand-Aunt's youth, as events are still familiar to a living memory, I will try to tell them what moved me most or delighted me most in those earliest years. They will he merely pictures of my childhood and young girlhood in des- criptions or in episodes as they occur to me, adopting no strict method in the recounting, nor shall I make essential distinctions in following chronological^ t he I ime and plai e, Pagt 6 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood After over three quarters of a century with the Gulf forever widening, vision to me is not remote only the points of view are changed. The interest is as poignant today as in those far off yesterdays, and this I can promise you — a truthful sum- mary in accurate detail of those first experiences and lessons — -which will show simply the inevitable expression of inborn qualities and tastes — the result of heritage and the product of environment, and of that age. It is curious to observe under what impulses youth or middle age or old age expresses itself, and I do not wish in what follows to write under impulses any more than I wish to be judged by errors in dates or by seeming contradictions. One is too apt to offer paradoxes because sophisticated; but if enthusiasm undertakes to grapple with the simple events of a simple life enthusiasm will be rewarded. It is a pity to travel the path of life without that companion to light up so many intangible and irremediable obscurities; to create a beautiful atmosphere and enshrine harmoniously the commonest associations of common every-day life. Someone has said that the Unknown is a nut to crack, for in it may lie the secret of the Universe! Sometimes pleasantly hypnotized, softened by the glare of these late afternoons, watching the changing specks of gold on my Lake; drifting — drifting — drifting out to sea — waiting — no longer speculating on what is to come. Silence, and a blessed calm that makes serenity better than jubilance; here in my lovely back- water cove, my Anchorfast, you ask that I should reinstate myself in the World of activities and excitements, which can so easily again envelop and transfigure as one writes? I look out now as I did in babyhood across blue waters under blue skies to the far horizon, and think what a wonderful world it is and that I couldn't have lived but for its beauty. One has to have fellowship with the trees that give shelter and the flowers that scent the air, and all living things that are a part of our world — and of all living things human beings are the strongest and the most interesting for with them lies responsibility. Oh it has been good to live — / love it. And very early certain longings beset me not to be merely a passenger but one of the Crew of the Great Ship we call the World. It was not for me to rule or reign or serve mightily. I was never in the van of the battle as conquerer or leader. I was no climber of mountains. Mine were not gifts that made for struggle and sacrificial labours and royal victories. Life never became spectacular or severe but sheltered, joyous, confident with a message of love I wish I could pass on. The lessons I have learned are comforting; that the trees, the flowers, the hills, the forests, the mountains and the oceans are gifts of Heaven in sight; and above all the rich gifts of loving words are Heaven's own Birthday gifts to the world as we speak them — and it is for us to make every day a Birthday of delight or a Christmas of joy. Walter Pater speaking of the Eternal glamours of childhood says our susceptibili- ties, the discovery of our powers, our manifold experiences belong to this or the other well-remembered habitation! And so it is that instinctive longings come to us to renew our childhood — "Even in the Shadows where we shall find the ones we have played with and have lost." And so I greet you Children dear, in the gathering darkness, with its sacred message to light the lamp of patience and press on. You, too, will hear "the still small voice" that says we must all wait in patience, in the beginning as at the end — and strive for life — "Life that dares send A challenge to its end; And when it comes say Welcome Friend." And here are the Reminiscences, Regina, with the tender assurance and devotion of— Your Aunt Cornelia Gray Lunt. Page 7 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood TABLE OF CONTENTS Book I I The Little Brother. II The Little Dishes. III The Christmas Message. IV The Fate of Liars. V The Gooseberry Feast. VI The Eavesdropper. VII The Comforting Answer. VIII The Two Grandfathers. IX The Discovered Likeness. X The Little Lunts. XI The Boarding School. XII The First Vacation. XIII The Little Southerner. XIV The Second Year. XV The Happy Farewell. XVI The Onward Steps. Book II XVII The Dream Prince. XVIII The Finishing School. XIX The Favoring Winds. XX The Oversoul. Book III XXI The Sea Trip. XXII The Vain Expectation. XXIII The Ocean Symphony. XXIV The Sea Fighter. XXV The Stepping Stones. Book IV XXVI The Distant Drum. XXVII The Answering Swords. XXVIII The State of Siege. XXIX The Word of Command. XXX The Other Voice. XXXI The Tented Field. XXXII The Last Word. Pom 8 Book I "Let us rise, my heart, let us gather the dreams that remain." Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood BOOK I THE LITTLE BROTHER August 13, 1847. THE LITTLE GIRL was very patient. She had made no outcry when awk- ward fingers pulled hard in making the many curls — "Pretty curls" she had always heard people say when they smiled on her. And she turned to have the little white frock fastened without protest or enquiry. Her first adventure, her first going forth from the home nest! She had been so joyous when her young Aunt told her she was to make a visit at the kind neighbour's — "All day long, and you will see things and have such a fine time" — and so, happy filled was her little heart with a delightful sense of expectancy. But strangely now a little be- wilderment shadowed and drove away pleasure. She suddenly remembered how her Father had lifted her from the little Trundle-bed in the dark of dawn — how he had carried the sleepy burden to her Aunt's side, and how she had clung to his neck as he laid her down. But soon the blessed slumber of childhood had dimmed its recollection. Now she wondered, and swiftly fear entered the little heart. Where was her Mother? — Why did she not dress her and tie with gentle fingers the bright ribbon sash and the little white sunbonnet? She swallowed hard — and it burst into words, the new ache that frightened her — "I want Mother — Is Mother sick?" "Oh no, she is tired now — she will see you when you come back, and hear all about it; and if you have been a very good little girl perhaps Mother will show you something beautiful." I remember as yesterday the green and gold of that Summer morning, the sky of flowery blue, and always the sound of the Lake that broke in flashing splendor on the piles that made the breakwater opposite. That music I heard night and day — and this day of days it made its promise. They showed me many pretty things and spoke kind words, but the hours were long and before the light of afternoon had begun to fade there crept upon me the feeling of restlessness, of wistful and finally definable desire which yet is the very essence of pain — great tears rolled down as the words formed themselves, tightening the heart, choking in the throat — "I want to go home, I want Mother — I want Mother" — "Don't cry," said the kind daughter of the house wiping away the tears that overflowed — "I'll make you a great big doll like a real baby — See now," and curiosity and kindling interest dried her eyes as she watched the deft fingers that took the pillow from the bed, and tied a long skirt around the middle, another higher up to make the neck, pinned back the corners for a round face, and with a piece of charcoal transformed by rapid strokes that gave hair and eyes and nose and mouth, and fastening a cap that rounded the face she wrapped it in a blanket, and placed it in the eagerly extended arms almost as large as the four year old that held it. "Oh can I have it, can I take it home?" she cried in ecstasy, "Why I think there is a little Baby at your house, I thought I saw the Doctor leave one there, — Let's go and see" was the surprising answer that set my little feet flying. It is seventy-five years ago, but I can still see the street that stretched beside the lake as we passed out after so many hours of that unforgettable day — And Lo! when breathless I found myself safe at home, I was taken into the darkened chamber! They lifted me up to see the pale Mother who smiled up at us from her pillow. And for the first time I saw love made manifest. Then she looked down upon the little bundle of flannel in her arms, her features irradiated by a passion of tenderness — "See, she said — it is your little brother and his name is Horace." Page Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE LITTLE DISHES March 19, 1849. THE LITTLE GIRL looked down in an ecstasy too deep for words — Then looking up at the smiling faces round the table the barriers broke — "Oh are they mine! My little dishes! Oh Mother they are big, not like the others for dolls and babies! Oh Mother they have little posies and green springs, and a gold band against the green. They are beautiful, they are beautiful" she repeated, as she bent lower and clasped her hands in a delight even too great to touch the treasures. Yes, it was her Birthday, but who could have thought she was to have such a surprise; All on a tray at her own plate when she came down to breakfast! Why the plates were as big as saucers, and anyone could drink out of the lovely cups, and there would be plenty of tea for them all in that little Tea-pot with its Creamer and Sugar, almost like the old ones of Great Grand-mother Patten's that Mother loved so much. But her awe deepened and her heart beat fast at the words she heard — "A party? A real party," and she could ask six little girls that very day for Saturday afternoon! Addie, their neighbour's daughter three years her senior, would go with her from house to house. Her spirits overflowed. She rushed for a paper to have her Mother write the names and just what to say; And from that moment the great event took precedence of all others in thought and speech — and the hours were long until the little coat was buttoned tight, the comforter tied about her throat, for March winds were cold and the Lake sang a sinister song — "Don't be too happy little girl! A storm is brewing!" What cared the proud little lady holding hands with Addie and tripping along so happily. "Isn't it great to have a party? Did you have one when you were six?" "It isn't a party was the strangely scornful reply. It's just six children. That doesn't make a party. It takes lots more. I had twenty-five once" — and all joy was blotted out. A queer pain burned in her eyes, she winked away some- thing hot and blistering, and at first Addie's words hardly penetrated to con- sciousness. "You could ask them — You know lots of little girls at the school. I know lots of little girls right round here — Come on — if you want a real party?" And the way was opened. A sudden sense of power and confidence aroused. — No questions made her hesitate. It was a party she wanted — and she breathed again with pride, and called at every house in the neighbourhood her companion in- dicated; and when she saw some children playing in groups near by to each one was repeated carefully her Mother's message, the invitation for Saturday afternoon. Strangely elate, only half understanding Addie's warning, she returned to her "Little Dishes" with no disturbing fears, no terrifying questions, no punitive anticipations, no conscious asking — "Why did ye so?" Oh no! She was afraid of nothing. It was to be a real party, and holding that thought to her little heart she exulted and never trembled once. She had no realization of wrong — Why should she? — Addie said that it was to be a fine party and that she needn't tell anyone. As clear as today it now rises before me. It stands high at the very beginning of memory — That Saturday afternoon. The scene as I first saw it — when my Aunt called quickly — "Oh look! what can it mean? See all those children coming," and I ran with the others to the door, to behold what to my vision was a regiment of white frocked children! I sec now those colored Bashes and switching skirts, and feel the same astonished sensation — inexplicable and dreamlike for the moment, while I looked Oil breathlessly as they reached the house, fully forty in number when all the dillcrent companies arrived. And 1 have not so much as forgot ten the shining faces, or my sudden shyness as my astonished Mother and Aunts who had time for no single inquiry, made them doubtless as welcome and comloi table as conditions and circumstances permitted. The spirit of adventure is of great assistance to disobedience, ami there was no piely within to disturb me at that moment. "A party — a real parts.'" 1 had a real party. And my little dishes. It was enough bliss could mount no higher. In Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood What secret feeling in me ascended to its throne? What nascent delight in hospital- ity had birth? What happiness in having and giving brought colour to the cheeks, and warmed a little heart that heard a hundred jubilant notes and not one discord as the enchanting afternoon began? It might have been imaginary music that sang within — No forebodings — No shadows crowded thickly, the disregarded Mother's directions penetrated to no secret chamber of memory. Oh the merry hours! the gladness of my first party, with no fears of a price to be paid or that a pro- foundly significant lesson must be taught. Pride and pleasure ran a race as we shouted and played, and my kind Aunts, proficent in ways to entertain, made the hours fly. I lived in so rich a present there was nothing to be desired, until opening a door into the dining-room, eager for my "little dishes" to be displayed, my eyes beheld a place alive with curious preparations. Lo! the big table was spread with many dishes, the pyramidal centre-piece with apples, and I saw cakes and candies and nuts and raisins as I peered eagerly, and then rushed to the door from which steps descended to the kitchen. There was my Mother sitting before the slanting cellar door, in her lap a flat- iron with hammer raised above the nuts to be cracked. She looked up as I looked down, the naughty little girl standing on the top step smiling! "Mother, Mother, where are my little dishes, Can't I have my little dishes?" and something in her stern glance turned my eyes to busy Mahaly spreading with butter and sugar the thin slices of bread. What did it all mean? all this activity and haste so mani- fest. It was odd and menacing. I had never before seen excitement apparent, and I stared and repeated eagerly — "You said I could have my little dishes." One sudden look — and fright stirred and hurt. "You are a naughty girl, you will not have your little dishes for a long time. You have been disobedient — You will be punished when the little girls have gone." As if I had known punishment instead of indulgence all my six years I shivered — terror for a second shadowed and enveloped me as I backed swiftly out of sight and returned to the merry throng. The terror was unreal, the party was real, and the feast that followed reassuring. But as dusk descended the ghost of fear spoke insistently — Don't go yet, please; don't go, please don't — as they trooped away in smiling groups, well filled and well pleased and with no penalties or explanations to meet or make. As the last one was departing, one little stranger, the guest of a friend who brought her, thanked me prettily for being allowed to come, and gave me a sense of surprised gratification and new importance. At that moment the intervening door opened and I heard the ominous call repeated, as I hung defiantly back, until without one further word my hand was grasped and dragging feet could no ionger help me. Into the adjacent bed-room we passed, and I remember even a curious creaking of the hinges as the door closed. I remember how the carved Bureau mirror reflected my Mother's face as in a fog — And how I screamed and screamed. It was the first hurt of my little life, my first punishment. With a firm hand castigation of a primative sort was being administered. The spanking was not severe in fact but terrible in fancy, and as I felt each deliberate stroke I writhed in futile rebellion and a sense of injury. I had not realized my offence — its weight or measure could not appeal without adequate explanation. I shrieked again and again thinking to lessen deserved pain — My Mother's gentle hand had become a sledge-hammer to me. That same little uninvited visitor who came with her cousin rose like salvation to save me! — "Oh Mother, I didn't invite Teresa Foot, I didn't invite Teresa Foot, / didn't, I didn't" over and over as each fresh stroke fell. Ah' that deep intuitive feeling that excuses and paliates and believes that the climax of full criminality not having been reached, Justice should be stayed. But I sought redress in vain, and I realize again that stubborn resistance of spirit, of outraged pride. I was not toned to repentance or to any clear understanding of the nature of my disobedience, — Why! I had not invited Teresa Foot, whose name I will remember as I do my own, and as long — and I had not had my little dishes. Page II Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood My face all wet with tears under its heavy curls was lifted at last. Never mind little girl, it is all over. The storm the Lake threatened had burst and passed. THE CHRISTMAS MESSAGE December 24, 1849 THE LITTLE GIRL watched her Father. He sat before the fire in the big chair, his feet stretched out, his eyes fixed on the bright flames. Why was he so still? They had made much noise, she thought, at the table. It was her Father's Birthday. She had been allowed to sit up for late supper. She was very proud and happy and had tried to understand the stories, and why they laughed so hard while the young Aunt said many things and looked so pretty. "Father I am glad you had a Birthday" she said, and sidled close up to his knee. "I am glad you had a Birthday Father" she repeated, as he looked down and smiled his beautiful smile. "I will tell my little girl of a more wonderful Birthday" he answered, lifting her to his knee and putting strong arms about her. But she felt a little pain as he explained slowly that there was no real Santa Claus that came down chimneys, that the pretty piece she had learned about his Rein- deer and the bells on the sleigh, and the pack of presents for good children, was all only a picture, made to show little and big ones how lovely it was to give and celebrate the Birthday of the The Christ-Child by helping to make everybody happy. So was the sweet and sacred Story of Manger and Infant Jesus and Wise Men travelling far, and the beautiful Star shining and showing the way to where the Young Child lay, gently told me and the Christmas message repeated. — "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men," spoken softly. Say it dear, "Peace on Earth, Good Will to Men". He told me of an indescribable light that shone on the Child's face, and made the Wise Men kneel and lay gifts before Him. And so Christmas was the time for ever to love our friends and give gifts. "Why it's your Birthday too", I said, "Oh Father you were born with the little Jesus" — "No, Oh no, only on his Birthday to learn to love him more," he answered. And as his dear eyes met mine they were charged with some message he could not utter, and I was silent with the inarticulate yearning of childhood. Almost three quarters of a century since the revelations of that Christmas Eve, and I can summon back the new feelings about Santa Claus and the Christ Child as I said my prayers that night, and was put to bed in the small Hall bed- room out of the large one, where I had been moved two years before, when the brother beloved of a life-time first opened his eyes on earth. Often I had been lonely there, and often frightened. So far it seemed from Father and Mother and the baby boy who slept in my place. The Lake made a loud song at night. Sometimes it shook the bed and called out, and I hid under the clothes, and I heard cries when great waves broke and said angry words in a language I tried to understand. Voices that Christmas night seemed to come nearer and nearer — "Peace on Earth, Peace on Earth", softer and softer. All suddenly I awoke from childhood's slumber and dreaming its dreams. I started up in the darkness — "I must see what Santa Claus brought"? No there was no Santa Claus on y a cold wind blowing in my face, and around me all the mysterious darkness of midnight, its vastness, its silence, its loneliness. 1 can recall only my swift action, but 1 can still feel the cold nighl air blowing on my face as I saw I he while moonlight filtering over the floor. The sound ot waxes breaking on snow and ice-banks called to me out of the great waste oi waters. II w.i m I; 1 I Christmas message "Come and see! Come and see"? I crept out of bed Oh, very BOftly, and softly on hands and knees 1 crawled Btealthilj through the ever open door. 1 have not forgotten so much as the pat- tern on the carpet or the faint glimmer of the night lamp, but how dark looked the alcove, how long and trar the shadows, and hovi fat to that fireplace where Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood from the mantelpiece hung two stockings. The low windows let in a faint glim- mer, and as the eyes grew accustomed to its wavering shadow, I stood erect both hands outstretched — I must find what was left for me. No one awoke to be aware of the little daughters search as she felt, in a tremor of delight, the larger stocking. Yet even as she stood the chill that has no name swept over her. A clutch at the heart — a fear that made for pause. There must have been a faint stirring, a suggestion of honour or principle that fought with curiosity and desire but could not conquer it. Once again with lingering loving touch she felt the outline of well filled stockings. Her cold numb feet hitting something solid beneath, she dropped to the floor to feel for the first time in life the joy of handling books. It was a gloating delight. She lifted and hugged them. Those small books were all hers. All her very own. She held them tight in her arms until the stir of the sleepers, or the icy chill, sent the little Trespasser shivering to hide under the blankets, and fall happily to sleep. Was I the victim of an excited imagination? My intelligence was not ad- vanced for my years, only the power to read had come without conscious effort. Over a year before, when only five, my Mother had taken me to a neighbouring Dame School, and I sat in a little Rocker she had purchased, while all the other little scholars superior in years, if not in attainment, were at desks or on benches. They seemed many to me — and the Teacher very cross. I trembled when she sent the noisy or naughty children to stand in corners, and sometimes even put a tall cap on them and made them sit on a high stool before everyone. I cried sometimes, but, as the very youngest and littlest, she pointed to me often as the child who learned to read so fast and loved all stories. Oh! that little Rocking chair, from which I saw and felt, and had those first shrinking impressions of discipline and severity! The inexpressible dread and the vivid interest of those first school days — and the dislike of the loud voiced teacher. But that Christmas Eve I had found what was left for me. Yes, while Father and Mother and little Brother slept peacefully, I had found my treasures. I had not waited — I could not wait. The burning ardour in me to see, to discover, to enjoy without delay, had fought the icy breath of winter itself. I have never waited willingly from that day to this, I have seized my joys. It was the hope and eagerness in me then, and long years were to intervene before learning to hold them in check and to conquer impetuous action. In the morning when I was shaken awake and heard the "Merry Christmas" calls, and saw little Horace playing with rattle and coloured worsted ball I felt no excitement. Had I been dreaming? No. There before the fire hung my stocking, and under the window the pile of little books. And never, never until that moment when I held those little books in the dark night, had I known the rapture of dis- covery, or the enchanted silence of the night. THE FATE OF LIARS June, 1850. THE LITTLE GIRL sat under the Lilac bushes that clustered together to form the hedge shutting the street from view. Above her head green leaves shook gently, and the great purple blossoms seemed to rise and fall and breathe out sweetness. The glad voice of her little brother joined in joyous chorus with bright soft wings and sweet scents everywhere, and a quiver of light that sang with the birds. That miraculous day, all flowery and intoxicating like childhood's hap- piness! And the air so heavy with the breath of lilacs, a peculiar tenacious sweet- ness, which only later years could teach her was the very essence of Spring. The little brother on the grass among his toys seemed also aware of blossoms and perfume and shouted in the soft summer air until sister gave him a big spray to play with. The book in her lap had fallen face downward on the carpet of green that stretched from door to gate and all about the yard. The sky of flowery blue bent lovingly above them, for theirs was a blessed heritage, and the two children were being raised with that gentleness of love prophetic of peace and power to serve. It was the little one who cried — "See Mother" as she came Page 13 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood smiling towards them so slim and tall. Why did my Mother look always different from other Mothers'? — Her hair so curly soft, her face so fair, her gowns so pretty, and now she had on the hat with blue feathers that danced in the circle of sun- light and shadow, and seemed alive as she stopped before us. She wore her fine lace mantilla too, and had a parasol, and told us she was going to make visits, and see the Mother of the little girls who lived in the new brick house, and ask them to come and see me. "Take good care of your little brother while I am away, he's only three you know and all the little son I have. And don't go near that gate or open it. It is a dirty place and the ugly cow lives there." — pointing to the back yard cut off by a high fence. "No Mother," was my swift response, and "No Mother" repeated the three year old charge sitting beside me. His little face looked up at her from under the mass of gold-brown curls. He was a delicate child; but the rewas no shyness in his manner; and everyone felt the charm of his beauty. "Mother's beautiful boy, Mother's own boy" she said, stooping to kiss him, endearments I had heard so often, for his rare loveliness was the pride of all, and I had heard repeatedly how people stopped Mahaly in the street to ask whose child it was? and she always chuckled when she repeated those praises. "Remember now to be very good and Mother will not be long away, and looking back again, "Remember all I have told you!" And, "Yes, Mother" I said, and "Yes Mother" echoed the baby boy, and played on happily in that June sunshine, while the sister's book remained unopened. Fragrance floated all about to enwrap us in its magic; but strangely I grew restless and curious, those emphatic orders strangely disquieted me. Why couldn't I see just through the gate if the cow had come home? It was a nice back yard with a big tree in it, and the branches came down low. I walked very slowly to the gate, and childish imagination made a fascinating picture that lured me to push it open — just a little bit! Something called loudly as fancy picked out won- derful spots in that forbidden cow-yard. Like other dreamers, something within conspired to make her forget orders, to push the gate wide, to peer in every cor- ner and between slats on one side, as she stepped within, she saw the pretty next door garden where little Lily Scammon was playing. The sun was no more joyous than she as she set her little feet upon the lowest branch of the old gnarled oak. The tree cast slanting shadows; She was not afraid — she was exultant and there were no foes within or without to terrify her. She had visions to conjure with, as forgetting all troubles she began to climb higher when a little voice called gleefully — "Take me up, Take me up too". The shock brought the disobedient sister to earth to see little Horace standing in the filth of the place, proud and smiling, both little hands stretched high. As smoke tries to reach the skies and falls, so she fell to learn of trouble untasted before! She was not repentant, she listened to no voice of conscience or duty, but she was miserable; and hurried back only in time to hear the carriage stop. And the Mother come out suddenly like a gigantic shape! Without one word she pointed to our shoes. That look again, that strange look that greatly hurt, that she had seen once before in her Mother's eyes when she had asked for her "Little Dishes". It was sharp and piercing now and at the steady gaze she paled in fright. "You have disobeyed Mother. You took little Horace into that yard" — All softness and tenderness gone from look or voice. The tide of feeling rising high threatened to submerge mc, and I was suddenly hurled into a mad whirl of fear. "No — No — No — I cried, Mother 1 did not.' I was rudely taught by something within to adjust myself to harsh contrasts 01 life, to the dark side of deceit and disobedience. The ease of falsehood, first show- ing itself as means of escape lo a child who had before known only love and truth. "YOU have told Mother a lie," and eyes were fixed on me from which all softness had fled. My Mother was suddenly a mystery. Her voice too was different — "( }o to your Fat her's room Shut the door ami stay until he comes. Go at once!" There was a damp chill in the room that I do not forget, or that as the hours ed the rain began to drum on the roof and splash upon the windows. The I. ake became Significant in it'- noise and nearness; the wind began blowing a gale; I ',iy<- i-l Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood low lying mists were travelling quickly as the light faded from the sky. The sound of the Lake like the wild whir of leaves had strange threats. It was a dim night and the twilight very long. I had thought nothing out, I only waited. I had acted on deep seated impulse and many experiences come back to me, thrust me back into the agonizing emotions of childhood and frustrated desires, into dreams — dreams — and waking ones indivisible as daily life. Images come back to me and events shake me even now, for mine is a heart that cherishes memory. Presently I heard the step upon the stairs, ascending, drawing near, — heavily it sounded. Never shall I forget that first startled impression. How large and strange and grave and terrifying! He had in hand a book and a long switch. Did it come from the biggest Lilac bush that had great roots and strong branches? He laid it down on the table near. My heart beat very fast at my Father's look. There was oppression in the air and a threat that stirred to fright. Suddenly he opened his arms and the sorrow and tenderness in his face I can see again and again as he lifted me close, and I burst into a passion of crying. He waited patiently till the tempest of tears should pass, and the tearing sobs that shook the little body cease, and then opening the Bible read the verses — "He that overcometh shall inherit all things. I shall be his God and he shall be my son; — but the unbelieving and idolaters and all liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." My little girl did not know how terrible it was to lie? God is our Father — He hates a lie. It would break Mother's heart to have her little girl a liar — Liars' — Why listen to the Fate of Liars. "All liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." I was curiously fascinated by the picture of a burning fiery Lake. My nascent dramatic sense immediately painted it, and I kept whispering to myself, "The Fate of Liars — The Fate of Liars", while my Father prayed his lovely prayer to his God of Love to forgive his child who would try never to lie again. And the forgiveness blesses me now as if I had gone to Heaven which I felt was all about me as he prayed. I clung happily as we passed from the room, restored and comforted by that Child of the Most High — My Father, — who was teaching me that humiliation and shame attached to falsehood. The crime of telling a lie had been impressed upon a mind that worked quickly. I began to understand how it chokes and de- stroys. A vivid lesson in the idea, so dim at first, of loyalty, of the dividing line between truth and falsehood, honour and dishonour, which he illustrated in my case. My Father was a source of joy forever after, — A refuge — A belief. Some- thing unfelt, unknown, yet intimate and close stirred warmly, and merged again into the right merry humour that for those hours had forgotten to smile. Was it the sight of that unused switch, and the droll intimation of the drama that had made him cut and bring it before me, which now added to the joy of escape? Had he merely felt the desire to impress me by a suggested punishment that he never could have administered? My Puritan ancestors some way left out the stuff that makes either martyrs or saints. There was in me no genius for suffering, to prolong trouble was un- natural. I was soon above its remembrance even; my liking was for laughter and frolic and I never knew then or since whether it was flesh or devil, or what notion or impetuosity of impulse unchecked, might lie in wait to destroy the soul I had not understood I possessed. Joy and gaiety the native quality quickly expressed itself, as, afraid no longer that memorable night, gladness and cheer returning, father and child descended the stairs together. "I like to be lively, Father. You know I like to be lively," I said simply clinging to his hand, tears wet on my lashes; but joy in my heart. The years go by and explain many vital facts patiently, and I was slowly succumbing without knowledge or clear recognition to the magic of beauty and the love of truth. Page 15 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE GOOSEBERRY FEAST August 1850. THE LITTLE GIRL stood listening, puzzled but glad. Her Mother was speaking brightly, describing three nice little girls who lived in the new brick house on the same Avenue with us. She told their ages, their pretty names, Delia and Frank and Eva. And how the lady who had just called wanted me to spend that afternoon with her young daughters. We were neighbours, and it would be pleasant to get acquainted, and I must be very quiet and gentle, and behave very nicely, and make them all like to have me come again. It is so easy to entertain children, and love can find the way to interpret a child's feelings where education and discipline may be alike powerless. I had listened breathlessly, particularly when my Mother said that "She thought that there was to be a little feast," and all these recollections crowd now into my mind — for that one afternoon, little as I could imagine it, held for me a soul-stirring excitement. Life before had never offered me any provocation, temptation, or opportunity, for the uncontrollable primitive passion of anger, and my own training had so far developed a fearless gaiety and cheerful confidence. And great was my pride when on that soft summer afternoon I was taken to the large brick house as an invited guest. It was all so beautiful to me, the enchant- ing day, and everywhere an articulate language to which my ears had become attuned. The flower bedecked earth, that overarching sky and singing Lake both of ecstatic blue, and those white feathery clouds when one looked up into the glorious brightness. I wonder a great deal about this mysterious cavern of memory that enables me now to set down in exact truth the disloyalty to hospitality, the absence of kindness, and the vision that I saw of one sister leading two others into deceit and a practice of lying; a meanness of treachery that they were too young to understand. I record it all here, incredible as it seems that a well grown girl of a refined family could treat a guest so much younger with such deliberate deceit, and a malicious enjoyment that added cruelty to the act. If parental training is lacking, it is a pity that in the curriculum of all schools there is no supplement for a course in courtesy and kindness. Happily tragedies are soon forgotten when one comes of a good stock, and life is rich with all the personal relations fortunate. The back garden where we were ushered for play was lovely with greenery. Along its separating sides, against the dividing walls that shut it in, were heavy bushes. "The Gooseberry's are ripe and we can have them" cried gleefully one of the little hostesses, and in plunged the three little girls to pluck and eat the green and yellow berries. "Oh' its a Gooseberry Feast" — I said. It was my first taste of those juicy fruit-balls, so delicious and desirable; but hardly had the feast begun when a sharp call brought it to a sudden termination. As if yesterday I can see the picture. That high back porch of the yellow brick house, the big sister standing clearly outlined at the top of the steps; the imperative voice as she swiftly descended — "Stop children — Stop this minute— Mother says so." And when she stood beside us she plunged into the near bushes herself, in search it seemed for more of the delicious fruit, and 1 thought she was joining us in the feast. Emerging with a smile she called — "Here Ncanic — Come — Here's a big one — Come and get it." Her closed hand was extended "Shut your eyes and open your mouth" — But an intuitive fear, an instinctive dread made me stand back. "Hut it's a nice one for you — I lcrc Eva come — Look — Isn't it fine?" ami she half opened the curved hand to show its contents. As 1 still hesitated "Look Frank,— See Such a tine gooseberry," as she beckoned to the wide-eyed little sister, ami both had nodded at her command. Onee more eo.ixine.lv she renewed the tempting offer "Now shut tight and open wide," and the greedy little \ il i'"i a implied in fait li. Oh the feel oi thai strange, dreadful furried substance! its swift spitting forth; the Bighi "i thai hairy writhing \\ei caterpillar as it dropped at her feel huge it ..iu'-l .1 ■Mine nightmare horror and somewhere there was a hurst ol loud Pagi id Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood laughter! Hot and acrid was the taste in my mouth, a strangling sensation of awful nausea. Then a blur before my eyes, and a strange faintness of mind and body that for a second made me dumb in a paralysis of terror, while self-centered callousness again expressed itself in cries of amusement and riotous laughter. I think I said no words aloud, but something within shrieked and cried out — "It was a lie — She lied — Liar 7 Liar' The Fate of Liars" and screaming and panting, notwithstanding sudden overtures from the startled trio, the little victim rushed round the walk; away, away out of that place, down the street sobbing, and running wildly to the home-gate to fall into her astonished Mother's arms, and to relate between gasping sobs the terrible tale of her own undoing. Washing the child's hot cheeks wet with tears, the Mother made no reproaches, pointed no moral, made no comments on lies and deceits. To this day, and for all days, the simple words stand forth as law — "We will go no more to the little Gurney's. That is finished.'''' THE EAVESDROPPER September 1851. THE LITTLE GIRL was in her secret place. The long curtain hung in con- cealing folds; and with feet drawn under she cuddled herself into the corner of the window seat. She had discovered and fled to that hiding place several times of late, especially when she feared to be called upon to help look after baby George. The new little brother, a rosy-cheeked blue-eyed baby with a mop of golden curls, seemed always sunny and smiling. Since his advent nearly a year ago, Horace of four had grown fast, was big by comparison, and was fond enough of baby brother to amuse him by the hour: but more and more the sister's life became peopled with fancies and new interests. She cared less and less for romping and playing with the children. She had no sisters to keep her company; but lately a little girl of her own age had become almost one of the family, and Mother had said she would soon be our cousin Joe. So we two had often run away from the inflicted cares of service, and left to Nurse Mahaly and little Horace, the task of caring for Baby when Mother was otherwise occupied, and the Aunts busy with their many pleasures and many visitors. Since the young lady, Miss Kate Cutting, had been visiting my Aunts there always seemed more company coming and going, and much gaiety and pleasure seeking, and I felt the livliest interest in all the bright and attractive things about my home. I was easily enchanted and quickened. There, hidden behind the curtain the book in my lap remained unopened. Eyes rested idly on its title — "The Priest and the Huguenot" — my thoughts all on an hour of the day before, when seated comfortably by the window looking out upon the Lake, the trees all yellowing and clouds drifting slowly and softly, some- thing in the air stirred in the blood. I had heard queer comments on myself that now came freshly back. One of my Aunts had quietly approached and beckoned to the other — I had not noticed until both leaned over me and one in a whisper exclaimed — She is reading "The Preacher and the King", and the other under breath "How can Cornelia let this young one read everything she lays her hands on." And the first replied, "It will be "The Priest and the Huguenot" next — Why on earth can't she be satisfied with Fairy stories like other children?" — And that sent me to search far and wide, in closets and bureau drawers, for the present volume that someway did not suit the dreamy loveliness of the afternoon. Everywhere a tremulous whisper of Aut- umn in the air, and breezes rippling the surface of the Lake. The familiar thing that a child wonders at or loves becomes a charm throughout life. And my Lake, the Ocean, great bodies of water, are to me vivid in beauty and power beyond even the mighty mountains. The Lake, born as I was within sound of its waves, often made me breathless and jubilant as a child, and has been to me a whole Orchestra and Picture Gallery ever since. Imagination has its uses at every age. It creates — It intensifies — It delights. My world never seemed small Page 17 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood to me because I was always happy; but a growing mind reached out from my unchanging world for other things than the simple days afforded, and I found them in romances — in my books. When I began a new one it was with a brightness of anticipation and the en- trancing tales seemed true as the life about me. New delights unfolded understood or not; fresh joys always awaited me in reading, and just that early period had much significance. I recall absurd lines I made, queer little efforts at high expres- sion — There was one — "An Ode to Lake Michigan" which my family greeted with amusement that I sensed and resented. A child learns early to keep her thoughts to herself. She cannot explain that which grips and urges her to expres- sion or action. She knows nothing of the sequence of things in life. In that un- disciplined stage of childhood to secure information and satisfy curiosity seems an inevitable accompaniment of strange processes of feeling that defy analysis. I was just then feeling a curious hostility to criticism of my Mother, or of my reading — I did like Fairy stories — Not silly ones like "Jack the Giant Killer" or "Little Red Riding-hood" and many like them, in small books with foolish pictures; but I loved when the Fairy Prince came and kissed Sleeping Beauty, and I loved "Pilgrim's Progress", and "The Arabian Night's", and "Days of Bruce". / loved words — the music of words — and had found an entrancing diversion very early in the printed page. To child as to adult there flood entrancing fancies in which one lives; and often in a spell I would repeat whole sentences that had magic in them, over and over to myself. And that evening words of the printed page were whispering in my ears: all about me the sweetness the mystic whisperings of wild life of Romance beyond all comprehension; and strange music sounded afar off, strange surging sounds inaudible to other ears. As the twilight came on, the stir of entrance made me peep through the con- cealing curtain to behold my pretty Aunt Helen, and the tall, thin Father of the two little Davidson's who lived round the corner. He had lately come very often to our house, and many others to call and make merry. The two in the sitting- room, after my instant recognition, passed out of mind for a little; the talk going on so near me had not reached me at first. I had no conscious interest or intention to spy and listen. Indeed I did not know what such a course meant, although I had heard them say several times that "Little Pitchers have big ears" whenever I came suddenly into view. Yet their gaiety, their talk of lovers, and various adventures related to my parents had stirred the nascent romance in me — and I had tried to understand when Mother told me Miss Kate was engaged to my Uncle William, and that they would be married before long, and then I would have another Aunt; just as she had told me that Aunt Margaret, when she came back from Grandfather's, — her home in Maine, — was going to live with little Joe Evans and her Father. So my mind worked. I strive to gather in and remember the vision that, at a louder spoken sentence, gave me a thrill of adventure, and stirred suddenly- vague impressions to distinct sight and sound. My pulse quickened to the vibration in his voice. Exuberant romance in me was about to be satisfied. Children seem to me to have a queer outlook and their egotism is so unconscious. They are often artistic as well as sentimental. The first words I caught held me entranced. "I implore you Miss Gray — You must listen, we could be so happy — They say love is blind — Mine isn't — I know it, — Oh believe me." — I was instantly all alert as he pronounced the words that have been quoted from that day to this in hilarious merriment. "Come with me — We will spend our summers in some quiet watering place, and our winters in the Orange Groves ol the Sunny South." My presence undivincd, and eagerness increasing, I parted the curtain slight ly and leaned forward as lie t remulously continued, For 1 hail thrilled as to a trumpet — "Do you object to my children?" he asked. "No I object to you" my Aunt replied lit very clear accents, and I wish you would never again The sentence remained unfinished for certain movements caught her eye. The curtain Bwayed in my cxciled grasp and showed B revealing Outline. "Ncanic, come lure," was the sharp order, ai i restfallen I slipped into view and moved alowlj forward. Pag0 tS Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I didn't comprehend the comedy, nor the absurdity of the whole picture I helped to create. The burlesque of his insistence in words that painted what he supposed would allure and tempt, was wholly beyond me. It sounded beautiful to me. I had no faintest notion that in futile efforts to make marriage attractive he had made a fool of himself. All I saw or remember was his black, angry look at me, — My Aunt's flushed face, and the cold good-bye that imperatively dismissed the forlorn lover. Just then, before the proper reprimand could be administered, Miss Kate and my Aunt Margaret appeared, the former crying — "Has that old bean-pole been proposing again, he looked furious, and rushed by us without a word." My own face of course must have suggested the eavesdropper and told its own story, as eloquently as Aunt Helen's vivid account and manifest annoyance. But that could not save her- — "Tell us Neanie, what did he say? and like a young parrot I promptly responded, — and peals of laughter followed, that made my Father just entering the house, having ridden as usual on horseback from his warehouse far down on Water Street look in. "Oh Orrington", cried Aunt Margaret, "Listen to what old Davidson said," and at their half-hysterical demand, I repeated solemnly — "We will spend our summers in some quiet watering place, and our winters in the Orange Groves of the Sunny South" and my Father's hearty laugh encouraged me to add — and he did say, too "Do you object to my children? and Aunt Helen said, "No, I object to you," — at which another burst of merriment quite convinced me for the moment that I was of extreme importance and very clever too. Later, alone with my dear Mother, I was taken to task; informed that I had hurt my Aunt's feelings, that I was not funny; but had listened to what had not been intended for me to hear. The moral was sharply pointed that to listen out of sight when no one knew it, was bad every way. "It was bad form and it made her ashamed. It was not kind, not fair, not honourable. It was trespassing, and she never wanted to think I could do such a thing again." As a trespasser, I was thoroughly and properly humiliated; ashamed for years to remember the scene and my own share in it; which, as a burlesque, was repeated and reported again and again by the heroine herself, as one of the drollest of all her experiences. It became classic as a tale of early days, and my verbal memory has kept it ever clear so that I can recall its every detail. It was a compelling curiosity and longing that drove me that day to listen, when I knew instinctively that I must keep still, and not be found out! I dreamed a great deal at that period, and someway in early childhood one has ideas of emancipation or of freedom from certain claims; always eager to grasp and gain the centre of the stage. I suppose we are all a law unto ourselves, and associate early the period of growing up as auspicious, because we can do as we choose, without answering to higher authority or human tribunal. And impressions however vague that remain with distinctness make for mental and physical development. I was myself of pioneer stock and earlier of English blood. I was never in childhood cramped by a single unnatural condition; mine was an enlivening spirit, and independence was growingly definite and resolute. To some natures surroundings are just surroundings, — no more. To certain ones they become inwoven and are the very fabric of thought and deed. Always, unknowing it myself, the felicities of my simple home life were very great, even as they have ever continued, and will I pray to the very end. There were no contending forces and contentment was my lot. THE COMFORTING ANSWER Maine and Massachusetts. 1852-1855. It seemed a long time that I was still with thoughts someway fixed, giving stealthy looks at my Grandfather's absorbed countenance as he tapped the round table by his chair, where decanters and glasses were in disarray since the visitors had passed out and I had crept in. Dignity, hospitality, efficiency and plenty Page iq Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood marked the household of which he was head, and there was an atmosphere always felt in his presence. I, his oldest grandchild, only daughter of his favorite child, had always felt with delight an instant understanding springing up between us when we were alone. We visited yearly in the old homestead as I grew to girlhood, and I was puzzled but glad that my tall handsome Grandfather Gray never made me feel his age and distinctive haughtiness, or the terror his pride, dominating temper and cold bearing so often inspired. Always I was pleased to be in that rambling 'well furnished, vastly interesting old home where my Mother first saw the light. The house was set on a side hill, or rise, on a corner where the street began and climbed a near-by height. It was large and quaint, and had two entrances equally important; and the family rooms seemed to stretch into spaciousness. There were quaint chambers unused, opening out of the long shed, and there was a big stable, and a wonderful garret of wide spaces under the sloping roof. The fine old furnishings were everywhere striking, and good food, ample providing, and gay company marked life in the old home-stead in that New England village of soft bloom, with the whole landscape green and bronze and gold. There were fields and forests near, and shining river, and horizons of dense blue where the landmarks seemed to dissolve. The great sweep of surrounding country seemed saturated in light. I loved its beauty, and can remember the exquisite landscapes that pictured so much to my youth. Sometimes it comes back to me in dreams, in waking ones, as indivisible as my waking life. To my young heart the main effect when there was of radical well-being, a dynamic zest in happiness. I lived so careless of the moment; alert and gleeful, someway always twinkling joyously from point to point of easy mirth. A certain spirit of delight rushed on to discovery, and childhood is a mystery, as some writer has put it — "Visited by revelation". There is often such a distance in childhood from the alien lives about it, and half comprehended impulses kept me silent over certain thronging fancies whenever I was with my young Aunts. I had ever since the experience of hearing and retailing that sentimentally absurd and ridiculously phrased offer of marriage, had the uncomfortable sensation of the discovered Eavesdropper, and looking back with uneasy self-scorn, without as yet any of the humor of the performance, only at my own ignorance and breaches of taste, I had ever since avoided telling things I overheard. Sitting there, looking at my silent Grandfather, a half sentimental though insistent instinct made me long to open the door and disclose myself on certain points and feelings, lately growing stronger while listening to my Grandmother's reminiscences and her frequent and particular remarks to the others about me. Now, believing in his sympathy, the barriers dropping, — "Grandfather, I burst forth, aren't the Sumner's nice?" He turned and looked me over quizzically — ;I was embarrassed for the moment and suddenly shy, but not ashamed for his countenance lightened, and his deep-set eyes had genial kindness instead of amuse- ment or tolerance, and I felt as if I saw the accumulated wisdom of generations. "Nice" he queried, "Yes, and clever too, a good stock your Father came from— Who has been talking to you?" "They say they don't see any Gray in me— They say I am all Sumner— and I am always reminding Grandmother oi Aria Sumner; and, you know, growing more confidential, when I hear "Handsome is thai Hand- some does," and that if 1 am only smart like Aria, it won't matter how I look, and thai I don't look like any of you at all, 1 feel sorry,—! am afraid Grand- father, dont you think I am some pretty?" The last words just slipped from mo. and I looked away out of the near window with something misty in my eyes. There was tumult and a certain recoil in my hurt soul, an opening consciousness Oppressed by the realities of the flesh. ( Hear as if illusi rated in sonic highly colored pid urc t he moment stands out when my Grandfather, the so-called stern man, held out his hand and smiled while he answered drily, "Well! if yOU want to see a pretty woman look at your Mother! They are 001 plentiful as blackberries. ( Irandmot her needn't mind that \ on don't faVOr l he ( ii.i\ ■.. I have heard some of I he Simmers were decent looking, and they I Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood have got brains. You are not half bad looking! You have got your Father's eyes, and you are awfully proud of those long curls of yours ; You know your hair is pretty, and you are going to look like your Father, and I should think that was enough. Aria has her tongue hung in the middle, and looks — well — no matter — she never stops talking, and I hope you won't keep on when you are grown up till everybody is tired out! Forget the things you hear about your looks, I like them, — and now I am going to give you a present." Oh Grandfather! — and all woes were forgotten as I danced upstairs to the old Secretary in his room, and brought down as directed a whole shelf full of small books bound in old leather, the type so old and queer, and the paper coarse and almost brown with age. "Ossian's Poems" in two little volumes, and all of "Moore's" in six. "The Scottish Chief's" the "Hungarian Brothers", "The Mysteries of Udolpho" and other quaint works in that fascinating size and binding. How I jumped for joy! I had no suspicion of the compassionate something that was in his face, and I could hardly believe in my riches. "Begin your Library, child, since your hobby is reading; you can have all of my books to look at, and those you like best to carry away with you." Much water has passed under the bridge since then, and memory has become vague in recalling what I pored over longest, and the many that I appropriated to the displeasure of some of the other members of the family, but with my Grand- father's full consent. I ignored cheerfully, in the sunshine of his felt approval, criticisms that pronounced me a "spoiled child", and "likely to be a very selfish one". But I was absorbed in a world of fiction and, incredible as it is, I feel sometimes the same terror that paralyzed me then over certain farcical tragic stories; fantastic, and to me, terrible, like "The Mysteries of Udolpho", and "The Vale of Cedars", "The Torture of the Fleretics"; stories of "The Inquisition" and "Accounts of the Martyrdom of the Saints". It is easy for the very young to substitute books for life as sources of information and resources of amusement; or the entertainment towards which inclination pulls; and I found Grandfather's Library enthralling; the romances; the impossible stories; the histories and the thrill of wonderful events recorded; and the world of print became more and more exciting and made for book-hunger. To this day I re- member some startling incidents as steps to learning, for much that was pored over at that age made deep impressions; often twisted ones that still persist. There was no guidance to reading, which was rapidly becoming both occupation and recreation. Fortunately I never had to read surreptitiously; but I have often be- lieved that advice, suggestion or direction would have made me climb high enough to help myself to Literature. I never asked for special "Works", I knew so little; and was merely influenced by environment and whatever I could lay my hands on — and I had no difficulty in accepting trash for truth, because things imagined became true; and I never suffered from Pilate's difficulty in recognizing "truth", since whatever was printed must be true! It was often a barren field, and, a certain Puritan inheritance it may have been — for something made me, even when not interested, feel that a book if begun should be read to its end. Mine is a heart that cherishes memory, and nourishes itself on memories and revelations which but for the impetuosity of my youth would have long since dissolved into forgetfulness. From the Sanctuary of remembrance into which one can retreat at will, I draw out the old sense of relief at my Grandfather's words. They comforted me — They took me out of myself. My Grandfather had played Guardian and benefactor. There were no two ways in his speech, all was clear. "You are not half-bad" — All was well enough. I had the most extraordinary sense of being taken for granted, as looking, "Well enough" — "Not half-bad looking". There was gladness in me again. That chapter at any rate, I thought ended. Life was as bright as ever. Page 21 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE TWO GRANDFATHERS Bowdoinham, Maine. Summer of 1853. That first decade of my life there always seemed a light shining within. As I look back I see I was a somewhat solitary child, but never bored, fretful, harried or dissatisfied: I never had to ignore, evade or capitulate. Parents and environ- ment had no cramping influence: No methods in my rearing fantastic or severe were ever used. I was conscious in myself of no resistance — active or passive to existing conditions. I could act on the assumption of freedom to a large extent; obedience when required was easily yielded, and the adult world was to me always kindly and interesting. So I never broke with the older generation, and age-old problems were never thrust upon me. I did not know that I had to be safe-guarded, and naturally I did not recognize the value of my happy surroundings, or the fortunate influences exerted by association, parental devotion and the processes of education. Mutual affection in my life has been always sufficient even in seasons of domestic stress to meet all emergencies. There were never with my beloved Father and Mother any natural incompatibilities which enforced unwilling submission from their children. What an immense help to love each other! How easy to avoid the contradictions that afflict our lives if inter-actions adjust themselves amicably to situations as they arise. And no situation had arisen which left me unprotected or conscious of any flame of opposition within. I was in the safe shelter of a happy home. There were always intoxicating possibilities in the dream-world; but the real world held dignity and nobility and serenity in the poise and sweetness of its days. We are, I suppose, all beholden to our thousands of ancestors for disposition, temperament, moral or mental attitudes; and mine were self-respecting individuals, and passed on some dominent racial ideals of primary importance in our social world. All this is beyond the scope of definition but is absorbed by human contact. My two Grandfather's in the Maine village, in those days prosperous, and with no threat of its present stagnation and social dearth or death, lived not far apart, in homes of attractive outward aspect, but far different in appointment, comfort and peace. Grandfather Gray erect, impressive, with fine features, keen eyes and firm mouth, had, in those days, the great advantage of College education — having been duly graduated from Brown University. He speedily attained to unquestioned importance and relative wealth — coming from Rhode Island, to marry and settle in that small ship-building centre, he became a member of the State Legislature, a lawyer of high standing, the Justice of the Peace, and the Squire of the Village. He had large interests in ships, and was widely known, respected, admired and in a sense feared. His manner demanded a deference quickly yielded. He brooked neither criticisms nor advice in matters of business, any more than he would endure the least interference in domestic rule. He directed and domineered, but was j_'cncrous and kind at bottom. Very proud of his family and ancestry, he taught "Noblesse oblige" to his children, and watched over them with unfailing care as he did of materia] possessions. Across the bridge, under whitch the river or stream below his house rose and fell with the tides, and up the opposite hill, one turned into a pretty street all lined with pleasani homes. And Grandfather I. ant's, a square white green-blinded one, was \ell back among the trees, with apple orchards In-side and behind it that were a never failing source of delight. The central hall and good-sized rooms were alwa] I'.o. and forbidding. It was noi only the contrasts thai struck somewhat heavy on my spirits, bul the atmosphere of fault-finding and unchecked temper thai charat terized the household, seldom as it was Openly expressed in my presence. Grandfather Luni was the principal merchant of the little village, a man ol 1 1 1 1. y I probil y ami profound pietj , lii church and business he Btood as an example beyond reproach, he was true / ' • I 33 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood to the best as he saw it: In a sense he must have once been a strong man, but he had a wasted look; His cheeks were thin and hollowed, the yellowed skin tight drawn. His snow white hair thick and wavy was brushed back from a beautiful brow, and it looked like a thick frame each side of the sad face; sad somehow as if light had been washed out. His was a good figure still, but he stooped somewhat, and his melancholy eyes were set deep back under overhanging brows. He was a dignified quiet old man but warmth had died out of him. My Father's step-mother had in the children's early life made misery for them all — Orrington and William and Sarah and Dolly, and the little Sumner whose birth cost his Mother's life. My own Grandmother Lunt was described to me by Grandmother Gray as a "Great Lady" since she brought to that small community a style and dress hitherto by the natives unseen: Such high-heeled slippers, and tall combs, and laces and fans: How did mild Grandfather Lunt ever persuade that daughter of the Sumner's and Vose's, of such marked breeding and refinement, to turn her back upon Boston and Milton and bury herself in that inland village? True, he was good to look upon, and there must have been sparkle in those deep blue eyes, for when he smiled even now, and ever so faintly, something stirred in the heart — But, alas! and alas! however tender and devoted, he must have lacked firmness and discernment, or after that early death of his lovely wife, how could he have come so speedily under the dominance of the managing, sharp-tongued housekeeper, who had acted as Nurse when the little Sumner was born? The report was current that in his short unhappy life the child was harried by unkindness that developed into cruelty. The towns-people averred that he suffered from lack of love, and severity of discipline, until driven into brain-fever to join the Mother who had given her life so vainly. This awful tale recounted to me with gruesome additions filled my young soul with horror, and an approach to hatred of the old lady who greeted my rare appear- ance with gentle words and smiles. All sense of kinship had been killed in me, and revolt in its place made me shrink unjustly from the whole household. The neighbour's gossipy tales, which would not seem to die out, were responsible for my attitude of aversion and distaste. My visits were enforced ones and always as brief as I dared make them. I was under orders from my beloved and forgiving Father, who was their support and dependance for many years and acted to the end as a devoted and supporting son of the house. All the years that have passed have not dimmed my memory of the one time my Father's Father seemed familiar and came close to me. I had been in the orchard where the fresh blown afternoon winds, that shook the trees and made the earth so dear, had almost obsessed me with something complete in joy. My Grandfather saw and called to me as he entered the gate, and reluctantly I rose and followed him into the house and unused parlour, where he shut the door and stood silent for a second looking long at me; — wide-eyed I watched every movement as I listened afterward to every word. Behind that outward semblance lurked a shadow that could not be explored — grudges and wrongs and bitter tales had made me lose all comprehension and affection: Resting on a rock of inarticulate resentment had broken all bonds of sympathy, and there was a bolt, an impassible barrier between us. He must have known nothing that could have forbidden personal relations between us. He looked upon me kindly. He seemed not excited, very calm and patient in manner, but when he began to speak it was as if he were looking and listening to something far away. His mind seemed full of my Father, "My son Orrington, my dear son" — he repeated with an anxious inflection. He had lacked the qualities which would have made him firm in conflict, when his sovereignty at home was usurped almost to the point of tragedy, and that lost him the whip-hand in his family. He must have called up pictures and people that set a drama going in his brain, for it was of the conditions and adventures of Orrington's childhood that he spoke: And for the first time I realized that my Father had been his little boy. Page 23 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Aline had been a pitiless judgment upon his wife's pitilessness, and now I felt a love had lived in my Grandfather's heart that I could not understand. But I was not handicapped with the mental blindness of the unimaginative, and he made me feel and see in that past, and in him, something that curiously aroused an im- petuous feeling of allegiance, almost a friendship for ever after for my little under- stood Grandfather. He talked on and on of the children of Orrington and William, and Sarah and Dolly, and of the Mother who died when my Father was eleven; and I looked up admiringly at his crinkly white whiskers; and the wavy snow white hair that framed so beautifully his tired face. His eyes for the first time had lovely light and they glittered like blue steel, not like those of an old man. There had come a sudden sparkle, and the overhanging brows had lifted, to show me an unexpected reserve and secret of intense devotion. His voice always low, changed to subtle sympathy as he continued to recount little incidents of the childrens lives. Living over the past he became impressive almost to tenderness. For a second he put his arm about me, but habitual repression was too strong and we heard a voice, and a call which was a menace to him, a devastating demoralizing factor that held all loving expression in leash. Just then he saw the small volume of Byron that I had found behind a shelf of books upstairs — strange indeed to have found that book in his ill-assorted lib- rary, but it had been eagerly grasped because anecdotes, and adventures and emo- tions were a stock in trade to delight in or advertise with. My efforts that day- had not resulted in understanding exactly what the author was talking about, but beautiful descriptions enchanted me, and allusions stimulated curiosity. "This is no book for you" I heard in stern accents — I had always chosen for myself and under that alien roof received the first criticism. Little assistance in training or choice of reading had not harmed me because the treasure-trove of raw material for childish fingers to dig in was not of a nature to prove injurious. Grandfather Gray had opened to me that summer "Paradise Lost", and "Pepy's Diary", and "Plutarchs Lives" and read some aloud to me from Essays and Histories; and there were those enchanting novels he had given me, which made for enrichment and enhanced imagination. Now surprise at an unexpected reproof kept me silent, as Grandfather Lunt put on his spectacles, took up the big Bible from the round centre-table with a plainly fixed idea that I needed Scriptural teaching. So, that one interview that I can remember, ended with his reading first from the Epistles, and then The Psalms to which I listened with pleasure. I had heard them every day of my life at morning prayers, and loved my Father's beautiful voice as we all knelt at the family altar. There was also something sweet and sonorous in Grandfather's tones, and it was all very familiar and like fables or poems. I had little real idea what the oracular words so solemnly brought forth meant, and in the last Psalm he chose, that oft repeated "Selah", long drawn out, began to give me a strange sensation of awe. I was glad to get relieved finally, and with a brief farewell, for the resources of the entertainment had become insufficient, I ran gaily down the hill towards the home- stead longing for Grandfather Gray's explanation. That ever recurring "Selah, Selah" sang to me and lacked intelligibility; and I wanted also to ask about the "Ark of the Covenant", references to which in something very pious, read lately, had distinctly needed interpretation. My own reading, hitherto neither directed nor supervised, did not certainh by any means fulfil its mission in proving steps to learning. In thai far-off, but not forgotten time before the age of important school or wise schooling, which I now gravely doubi I ever ha J, the pictures ol the text were always highly coloured, ami active fancies made their ineffaceable impression. It seems incredible to me now in extreme age thai I can draw upon memory, and utilize s<> many points in experience, droll or otherwise, to hang ethical teachings on today; morals or lessons that never appealed tO me then, any more than they do today to grand-nieces or adopted children! I wai sometimes serious, but I think at the \eiv beginning my mind was bent ' Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood in the way it has grown; not for any fine or valuable work in life, but for much enjoyment, and an overflowing fund of sympathy; a capacity to see the other side, and to put myself in another's place. Yes, and for good that at times has come to me — good beyond calculation, in swift response to the challenge of nature. Mine was apparently not the soil from which springs great enterprises or noble successful ventures, or wonderful sacrificial labours. It was far-reaching philanthropies, splendid self-effacement, devotion to the highest standards, love of Church and State, that made my Father's life so worthy and wonderful. To him it was always Causes that appealed — To me it was, and ever has been the individual. THE DISCOVERED LIKENESS Bowdoinham, Maine Summer of 1853 The visit to Maine was nearing its close. Grandfather gave me funny answers to my questions, for I met with frequent stumbling blocks, and many books I read that Summer did not by any means belong to the mysterious something called Literature. But I devoured them all alike. — "Night Thoughts" shared with "Munchausen", "Addison" with "Gulliver"; "Pride and Prejudice" with "Grimm's Fairy Tales" ail alike awakening vivid interest. I was eclectic for a girl of ten, and splendid religious imagery invariably captivated fancy and had given me a grand conception of God, Heaven and Hell, which for years saved me from no end of trouble and vexation. I had in those days a great advantage over Moses, for I knew exactly every time what that glorified Titanic Being, familiarily described and dilated upon in pulpits and Sunday-school, felt about me and everything else, since He so evidently, as the Preachers taught, let down strings for the faithful to pull! And I was one of the puppets that found it all enthralling to belong to the Elect, and Hell and Heaven and incredible wickedness that I could not understand gave me great suspense and delight. It was always the story, the romance, the novelty and excitement that gripped me, and made me weep and flow out in sympathy, and grow ever more tolerant and self-sufficient. Book-hungry as I was I continued anxious to get certain baffling queries answered for I could never explain unhappy endings; To be joyous I considered essential and part of the Divine Plot. Solemnity was not for me, nor denials or restraints, since all the major external influences made for freedom of thought and action and an ever growing mighty self-confidence. It was in that spirit exuberant and gay that the blow fell one terrible afternoon. Could I dream of the illustration reserved for me that day, crashing upon sensitive- ness, and with one avenging blow destroying all hopes of personal attractiveness by the revelation in a bitter driving blow that left only conviction of personal defects. On the sixth of August, the month just opening, there was to be a gathering of the Clan, relatives from Little Compton, Rhode Island, from Seaconnet-by-the- Sea, and the near towns of Brunswick and Bath. My heart was full of eager antici- pation, as my Grandparents on the eve of our departure for Chicago, were planning to hold high holiday with a hospitable feast for Aunts and Cousins to celebrate my Mother's Birthday. That afternoon I had been sent on some errand, and returning elate I swung into the lower entrance, ran up the steps and was hurrying through the large living- room regardless of a visitor casually noticed, when I heard the voice that called me, and beheld my Grandmother sitting by one of the windows busily engaged talking to a lady facing her whom I could not distinguish. She turned her face as I drew near and heard the words — "This, Aria, is the little girl we think looks so much like you." — Oh! the wild horror of that moment, for I saw a face to my inflamed imagination, fairly hideous. It would be a gross caricature of a good and clever woman to give any shadow of how she looked to me at that moment; I did Page 25 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood not see the kindly expression, only the course grey skin; the big features, brow retreating, teeth projecting, and eyes with a cast that made them queerly repellant. The straight hair was drawn back from a countenance which seemed of grotesque ugliness. I could see nothing else and I snatched, with a choked cry, my hand from hers, and rushed wildly from the rooms, up and up into the garret's farthest corner! It was a brand that set me aside from my family. Of course I knew that Grand- mother had long ago decided I was not good-looking, but she always added, "No matter how I looked, if I was only half as entertaining as Aria", and I had always managed to cheer up ever since Grandfather said, "I was nice and had a twinkle in my eye". Even after hearing again and again, "That handsome is that handsome does," I plodded on easily consoled. But that awful moment shattered all confi- dence or comfort. I had never learned by inevitable limitations the finiteness of human capacity, or by bitter experience the fixity of laws relentless. The temptations of a turbulent rebellious emotional nature had never before been aroused. Now in manifest power and refusal revolt shook me to the foundations of fear and despair. "I want to die — I want to die — I am so homely — I am so homely — I look like Aria Sumner!" And until utterly exhausted over and over I cried that refrain, a sobbing heap of misery. I did not answer to repeated calls, growingly and more anxiously insistent, until my Mother's repeated use of my name finally evoked a muffled response, as she mounted the garret steps. The violence of my crying startled her — "Hush Neanie — Hush — Tell Mother what it is? — Now, at once", as I continued to gasp and shake. "I look like Aria Sumner, — I am so homely, — I want to die — I want to die," — between choking sobs, and it was a moment before I could listen to the quiet soothing voice. "But that is wicked, God made your face." "I don't care, — I don't care, — He wasn't good to me — He made me homely like Aria Sumner, and she has pig's eyes — I want to die, — Oh, I want to die!" "Are her eyes like your Father's and yours? — Is her hair curly like Father's and yours? — Stop this minute and think — Did you never hear of people looking like each other, and yet looking different? To Mother your face is dear and when you smile everyone likes it." Oh that drop of oil on the bleeding wound ! My swollen face was washed tender- ly after the descent to Mother's room and she continued while bathing my half closed eyes, "Grandmother did not mean she thought you very homely, only you don't look like her family. And one does not have to be handsome to be loved — Aria has lots of friends." "Oh Mother don't let me see her again — I can't bear it — I can't bear it, — I can't," and I clung hysterically, but was soon startled into relative composure. "She is your Father's cousin, and he will be hurt and ashamed you can show such feelings. Now you must dry your tears and I will never let anyone know how you have behaved. God has been very good to you and to us all. I think my little girl can love and be loved a lot if she tries, and nobody will mind her looks; pretty people are not always nice, we won't talk any more about it. Come with me to pick cur- rants and berries for Grandmother's pics and puddings and jollies. Don't you want to look into the big brick oven? It is a fine sight. Full of bread loaves, and eakes, and baked puddings, and we'll open it and have a peep." Thus gently talking, quiet ensued and until maturity came, and the pictures of that episode grew absurd and laughter provoking to recount, it was never mentioned again; ami never did my Grandmother realize the hurt frequenl al- lusions to my looks cost, in comparisons (she illustrated) In incidents or distinct referena to her own daughters, the so-called "Beautiful (nay Sisters". Even my own lovely Mother did not dream how that wound opened and ached afresh with convictions of the hoplessness of competing lor any prizes, while 1 lacked the bus loveliness of form ami feature that distinguished our famirj . 'I 'hat ''11' agonizing emotion Btands out in an intensity, For the details of that unimaginable hour haunted me for years. The keen impression ol the hues, mj Pagt at Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Grandmother's placid smile, and my sickening recoil from what represented at that moment an indescribable ugliness. Remembrances from the interminable years of childhood are out of all pro- portion to their importance. Agitated, excited, the horror of that moment was an actuality that for years made me shrink at its poignant recollection. There was tumult and recoil in my hurt soul and a deepened consciousness of the defaced realities of the flesh. It remained a tragic situation until I grew scornful of myself, could see the humour of the scene, and could laugh and declare that the grief was forgotten. Foundations may be so deeply set that until some violent shock stirs us, and we are suddenly hurled into a whirl of feeling strong as the strong storms that sweep the sea, we never realize the power that lies within. But I have progressed in ways small and great since then, and utilized in measure as the years mounted whatever inspiration or recognized instruction appealed to a nature like mine. I have not known degeneration of energy, or lack of activity in attempts to accomplish things desired, or to induce growth by doing certain things for others well and quickly. Drawbacks to cultivation are due to many causes, where the soil in general may have been rich, but if the conditions of life are not those that watch and water and fertilize intellectually, by skilled and steady guidance to develop powers and gifts that urge and drive to eminence or labour; or to leave an exceptional record, still the emotional extremes in an ordinary life are needful as counter-weights to a balance. Wounded and bleeding for an hour, mine was the heart of reassuring youth that, with the strain removed, let me browse again in imaginary fields; bright prospects and projects were glowing again as I fared forward into the Sun. And in the years following I bowed to my Grandmother's sentence that shut me out, and never by my own volition dug into it, for I loved beauty with an ever increasing passion and the great refreshing power of its appreciation. Even lacking all knowledge of things not visible or measurable ones ideal can grow higher, and the whole attitude of the mind stand for forward motion. Imagin- ation had freed itself from bondage, and mine was no malign fate. THE LITTLE LUNTS Nothing easily ruffled the surface of my good spirits, and I could never long keep quiet. I was always doing things, and I early began to find people the most attractive things on earth. I suppose I dwelt vaguely, when at all, upon the in- dividuals about me, but I was disposed to enjoy everyone and everything. I loved to hear the interminable discussions going on about personal matters, but there was never in me then or since any hostile curiosity. Something kindlier was in- stinctively active, as I have since divined and realized exists in all the Lunts. The disquieting allusions, and any sharp stories that scandalized, always seemed to confirm and fortify a sudden disbelief that made a contrary view from what I was hearing natural, and so not particularly creditable. If I could not unravel I could not bear to be in the network of things that alarmed, and I shrank at once and became increasingly reluctant to listen. I never have seemed to understand animosity, and I think I've been willing to leave that field to others rather than to contend or even listen. Somebody once said long ago that people who made no efforts to contest or to rule were usually superior to such efforts, as they were never necessary with those born to rule. But it was neither mental nor moral striving that made me feel I hated to struggle or to quarrel. I wanted to rule of course, I was a little dominant and always liked my own way, I believed in the nature of things that I was right, but I discovered long after that I wanted to rule because of endowments and superior gifts, not as a result of battling or battles. It makes no difference whether the days are bright or monotonous, whether the imagination is active or sluggish, whether enthusiasms are vivid or blunted — Page 27 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Nature touches and stirs, uplifts and blesses every blunted sensibility — and then come action and thrills. I began to feel delicious agitations listening to comments on my various relatives outside the Gray household. I especially remember remarks of my Aunt Sarah Rhoades lately arrived on the scene, with her little son Sam a new playmate for my little brothers. Aunt Sarah seemed to be comparing children and she said to Mother "Your Horace and George are so merry, so full of questions and ob- servations that their activities never seem exhausted; they mind you too, Cornelia, but are always betaking themselves to occupations that absorb them heart and brain; never so very quiet, and confinement or restraint would be intolerable to such bounding spirits — but those boys of William Lunt's are painfully quiet; no mischief seemingly there, and I think they are too well behaved. If it means thoughtfulness and sensibility it's begun to show itself far too early. No doubt Susan Lunt takes the cake for obedient children — politeness is all very well but its plain they're afraid to say their soul's their own — Susan is a terrible disciplin- arian. I tell you those young ones have to toe the mark. Why! I believe she'd work her fingers to the bone before she'd have a speck of dust anywhere in that house of hers. The children are always so spick and span, and they mind at the wink of an eyelash ! Those little fellows are awfully good-looking. Susan's severe — but she's a good Mother and a splendid housekeeper. Everything is in tip-top order over there." I summoned up my resolution to learn all I could about my kindred. They were numerous and seemed widely divided. One happy hour alone with my Grand- father I asked suddenly — "Isn't it funny about relatives, Grandfather?" "How do you mean child— What's funny? Don't you understand about your family?" "There's so many of them and all with so many names — And what is a Grand- Uncle? Grandmother says that Uncle Job Gray and Uncle John Fulton are my Grand Uncles, and there's such a lot of Fultons' and Pattens' and Grays' and Lunts', and I've got two Uncle Williams and two Aunt Sarahs'." — "Well, now listen — You have no clear knowledge of kinship I see and I'll tell you a little" and he talked so engagingly that some way I seemed introduced to them all. "You see Uncle William Lunt is your Grandfather Lunt's son — He's a very good man — very good, and so is your Father, and Uncle William Gray is my son and a pretty lively one. About your Aunt Sarah who is visiting us while your Mother is here, you know she's my daughter, don't you, but that Aunt Sarah Comings is your Grandfather Lunt's daughter." His conversation went round the circle including other Uncles and Aunts and gave me the bearings of the question. I even laughed at some of his descriptive adjectives and hits upon the foibles and looks of different individuals. I recall now with similar amusement that one was "A modest gentle sort of man very humble and meek" — another — "Fiery and crazy, and tried to make everyone mind him" — One was — "gracious and meant well, but you must mind your P's and Q's when with her," and another — "So solemn that you wanted to run a mile to get out of her sight," and he laughed heartily when he described someone as "Long and spare" and — "She liked to smarten up and be conspicuous." When Grandfather chose he was addicted to sharpness in description and his talk then was like clean pistol practise, lie praised very few — lie was keen-sighted, practical and critical and was inclined to be choleric whenever opposed. His opinions were very definite, and his will was like well tempered steel. Grandfather Gray had no weakness of purpose ami in him there was little or no resignation, no self-abnegation or voluntary self denial, yet generosity, consideration and kindly Bervice were all bestowed freely and often, lie did not exemplify the religious virtues, nor associate himself with those who worshipped as did m\ Grandfather Lunt, who found all his comfort in tin- Word of God. It is told of In forebears thai in olden times some of them could not wait lor prayers until the) reached the Church, hut if the spirit moved them gol down knelt by the road and offered petitions long and fervent. There are records "I one of our Ancestors who knocked up his family everj Pag* aS Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood morning with verses of Scripture, and whose piety was so tremendous that no one dared to interrupt him with a question when he held forth, usually at meals, so none of the family peeped during one of his homilies when he told them as Christians what to believe and how to behave! If anyone asked a question he flamed into a tempest of wrath far from saintly, insisting that his ten or twelve "Olive Branches" were in the nature of things all Christians, and all Christians behaved of course according to his rules. My own Grandfather Lunt was a Puritan in grain but one of the mildest of men. He was too patient and too enduring, for no words of complaint ever escaped him, and nothing existed to show that he had sad privations, and sore trials to put up with. His sons, my Father and his brother William, founded their families on principles also; but while there was perfect purity, intrepidity and consecration manifest in both there was in them an elasticity of nature, as far as the kindlier emotions were concerned, for however firm in word or deed there was in neither any absence of humanity or sympathy. It was entire faith, entire belief, with no disturbing element of doubt and every action and attitude was built upon their interpretation of the Holiest of Books — The Book of Life — the Christian's Bible. The Divine Will was an inevitable Guide, and faith in the answer to prayer revealed to them the path they trod. So confident were those brothers of the reality of the Overshadowing Providence, and of spiritual authority, that if they were bounded by narrow views and correct Orthodoxy they were still armoured in right thinking and tender feeling. They were consistent and forgiving. They knew nothing about a "Tooth for a Tooth and an Eye for an Eye". They could never hold a grudge. They could forget, and ignore what was unpleasant, and they could give — give — give everything but their free souls. To conserve liberty of view and follow the lead of conscience was more than a right — it was a religious duty. There is rather a startling intensity in one afternoon at my Uncle William Lunt's. They had a pleasant little home on one of the ascending streets with vines that covered the porch and sides — the vines seem stamped upon my' memory. More than a name-plate on that door the home meant frugality, industry, and unyielding purpose — punctilious, precise, exact, even heart-beats were hidden under well brushed clothes; and a mask of reserve worn by the elders sometimes reached and was copied by the children. In that bygone time I saw comparatively very little of those young cousins who had been held up to me by my Aunt Sarah as models of behaviour. I insist here that I am not censuring anyone, but in the force of atmosphere there was something tangible like a weapon and it always hushed me. There was something in addition to my Aunt Susan's qualities that intensified her power to command. It was a firmness that never failed, for inconstancy to her ideals was as impossible as forgetfulness of her duties. The graces of virtue, and duty in bodily force and mental vigor united to life-long integrity and made, though never reciprocally demonstrative, a good wife and a good mother, producing for the world worthy sons and loving daughters. But she was diametrically opposed to what was easy going, self indulgent indifference to rules, or to any training that was luxurious and in a sense not self supporting. At an extremely early age her children were very strictly reared — some way they had no irregular pleasures and a tender con- science was developed beyond their years. I was quite reckless in comparison with those perfectly behaved cousins — I am quite sure I liked things even at that age distasteful to young persons so rigidly reared; for festivals and ornaments, and the negation of all solemnity or of any austere spiritual methods, marked me out from the first. I was never lonely and I was always allowed room to dance in imaginatively: so little was demanded with severity that I could create means of enjoyment, and became indifferent to any but the gayest sort of existence. I was therefore ready for the raptures of life; its turmoils, its anxieties, its contests, its sorrows, its denials, its suffering of any sort never came into my childhood's thoughts fancies or experiences — and fears never hindered expression or dimmed manifest pleasures. Page 2Q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I love to conjure up the visions and traditions of my childhood, and let memory- fed imagination take its flights. And now the mental panorama turns to the well regulated family of my Father's brother. Their costumes, their customs, their manners differing from the cheeriness, the breeziness, and the freedom of mine! They were firm where I was yielding, staunch and definite where I was shallow, light and buoyant. They were shut in to constant activity where no one was allowed to dream the hours away. Idleness was never permitted. There was little open enthusiasm, and apparently few outside enjoyments, but the family Crest there meant what was truest and noblest in religious faith and works. It seems to me that perhaps without knowing it both Aunt Susan Lunt and my own Mother exercised a sort of magnetic will over their husbands. And, as far as I know, it has been so ever since with all the Lunts. The women they love, the women to whom they give their name command not only devotion and service, but it seems as if something in the nature of the men yielded readily to their will and purpose; and while both may be unquestionably strong the definite position of the wife and Mother is in our family a thing as dominant as it is prevalent and permanent. I do not think there is any struggle in the matter for, while theirs is the ruling voice, harmony seems undisturbed; certainly there is no lack of affection, and those close ties of relationship were always honoured and sustained. In my own home it was a high Heaven of love and trust. My Uncle William Lunt was beautiful in countenance. He had thick hair like his Father's, very dark, parted at the side and combed back from an intelligent brow. It was touched with grey and had a tendency to curl. His olive skin made a contrast with very white teeth. His deeply set eyes had an intense blueness, almost purple like a pansy and with a strange depth of sadness in them. His beard was cut round and short, the whiskers grew close and high from throat to cheek. He had a well-shaped figure a little above medium size, and although his shoulders stooped a little he carried himself easily and with distinction. The expression of his face was sympathetic, the lips were rather thin but modelled to fineness, and his was a voice always low and restrained to gentleness. Indeed in all our con- nection I have never heard a voice among Lunts or Grays, Sumners or Pattens, Evans or Cornells that fell unpleasantly on the ear. They are usually low-pitched and agreeable and some are fortunately sonorous rich and musical. I have always been proud of the well-bred quiet and agreeable voices that I think characterizes the whole circle, but my Father's was especially beautiful, more resonant, warmer, more musical and in tone and inflection challenged all others. I can easily recall preparations for the special visit I have indicated to those little Lunt cousins, because I was so disappointed in not being allowed to wear my new muslin frock with green sprigs and rose buds, of which I was inordinately proud, or to adorn myself as I ardently desired with my tenth Birthday present, the gold locket with pictures of my Father and Mother inside — instead of such yielding to vanity I was robed in a fresh gingham of green and white, — equally new but far less grand I thought — and I could not be quite satisfied that I was not more decoratively arrayed. The impressions of the visit, except my dilating and telling stories to Etta and Sunie that seemed almost to frighten them, has largely vanished. Etta how- ever had something startling to tell me. She was excited in her mind and manner when she whispered that she had heard of the possibility of her going to New- buryport with Joe and me. I myself knew no details of any such plan ami had not taken any such project into consideration. I remembered hearing my Aunts talk about the Ipswich School for Young Ladies they had attended, atul that some Tea* her there had a School for little girls in Newbury port that was all 1 knew — but Etta declared with an air of mystery, "Anyway, I heard mj Mother saj to your Mother, thai it would be nice to have ns all three together then 1 , and that M like to send me with you and Joe and would try tO bring it about.'" Little Sunie listened eagerly to our diseussions, never showed am aversion to being left out, or an) envj when we became excited anticipating new adventures, or when I launched forth into descriptions of whai I possessed, what 1 wanted. Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood what I intended to do, or where I expected to go. It was all a fairy tale to the modest demure darling little girl. Sunie was pretty, like her Father in looks even then, the same dark blue eyes easily saddened, the same well moulded features, the same abundance of dark hair growing low on a lovely brow. I verily believe that child could not remember the time she did not love and exemplify in her own little person what she called religion. She seemed even then dedicated to that Shrine — And to serve forever as an Acolyte at that High Altar. It was her "Voca- tion" to live for others, to serve her family in utter unselfishness which to the end kept her "Unspotted from the World". In the ideas and fancies, and the faces of little children, there is something it would require the thought of a lifetime to even partially analyze or comprehend. The little boys, Will and Robert, were also individual and about the same age as our Horace and George. They never seemed troublesome, and the active element in them never broke into any abnormal manifestations in company. Something had restrained all the usual turns of mischief, of boisterous expressions or of wild desires for fun. They had learned to be still, and were never roused to noisy action when I was present. Perhaps they were in that condition of character or development when everything is transacted inside. The many undefined inexplic- able impulses, the ways children have, which occasion their singular actions — how can those not in their confidence pretend to any measure of familiarity with, or do them perhaps any measure of justice? Little Will, the older one, seemed always to be in a thinking mood. He was decidedly blonde in type, bright-haired blue-eyed and quiet like all the others. He had a pair of eyes that were always looking wistfully out of doors and windows as if he longed even then for flight, and visioned new fields and woods and wide Prairie spaces far away from the home-nest. What he saw no one knew. He was a silent child and could scarcely be aware of any possibilities of change or of any different existence, but he liked to stand at the windows looking out and whenever I went there his eager little face was usually the first I saw. Possibly windows on the street were congenial to meditations in which the small boy indulged. He appeared to have some faculty for enduring cold or heat, or anything for the price of solitude. I did not know those little Lunts very well, and some boys are given to subjects of serious thought very early, much earlier than older people are willing to believe. I knew that, because my own little brothers always alone or together had occupations or interests, or some unfathomed pursuits that filled their hours and were quite beyond my comprehension. I suppose they all had their full share of castle building, but I believe in that sex the constructive faculty gives them scope to supply satisfaction in whatever they are doing at the time, and to deepen their interest and efforts in various subjects that may be quite abstruse in themselves. Little Robert was fascinating — the eyes he fixed on you were so surprisingly lovely that they foretold possibilities unusual and prophesied a personality rarely attractive. His broad smooth forehead over the irresistible twinkle in those dark eyes gave to his smile a peculiar brightness. One loved him at sight. The entire quality of little children lies in the fact that they have personality. They are such docile targets for all remarks, and sweet endearments lavished on certain little ones have seemingly no effect. They appear sometimes to resent approach. They seem to have a grip on things — on the real thing, unfledged as they are — and they like you or not for reasons often palpable but that they alone immediately recognize or understand. As I wash it all with the vivifying waters of recollection, events or incidents have largely vanished, except that we played happily together; but were not allowed a single step outside the yard. And that particular day I discovered that Etta could jump twenty times nearly, up and down, steady, and without a single stop for breath; so deftly could she whirl the jumping-rope, with its little wooden handles held so firmly that one could scarcely follow its swift curves, and her own perfect rythmic motion — and Sunie, her eyes shining like stars, said that she "could jump with her and not stop for a long time". So the two showed me what Page 31 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I had never seen before, jumping in unison without a single break. The two in complete harmony of motion while only one held and swung the rope! It was a pretty sight. I was dared to the trial for which I was eager, believing in my own strength and skill, but after the first spring I tripped and fell ignominiously. Down I went, bruising hands and knees, and tearing a great hole in my clean little gingham frock, as well as soiling skirts and underclothes disgracefully. The whirling rope stopped. It had been far too much of a test. The stillness was appalling as I got up red and tearful, and the eyes of both stared at me frightened, while I gulped down a sob or two. Etta broke the silence, "We'll have to go in and you'll have to show it." Aunt Susan looked unutterably disturbed as we trooped into her presence, a discomforted trio. "Oh no matter" I whispered, "I've got lots of dresses, and I'm glad I didn't wear my best muslin." I was given a disapproving look and heard in cold tones, "Your Mother will be displeased. You must have been careless. How did it happen?" looking at her own little daughters — but I didn't wait, I took it out of their trembling little mouths and gave the account graphically, at least putting the blame where it belonged. "I wanted to do it as well as Etta and Sunie — and I just couldn't. I plumped right down in the dust! But I'll learn — I'm going to do it too, I'm going to keep on trying — it must be great fun." Aunt Susan actually smiled and I heard the children laugh. "You see Mother, she can't jump very well and she thought she could — She said it was so easy" and quite a little silvery burst of merriment followed. "You needn't try it again here, once is enough" Aunt Susan remarked emphatically, while she brushed me very carefully, and proceeded with thread and needle to mend that tear so neatly that I thought to myself, nobody would ever see it, and I needn't even show it to Mother. What was the use of troubling her? But still holding me against her knee as she sewed, I heard in rather stern accents — "Be sure and say to your Mother that I have done the best I could, I am very sorry my little girls could play so roughly. Now all of you sit down, call in your little brothers and play a game, or make a circle on the floor and take the Jack-straws. Etta can teach you, Neanie, how to pick them up — jumping the rope isn't all she can do," and at my direct enquiring gaze — "She can sew nicely, and sweep and dust and help keep the house clean; she can set the table, and is going to learn to cook, and she can dress and undress her little brothers, and keeps her drawers in perfect order." I was overcome at such a list of accomplishments, not one of them mine, and hoped Sunie was defective somewhere, but seeing her eager look of expectancy the Mother smiled on her and added, — "Sunie is going to be a fine little house- keeper, she can knit and sew already and keep her things clean, and she helps me a lot, — but Sunie hasn't much Purington in her — she looks like her Father." "But he's very good-looking, isn't he?" I timidly interrupted, which brought an answer I long remembered with joy. "Oh yes, and so is your Father" — "And do I look like my Father? — do you think I'm good-looking?" and my voice fairly trembled. "Why a little girl can't expect to look like a big, grown-up very hand- some man — but when you're grown up I think you will look very much like your Father," which filled my cup to overflowing. I had been struggling between the recollections of Grandfather Gray's "comforting answer" and my Grandmother's startling words — "This is the little girl that looks like you, Aria." Mine probably was always a nature active in the generating of hope, and now I could have hugged Aunt Susan — "I was going to look like Father, and Father was handsome." I dared not make any demonstration, as I felt instinctively Aunt Susan would put her finger on my swelling vanity, for she never had time for weaknesses of thai order, nor would she he patient with them in young or old. " Now go to your sanies and Etta will show you how to play" And so was I there initiated into a \en quiet one that nc veil heless called for skill, steadiness of hand, and quickness of eye. M\ Uncle William, as I later learned, was then Considering a removal of all his interests, and taking his family tO, what was then called, the- far West. How- ever executive and faithful in a business sense Ik- could not flourish tinaiuialK in thn in ill town, lie proposed now t" mirrate as had hi^ brother Orrington p Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood more than a decade before. He was told qf the larger field out there, and that application and faithfulness which marked his course would certainly bring success. He was held to that view and urged to action by his clear-sighted wife, even as in the case of my own Mother, who was always held responsible for Father's move, so soon after their marriage. I have heard from various sources that my Mother felt their future welfare demanded travelling even to the distant Prairies, and their settling in the young and energetic little City of Chicago. The outlook while good in Maine, was entirely too restricted. Her ambitions had been stirred by what she had heard of opportunities in that part of our country. And she roused and fed my Father's resolution, upheld him in every effort and never faltered, even in that first hard Winter of 1842 and the Spring of my birth next year March 19, 1843, with its strain of prolonged illness which so nearly cost her life. Nothing crushed or daunted her and faith and courage kept them on the field. Perhaps that is why my nature from the first was active in the generating of hope. We were all in a sense so incredibly young. I am awe-struck with gratitude as I realize what their leaving that narrow New England life meant for all the Little Lunts. THE BOARDING SCHOOL Newburyport, Mass., 1 853-1 854 The entire course of my life was now to be changed. It suited my fancy mightily when asked if I would like to go to Boarding-school with my cousin, Etta Lunt, and little Joe Evans, as soon as AuntMargaret could consummate arrangements? I was tremendously interested over the idea it sounded so like a story-book adven- ture. We were certain, at the small family school selected, to be brought up in the fear of the Lord, and instruction in the Holy Scriptures was very properly, from the widow of the Missionary's point of view, the most important part of our educa- tion. But I had seemed to live under the eaves of the Sanctuary without any sense of bondage, unaware in my parents of either bigotry or intolerance, or any enslavement. And here the despotism exercised over the ten or twelve pupils never seemed benevolent. Only one of the "grown-ups" was affectionately re- garded. She was kind, gentle and sweet to look upon, and lent encouragement to an existence where festivities rarely occurred, and most pleasures seemed re- garded as either foolish or wicked pastimes. Her Mother, the Head of the House, was tall and thin and taciturn, an extreme Puritan type. The hair grey and very smooth, very sharp-eyed, very straight, very severe looking, and the verbal shafts she let fly reached their goal passing righteous judgment on us all. She insisted that her household should live up to Scriptural injunctions — and I at first, sat in a sort of hypnotized astonishment when I heard that deep voice demanding sternly why this or that had, or had not been done. I had never lacked courage to assert myself; but the first evening taught me that I no longer breathed the air of freedom. We all, at the supper table, had been asked, "Which will you have, butter or mo- lasses?" presumably to make the dry bread edible — and when my turn came, I answered promptly — "Both!" with a perfect sense of security, serene in the belief of my own right to have all I wanted, yet with no excess of boldness. Great was my astonishment at that first encounter when, for reasons I could not comprehend, I was instantly reprimanded. "No — You can have but one — Understand! it is either butter or molasses, and I asked you which?" The dearest friend of more mature years, always declared I went through life demanding both! that neither butter nor molasses alone was enough for me. No such suffering from such small self-denials had before been exacted from me without adequate explanations. Reserves and reticences and unmovedness always with me baffles understanding, and suddenly, as she spoke, something snapped like a whip handle and I wished myself off somewhere else. Earthly faults and failures stood up in shape unknown before. Lay the reason to the fact that I knew little or nothing of small deprivations or restrictions, and the entering Page 33 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood into a relation so personal that She, a stranger, should curb my lightly expressed wish filled me with misgivings. It was a novel, trivial, new aspect of human nature embodied; and a proceeding of restraining power I met for the first time. The situation incommoded me. It hinted at caution in future demands. I was not at all incensed, or even markedly embarrassed — only something depicted itself at that particular time that was serviceable, because it suggested my waiting in silence for whatever was to follow, and omitting hereafter any flourish of words or wishes. Soon after arrival, one stormy afternoon during the so-called play hour, I had a sort of illumnative recollection of the force and frenzy of the " Whirling Dervishes" as pictured in a traveller's account in a pamphlet of Grandfather's, who had further enlightened me as to their religious beliefs and practises to which I had listened in wide-eyed wonder. "I have thought of a new play", I whispered eagerly to my cousins, to Susie and the little Gleason girls, and we six trooped to the upper front chamber with its two big feather-topped beds, in one of which Etta slept with Mary Waldron and Joe and I in the other. We formed a circle at my solemn directions and began to whirl slowly, increasing speed at my excited demands — faster and faster. "Keep at it girls, the one that holds on longest gets to Heaven first", and then Susie dropped with a thud, and thump thump went the little Gleason girls and Etta tumbled after. At that moment I heard a foot-fall on the stairs, softly she came to surprise us; but I sprang to the door, turned the key and whispered wildly, "Oh girls' Mrs. Spaulding", and in a sudden access of fear we all — little cowards — dashed under the beds. A quick turning of the knob which resisted entrance and made the intended catching us unawares impossible — a jerk and sharp call — "Open at once" — It was useless — the door was shaking violently — no escape and delay dangerous. Another loud call with punishment looming. "This instant open the door," and I crawled out and unlocked the barrier. One glance at me and she strode across the room and lifted the copper- plate calico cover which hung to the floor each side. "Come out this minute, every one of you" and the trembling quartet, Etta, Susie, and the others ranged themselves beside me. "Is that all," in the same stentorian tones. "No Ma'am, I'm here" squealed a frightened little voice. And poor little Joe who could have escaped if she'd kept still, was ordered sternly, — "Come out this instant". She emerged the whitest and most terrified little object, crying audibly, and in muffled accents repeating, "I won't do it again, I won't do it again, Please ma'am, I wont." And spectacles of woe we were marshalled below stairs to receive sentence. An extra study hour then and there in the deserted school-room, and still punitive justice unsatisfied, we were forbidden all chances in our rooms that term; and in further reprimand, must lose the coming Saturday half-holiday. The noise that summoned that severe judge must have warranted belief in a regiment of culprits. At each new uJtimatum I learned the hopelessness of argu- ment, and I speedily realized the character of encounters bound to ensue if I ever undertook to assert any wish outside the rules of the school. My Militant Guardian Angel taught me soon the sense of security in silence and submission. One day Miss Mary told us if we wanted to write well to begin a Journal and put down what happened and what interested us, and at my immediate request, she further explained, "You can write whatever you chose, and no one need see it," and she smiled at my interest and gave me a mottled-covered blank book, some pages of which arc still in existence. So, perhaps here, a few excerpts from my first efforts may throw further Light on the experiences of no unusual or outside interest, but significant as to growth either mentally or morally — both of whieh I have thought retarded in a sense, although ni\' amused family have declared that "No one could have prophesied what I would have become without the discipline at Newbui v pO1 1 ! The quotations thai follow tell their own arid little tale. October rf, 1854. "Mrs. Spaulding seems to think we play tOO much ever since that afternoon recess when we all powdered our hair with some flour somebody had stolen, and l'"ir ii Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood pinned leaves all over our dresses, to pretend we were foreigners. Miss Coffin saw us first, and called us in to brush off and get clean before any one else knew it. Miss Coffin laughed we looked so funny, and, Oh, what a time we had shouting and laughing at each other, until we were found out and got scolded. We couldn't get that flour out of our hair. I have enjoyed good health, I never feel sick like Mary and Susie, I scarcely know how to be thankful enough, and another very great blessing is that my Parents and brothers are also enjoying the great blessing of good health. We have the most beautiful sunsets here I ever saw. I got my package today. It contained my winter coat and a pretty new red marino dress. And my tippet newly lined with cherry silk. It looks twice as well as it did before; but I wish I had a new muff." October 20. "I received a letter from my own dear Mother Tuesday morning. It was written from Boston and they were going to New York that afternoon to buy furniture for the new home, and after November first I was to address all my letters to 171 Michigan Avenue. Mother asked me if I was brave and good, and asked me not to cry and be homesick, so I will try and smile oftener. She said people loved to see smiles. Mother dear Mother how I long to see you again, God forever bless my dear Parents and brothers. I asked Susie if she didn't think my little brother George was beautiful, and had beautiful yellow curls, and she wouldn't answer at first, but after hesitating for a short time she said, "Yes" — very slowly — "I think he looks well enough but his curls aren't very long.'" I don't like her for that, and besides she hasn't any spirit playing, she'd just as lief be a beggar girl as anything else. She is Motherless and her Father is a Doctor of Divinity and that makes me sorry. She hasn't any beautiful brothers and she has to live with a married sister. I'll try to like her some; but not the way I do little Sarah. She is only nine and she has to wear black stockings. I never saw a pair before; but I read once of a little girl whose Mother went Missionarying, and an ugly Aunt put all her lovely white ones into a pot and dyed them black. Poor thing! she has to wear long dark woolen dresses, I mean Sarah, and her Mother is so queer. Whenever she comes to visit here she prays so long after supper, and her voice goes up and down awfully funny, I never heard such a voice, she almost screeches as if the Lord couldn't hear, it makes Carrie and me laugh behind our hands and nudge each other when we are on our knees." October ji. "I received a letter from my very dear Mother, it is very kind of my Mother to write me so regularly. She says that next year I shall attend a Seminary for young ladies now being erected in Chicago. I am now writing a story which I have located in Newport, the name of it is "The Blond and the Brunette" and I am describing my Mother for the Blond, and my Aunt Helen for the Brunette, Oh how good God is to me to give me such Parents. Next year if we all live and nothing happens to prevent what happiness shall I enjoy! For dinner today we had salt fish, potatoes and butter, squash and cab- bage and I hate both; home bread and course brown bread and for dessert baked apple pudding. Its better than dried apple pie, the crust is so thick it gags me sometimes and I go out and almost vomit, but I am hungry so I eat it. Miss Davis gave me "Snowflake Polka" for my last music lesson, but she says she won't give me such an easy piece again. November 2. "As I was descending the stairs yesterday morning Mary Waldron slipped into my hands a large round gum-drop. It was mighty good of her, she had on a beautiful large plaid dress, it was blue and yellow and had yellow trimming, but she got out of Church by saying that she had a terrible toothache. She often has cramps in her legs and I jump out of bed and rub them, she makes me do it a long time before she stops groaning and I am tired of doing it. She never calls anyone else and I have to kneel by the bed when I am rubbing and my feet get cold as ice, and Carrie told me "She could have cramps in her legs all she wanted to for all of her," But I hate to hear her say — "Oh' how it hurts, do come Neanie, Page 35 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood come quick, do rub them hard" — and so I do and that's the only reason. November g. Miss Coffin said that if we spoke without raising our hands for permission, or whispered once she would have to put a mark against our names, and at a specified time show them to Mrs. Spaulding and there would be a penalty assigned for a certain number of marks as those were her orders. But she said it was not her arrangement and she blushed when we looked up at her to the very temples, she has a dimple. Miss Coffin is pretty and I think I shall put her in my story. I will have another girl not quite so pretty as my Aunt Helen. I'd like to make Mrs. Spaulding an Ogre. I haven't cried since I came the way I did when she took away the box of candy Mother sent me. She said my Mother couldn't have known that it was against the rules, that she never let the girls have candy in term time, and Oh! when she took that box and put it up on a high shelf in the closet I almost screamed. "It's your candy of course and you can have it when Christmas comes and you go to your Aunt in Boston." I try not to see it when I go by but the corner sticks out and Mother gave it to me. I just hated Mrs. Spaulding and I'll make a face at her when her back's turned. And I hope she won't go to Heaven! So there! November 15. We are in Subtraction of Vulgar Fractions now and in Latin we are almost to the life of Joseph. Miss Mary says that next term Carrie and I may drop arithmetic for a while and take up History and draw maps. I am at the head of the spelling class all the time. Last week Carrie's and my clothes were starched. Harriet told me Mrs. Spaulding did not allow her to starch the girl's clothes. But I rather think she starched mine because I gave her two pears from the basket of fruit Mother sent me. She wrote Aunt Nancy to buy it in Boston for me, and perhaps Carrie's clothes were starched because she has such few pieces. November i%. Yesterday afternoon Carrie and I were real saucy to Miss Coffin. I will relate the circumstances. Miss Coffin called the first class in reading. We all took our places. Carrie was head and she gave her Reader to Miss Coffin and turned to look over with me. I opened my book to find the place. "No let me" said Carrie. It was my book and I held on. She insisted she would have it, and seeing I wouldn't let her but grabbed it tighter every minute, she spoke up loud to Miss Coffin. "Can't I find the place, I won't read if I can't." Miss Coffin said "You will if I tell you to". "I shan't unless you make Neanie give me that book, I am head of the class today, — it's my day." "Give it to her Neanie" I heard in a gentle voice. "She has no right to my book, I was head yesterday and I'll be head tomorrow, Carrie had better mind her own business and let me alone." Miss Coffin looked at us and never said another word. I felt queer, but I found the place myself, and then handed it to Carrie, and she read without a word and as soon as we got through I ran and got the biggest bunch of grapes in the basket Mother sent me and gave them to Miss Coffin, and she smiled and her dimple looked so pretty and I tried to say something, "I — I wish I hadn't," and Miss Coffin took my hand and I felt something choke me, and winked very hard. And Miss Coffin pressed my hand, "Never mind Neanie," she said, and told me she was very much obliged for the grapes. And that evening when she went home after school she kissed inc. Just think! she never kissed any of the girls before, and 1 shouldn't have thought she would have done it today of all days when I had been so saucy. I will never speak so again Never Never. Ik , ember ./. This is in)- little brother George's birthday, and I expeel Mahaly will make him a little cake wilh three candles and I know Mother will let him have .1 piece (.1 candy, Some limes I long to see Mother so it seems as if I should fly. Mother — Mothei I low \ei\ much I do hue you. Mow pleasanl it is to feel that Mother dearly. I know she dot ■ because she told me so in her last letter. Wednesday tfternoon t December to. Mar} Waldron > ed to be married. She whispered it to me and said his /'<;/v ,■<"> Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood name was Eddie Crawford. Oh, it is so very silly — A girl of fourteen. She says she is writing to him now and keeps saying, Sh — Sh — Sh — if I say a word about her horrid boy, for he must be horrid. "If you ever breathe a word I'll never tell you one of my secrets again as long as I live." I never asked her to tell me her secrets, and I do think it is low for her to be cutting up such capers. I don't ap- prove of them certainly. Yesterday we had such a beautiful snowfall and every- thing is so white and shining now. All the girls have some marks against their names for speaking improperly but Miss Coffin told me I had none. Wasn't it wonderful. Oh, the twenty-second will it never, never come? I am going to Boston to be with Aunt Nancy for the holiday vacations and I am to visit Carrie in Dor- chester. December 20. Father told me his first Ancestor was one of the founders of Newburyport — his name was Henry Lunt and he came over awfully long ago and they are as thick as flies now, I mean the people named Lunt. But in Chicago there is nobody named Lunt but Father. It is so far from Newburyport I suppose, and Miss Mary said they were home loving people and didn't like to roam. Yesterday Carrie was mad about something and said it was so stupid here she felt crazy to have to stay two more days. My Uncle Horace is coming to take me to Boston and Carrie is going home at the same time. Then I thought up a play to use up the time. And Carrie asked Mrs. Spaulding if we could stay upstairs in her room and Mrs. Spaulding graciously said yes, because we were going away in two days I guess. Little Sarah sleeps with Carrie and we called Susie in and I gave them all strict injunctions. Susie was to be lover and little Sarah a fair maiden, Carrie was to abduct her for me, and I was Brigand in a cave. The name of the play was "The Cave of Despair" and I made it up right then, but I did not tell them. I told them I was Captain of the Band and the maiden was my "Pray", and Carrie must drag her off up in the corner by the bed which we called the Cave and say "Death or Dishonour". They wouldn't play nicely, Sarah wouldn't do it right. "When I told her she mustn't choose Dishonour, she said she wouldn't say Death, because she didn't want to die, and Carrie got cross and said "What's the difference — Let her say what she wants for mercy's sakes," and I told her they always got rescued if they said the right thing, I had read it lots of times and it was going to be a noble play. But it all got spoiled because Sarah began to cry. I just hate whimpering, nobody wanted to do it right, Susie said she was tired and ran out, and she was a fearful disappointment to me. Anyway she isn't coming back next term and I thought I was sorry, but we will have a new girl in her place." The experiment of Boarding School for me was far from satisfactory; but after long periods of watching and waiting I had become relatively reconciled; nothing could wipe out wholly my confidence or sweep away the comfort of my innermost self, because the whole fabric of my life had been built on security, and no unknown or incalculable power could readily destroy it. However gloomy or prison-like the house sometimes seemed I pursued my way, finally enduring the occasionally withering sarcasms, that often in disapproval measured me from top to toe with cold critical glances, in an ever growing indifference. The barometer rose as soon as I was out of sight of the One who held such tight reins, and Carrie Reid had become my chosen chum. We laughed and talked much together, and allowed our fancies full flower in a game which we played often, walking up and down the big yard. We would meet and part — exchange polite greetings as Mrs. Seymour and Mrs. Gordon, our chosen married titles. We were each the proud Mother of seven children whose adventures were in turn glowingly recounted. We were always devising startling incidents to attract, and arouse in our individual consciousness the poignant certainty of the supremacy and greater charms our own little ones could show. I ranged afar in wondrous tales to prove transcendant gifts in mine, and to manifest in my progeny points of vantage un- approachable! It was very exciting to work for their pre-eminence, and some- times effecting such wonders produced emotions that made for sharp comments Page 37 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood of disbelief, and sudden separations! I was hardly fitted by nature, however sharp our differences, or quarrels over facts of possibility, to cease strenuous efforts to prove my children superior, and finer than hers. I must concede now that my pictures of their strange performances showed surprising contradictions and they produced frequent contention. Curiously enough in my regular letters home I never once wrote of what was hard and unpleasant, I some way did not think of complaining. I had no experience of great grievance. I was never personally abused, and outside the dreary round my spirits always rose responsive to fresh air and sunlight. To many details my mind reacted rather than noted the comparative coldness, or the lack of warmth which had hitherto always surrounded me. Brought up in that sheltered happiness where all things were tempered I had never suffered from uncertainties or fears, and I was immensely less fitted to understand and meet small difficulties than those who had known struggles or friction in their home life. So youthful good spirits asserted themselves, and the future seemed assured as forebodings fled and self-confidence refused to weaken. And while that present did not please me it could not hold me. I supposed or concluded it was always that way at schools, that there, one was inevitably reduced to a state of subjuga- tion, and the habit of going unchecked after what one wanted could be allowed no compromise. But my curtailed imagination ran riot in secret when the girls grew to demand stories and would ask so frequently — "Now Neanie tell us again what we all wish would happen to Mrs. Spaulding?" Since her taking away the one box of candy I had had, she embodied what caused rebellion to rage in my soul. I was brilliantly successful to the delight of all my school-mates in depicting horrors, and creating scenes of terrible drama where the Head of the House could not escape the devised defeats and torments which expressed retaliation. She was thus miraculously made to suffer; and in one way and another my vivid interest in life continued, and laughter was mine at all times. Carrie was always so bright and responsive and she had the immeasurable advantage of knowing how to smooth down the irateness of our ruler, who, very evidently, had a marked preference for that brown-eyed little Bostonian. As I said before, it was indisputable that the small specimen from Chicago held no such personal charms. There was a sparkle about Carrie that was beautifully proved one night at supper. Over our Bible verses we had come to try regularly to outdo each other by their length or the importance of their selection. Before each evening meal we sat silent after grace: In turn each child repeated the verse committed for that day with which we were always to prepare ourselves. We had been solemnly told when first initiated that no circumstances should ever arise that ought to find us lacking in suitable selections. But Oh!, one fatal Sunday evening for me, our gloating eyes fell on piles of snow-white bakers bread of very different quality and consistency from that served daily. I have never understood why it appeared on that single occasion unless there was strife in the kitchen, and a dearth of what was usually set before us; for, to my recollection, I never saw its like again. It was Heavenly Manna to my imagination when beyond my reach. Whatever that household contingency our eyes glistened as they fell on the tempting plate, ami those white sliees appealed as a blessing no less appreciated than the plum preserves, which were served once in a while as the greatest treat. Every detail rises before me. I can feel this minute the gUStO with which I Beated myself ami whispered to my equally eager neighbour, "Mercy!, Look at the bread" "Verses first," she retorted. The usual solemn ceremony of repetition had reached u.; but when I heard Carrie beside me sav earnestly " Lord evermore give us this Bread" I was instantly fired not to be daunted, not to be outdone; impatience for the bread was lost for a Becond as spurred with sudden ambition my mind leaped to the onlj Verse I COuld recall, It was not so stricllv relative I arrie's; bui it seemed sufficiently important. Firmly and clearly it was Pagt r v Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood enunciated — "/ am the Bread of Life." They had tittered at Carrie's. They broke order and laughed aloud at mine. "Neanie, leave the table. Go to your room. You will spend the evening alone." There was no "present help" for me in that desperate "time of trouble". Carrie had scored her great victory. And I — Alas! I never tasted that Bread. THE FIRST VACATION Boston, Mass. What we hear, think or see produces many results of which we are not aware. The smallest events often play their part in moulding the machinery of our mental or spiritual life, in making an indelible record, and difficult as it may be to entirely decipher or recall them their influence is always working. I am only interested with the conscious processes, and illustrative experiences rise easily in the simplest occurrences — not in the least uncommon; but significant because they link the common with the seemingly unusual and are individual and impressive as belonging exclusively to the writer. These Sketches have application to development and I can explain them to myself sometimes by a flash of insight, and think and write rapidly, extensively and correctly even in the very language of my childhood. A certain Physcologist has said, "The method of recall is the association of ideas, and if we once can pull the right string all sorts of forgotten memories will come into consciousness." Evidently impressions made upon the mind are retained and used without any sense of dependence upon an efficient memory; but we are not supplied with in- formation sufficient for their solution. The dreams, longings and golden panoramas of life rolled up in the film of memory, their richness of colour, strangeness of thought and fervour of emotion, I do not believe, are wholly lost. The delight of that moment, when learning Captain Gray was waiting for us, and I dashed into Carrie's room in excitement, was sobered to see her seated on the side of the bed, cloak and little hood all on and hands calmly folded in her muff, with a well stuffed, funny looking shiny black carpet bag at her feet. In the hush of that second she looked, to my bewildered gaze, unusually pretty. She had such white teeth and brown eyes under thick curling lashes. I had often wished mine were not blue and that I resembled a brunette! "What's the matter? It's time to go! My Uncle's downstairs! Where's your trunk?" "Do you suppose I am going to take my things home when I've got to come back? I've got plenty there anyway, and this," kicking the bag, "is full of dirty clothes that I've kept out of the wash and I've got to carry it down myself." "Why, I'll help you," I said, and suddenly her passionate tone changed to a good humoured one. She gave me a side look and a little grin, "Don't you know I had to have a few in the wash to please the old lady, and here they go home and I'll be scolded; but I don't know what for, I get in hot water so easy there." "Oh! who cares, come on," and imperatively I turned, and with little muttered exclamations we dragged the huge carpet-bag between us, which thumped down the stairs and brought Mrs. Spaulding to the scene. She held in her hand the box of candy my Mother had sent me three months before, and with words of caution as to behaviour, she ushered us into the room where my Uncle waited. He was a large man with an unusually humorous expression, and patting us on head and shoulders said jovially "Ahoy! Ahoy little ship-mates, Let's be off" and shaking hands with Mrs. Spaulding picked up Carrie's carpet-bag as if it were a paper parcel. My own little horse-hair covered trunk I saw strapped on behind the old hack and we were hilariously piled in and soon steaming out of the town and far away. I have never mentioned Uncle Horace's fine house on the hill opposite my Grandfather Gray's which I passed every time I turned towards Grandfather Lunt's. It had a very shut-up look, the parlour was always dark; but there were beautiful things from over-seas, and the furniture looked very heavy and handsome. They said his wife painted, and I thought it was pictures instead of her cheeks, Page S9 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood but I saw always how very red they were, and that she never seemed well or at ease. My Aunts did not like their oldest brother's wife, but all I ever heard was that, "She was a Tinker, that no one could expect anything better of the Tinker's — a family that lived on the outskirts — that it was true she was pretty, but Horace must have been crazy to marry her." They had no children; and I only remember taking a meal once in that pre- tentious house, and having all the red-currants and purple plums I wanted, and that the cakes were small and had sugar on the top. I didn't care for Aunt Eliza, but my Uncle Horace was jolly, he gave me pretty shells and showed me a model of his "Big Ship" and said he would bring me something pretty from Russia, where he was going on his next voyage. But I never felt well acquainted, as with Uncle William or Uncle John, until that day hurrying towards Boston. Carrie and I disposed of a goodly amount from the Candy box he handed over, old and stale, and someway sticking in my throat, reviving sharply that sense of injury from its long detention — "Better than nothing," Carrie exclaimed, and "I like candy better than fruit. We have fruit orchards and if it wasn't winter there'd be lots of apples and pears and plums and grapes." And with astonishing irrelevance the question — "Do you like Olives?" "Are they big" I countered. "Mercy! don't you know, — Why you must eat ten before you can like them, but don't make a fuss or splutter swallowing, or Mother will say you are silly and send you from the table. No, she won't, you'll be a visitor, but you'd better not hate Olives, or say you don't like anything on the table, for Mother will tell us you are under-bred — that's awful you know." I was rather frightened at that picture so unflinchingly presented, and I de- termined secretly in a sort of panic to hurry and eat those ten Olives, big or little, and gain her Mother's good opinion. I felt splendidly direct in a steadfast purpose not to quail at any such test. About Carrie there was something clean and valiant and I never had to com- promise with my liking, and I think I looked candid and fearless interrogation as I turned my face and said — "I guess your Mother will like me?" — and in equally candid knowledge she responded — "Mother's only twenty-nine and she has notions." My lovely Mother was thirty-five on her last Birthday I murmured, and felt a homesick stab that hurt and filled me with unutterable longing. I was sorry she was so old; but she wouldn't care whether I ate ten Olives or not, and I was sure she was prettier than Carrie's Another! I kept winking away the sudden rush of tears, and just then my Uncle produced a good sized package which checked home-sickness and aroused considerable satisfaction. It was a great treat, two big squares of Berwick Sponge Cake. There never was such sponge-cake in all the world as that made by some woman in North Berwick, Maine. You might say it had a national reputation for whenever trains went through all the passengers emptied out and went to the counter, to purchase the delectable golden squares so fine you could tear off strips as if from delicate muslin, smooth as silk in its delicate grain and with a brown rich top — "Just like the shiny brown oil-cloth in our back hall," cried Carrie in glee, as we opened the white paper parcels. That promised treat for us nearly cost mc my life, I swallowed great mouth's full so fast and greedily that I failed to stop as my throat got dry — It closed with a chunk I could not down and the choke increased till I could neither gasp nor cry out. "Why's she's choking, Oh Captain Gray, she's going to die" veiled my little companion. I think I must have been purple in the face, 1 could not seem to see or speak, and my amazed Uncle caught hold of me and poured something awlul down my throat. I felt him shaking me while that strangling continued, and breath would not conic. "Damn 1 that cake! Devil take it, \ on little fool, loeat i and with no water," ami he threw disgustedly the remaining hall ol his too generOUB Supply out of the ear window. Carrie hid hers under her cape. lie displayed a sort •>( unregenerate wrath instead ol sympathy. Politeness does not carrj •> person far when human nature gets stirred up, Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and that scene just experienced rankled, as still weak from my monstrous glut of Sponge cake contrition overcame me, and I stammered out slowly, "I couldn't help choking, Uncle Horace — that's the silly kind I am — don't mind now please, I'm all right," and there were actually tears of mortified pride in my eyes, real tears that time, not the choking kind that had poured out a few minutes before. I still shuddered a little in anticipation of a dreadful unbecoming seizure, which one lamentably witnesses or feels, when wrenches in the lower regions make existence a horror to all beholders, as well as fiendish to its victim. Sharp exclamations again broke from him, "Damn' it" I heard again, she's going to be sick," and I shrank from words I thought belonged to the unpardon- ably wicked who swore. Staring at him and at all around in astonished perturbation, Carrie's smiling calm restored me to more normal poise, and I at last breathed naturally, but with inarticulate deprecating murmurs of apology. I was conscious of a hostile feeling, I had been so shocked at such, to me, awful swearing and looking at Carrie for similar fear or disapproval of his profanity, I caught her covering her mouth to control laughter. "That's like Father when he's mad, only he says worse." It was the first oath I had ever heard — I was lost in amaze that anyone's Father could say such bad words, but someway I was reassured by her amused indifference which seemed to most comfortingly reduce my horror and cover distress. It became to me curiously an increasingly sympathetic companionship in evil! I welcomed carelessness and indifference, and when after a few minutes she whispered, "I like your Uncle, I think he's handsome," and he later looked up to smile on us as we were quietly finishing what Carrie had kept hidden under the flap of her coat, and tossed us each a shining half-dollar, all my formless and foreign uneasiness fled. I heard him say "Do learn to eat with moderation children," but the atmos- phere had again become friendly. "Don't you think its wicked to swear" I whispered under breath to Carrie— A little spasm of amusement lit up her pretty face — "Why no, when anyone's mad enough, — I say "Damn"' softly when my shoe-strings get in knots, I hate tying them anyway, — I don't have to at home — and anyone can say bad words in a temper" was the serene reply. As we descended from the cars, a man wearing a dark coat with big brass buttons and a cockade on his hat touched it with two fingers and without a word grabbed Carrie's awful carpet-bag, — She nodded "Hello Tom" and we followed his rapid strides to the street outside. There was a fat coachman on top the waiting carriage, and he lifted his whip to his hat; nobody spoke, and my Uncle and I saw her whirled off in the big carriage; nobody had come to meet her and she didn't seem to mind, Oh! I thought, where were her Father and Mother? My kindly disposed Uncle, to make amends for what he felt had been undue impatience, took me first to a Hotel, — perhaps the old Revere House. It was large and impressive, and he plied me with "goodies", ice cream, lots of fruit, cakes and candies. A sicker child than I became on reaching my Aunt's, or a bigger stomach- ache was never before felt. I went on record for nausea and its dire results, was put to bed instanter, and treated with solicitous tenderness. Later I heard Aunt Nan say to her husband who hovered about the door, — "Horace is such a fool with children — Its well he never had any, they'd never live to grow up, Eliza would neglect them, and he'd never know better than to stuff, or swear at them, just as he felt." It is not too long ago for me to remember definitely the few wonderful things that marked that first vacation spent at my Aunt Nancy's in Boston. She had married for the second time, a very brilliant lawyer, and they had a charming little home just out of the City. I felt no freedom there to do exactly as I liked. It was impressed upon my mind that I was a visitor and everyone wished to make it pleasant, and I had surprises, and was amazed at much I saw and experienced. Carrie's home in Roxbury, where by special invitation, I spent two days and a night, was quite a revelation. The large grounds gave me wild flights of fancy. So many birds and trees and flowers, and fruit in Summer they told me. How far Page 41 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood removed it was from the business of lessons. It was a beautiful home. Something there seemed to sing in the trees and the loveliness all about served only to make me more terribly scornful of our school. But I asked no real questions of the young laughing Mother, so pretty and graceful and gay, who appeared to think children were made for her own amusement merely, yet my soul was full of interrogations. They were as a family so widely different from anything I had ever met or seen before. The children, her two sisters and brother, seemed to regard each other with disfavor frequently, — and Carrie once whispered to me, "You'd better believe I am not going back to Newburyport after next year, but Georgianna will have to; Good! I'm glad" and I was a bit bewildered, although on the surface the remarks seemed good-humoured enough. Several new traits in the characters of Mothers were revealed to me, when Mrs. Reed would call us to her room and asking pertinent questions, in evident enjoyment, of the result to make me talk fast and furious, working insidiously on whatever I liked, or disliked most, and with peals of laughter making me think myself of vast consequence. I used ridiculous phrases in trying to be grand enough to please her, and it must have been preposterous, for several times she sent Carrie away, the first time saying, "I want to have Neanie alone, you are dull and she's never anything but entertaining." Her little daughter, dismissed so ruthlessly, flounced out of the room with the expression of a martyr. It was my first sight of indifferent coldness on the part of the Mother and naming jealousy on the part of the daughter. Carrie was comparatively sullen to me during the rest of my stay; but I didn't care; I preened myself as something specially precious in the eyes of that woman, only then in the late twenties. The merry gleam in those pretty eyes, and the open flattery of her words made me each time only more resolutely de- termined to do and say whatever she wanted. It was a strangely glorious triumph over Carrie to be for an hour her Mother's favourite. The trenchant emphasis of that experience, because of my obvious enthusiasm over things and people, made me while with her, and under such supposed admiration, like a galvanized little Mercury flying hither and yon over personal subjects, and manoeuvering in speech for a better seat in the heaven of her regard. In my inflated vanity she suddenly made me feel a great dislike to others who gave me what, by comparison, seemed only a grudging appreciation. Praise was a benevolent germ, and its effects upon me even after all those pages were closed, made for much quiet elation in weeks and months that followed. I had no analy- tical knife to use, and no symbols to save me by showing that experience in its worthlessness. I had been too fevered with delight, and was too ignorant to measure values, not to fail to believe that I had fully justified myself. It was a triumph, for which I had waited a long time, and it only added new meanings and richness to facts of existence. And feelings, that I only began very slowly to comprehend years and years after, return to me when conscious of that great romantic longing to be first; interpreting itself to more mature feelings as the ultimate purpose, the dream and aspiration which is the "Open Sesame" of every woman's life. One afternoon my Aunt Nancy found me happily engaged and said quickly — "Come Neanie put up that book — Mrs. Benedict has come to take you for a long drive." "Oh! No, — No — No, Not Aria, I cried — I can't see her, — I can't. You know I look like her — Oh no" — and I tried not to cry but the tears were forced out of a huge lump in my throat, and I made a display of overwhelming grief while my enormously puzzled Aunt, unaware of the terrible experience that name recalled, distressed and annoyed but growingly determined argued a bit hotly until she led me a despairing little victim, trembling and tearful to the dreaded presi tl All the time confused with that returned mi8ery and fear the conflict raged within Oh! if I could hide somen here If I could get away I'm a visitor I'm a visitor. Mother said I must do whatever they asked but I'm not going to look at her I won't look ami I hung as far behind as 1 dared. I Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Just inside the door, listening to my Aunt's apologies — "She's out of sorts — she's had a fit of home-sickness I suppose" — I heard what made the blood race through every vein — "How she favours Orrington"! And with eyes still fixed on the ground the blessed words made a riot of joy when she repeated "I was saying, child, how very much you look like your Father. I hope you have his beautiful voice. Do you like music?" I gave a feeble assent, and too deeply interested to have time or desire for more tears I slowly lifted my eyes to the face quite close to mine Why! She wasn't so awful looking. She had on a big bonnet with a big blue bow on top and one tied under her chin, and a curl hung each side her face tucked a little inside that fine bonnet, and she was smiling. "We'll have some fine Christ- mas music. Get your things on quick." And soon in the carriage we whirled to the Music Hall, — a sacred place where I listened spell-bound to the Oratorio of The Messiah — My first sight of the High Altar — My first introduction into the realm of glorious sound — My first knowledge of the Divine language — My first kneeling at that Shrine where I have worshipped and swung incense ever since. Bewildered, with inexpressible delight I critically and secretly regarded my kind entertainer, and when I made my thanks in a state of open excitement, she smiled and said, "I'll have to plan it with your Aunt and take you to the theatre." She was no longer terrible — She had changed — She was a kind lady; and enormously difficult as it was for my tyrannous imagination I disputed with my first impres- sions, and all suddenly considered her as a sort of splendid investment to know and to feel as a part of our family. And that face that I had thought of such distinctive ugliness I found well worth reading, with its hidden writing of character that must have been plainly visible and so dear to those who loved her. Someone has aptly said, "That kindness is the most difficult quality to manifest because it demands the essence of sympathy." When she said "You are a delight- ful little girl to take out, and next week there are Play's of Shakespeare, and we'll go to hear "The Tempest" and "The Mid Summer Night's Dream," — to, show you that there are real Fairies. "I somehow felt her to be genuinely of my kind and unequivocally surrendered my dislike, and felt tempted to resent the recoil which at the outset had made me so pathetically wretched. And after that introduction to the Drama that opened a new country, those wonderful sights consecrated forever to me immensities of charm and sacrifice and heroism. When Edwin Booth, making his debut there, bowed to the ac- claim of that critical Boston audience, I was whirled into a wild and breathless world — a child in love — in love with Genius and Art. Oh! those symbols of infinity and spaciousness! Oh! the violence of delight that caught my breath — the overwhelming realization of the weird and wonder- ful—the unutterable joy as I sat forward in the seat with clasped hands and fixed eyes and throbbing heart. Some racing, twisting, turning feelings that could only afterward be paralleled when with a strong wrist on the bridle of a tearing thorough-bred, I have rushed through forests or over hills in the very heart of the Rockies. Booth looked like a streak of flame when he raised those splendid eyes and sent messages that I could catch, but not understand. Oh! the rollicking answer in me to the happy ending for the lovers. I was too obviously happy, with no words to express what, when you get right down to the fundamentals, all young hearts feel at the first revelation of romance. Strong winds blew over me, something stuck in my eyes and on hot cheeks as I drew up close to Mrs. Benedict, and kissed her gratefully when she took her leave and returned me to every-day life. She seemed to me, and yet I know not how to express it, to have an affectionate understanding of sanctities, human- ities, and spiritualities. She had talked to me as if to an equal, such was her sympathetic understanding of a child. No realization can be perfected in us that teaches human nature unless we have the gift of imagination, and among influences that were unconsciously mould- ing me, wherever associations moved freely and uncontrolled, was the quest of Page 43 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood adventure. And whatever has since linked my soul with the soul of beauty that Music and the Drama stirs to reverent worship is in eternal remembrance of that spirit of divine childhood lived amidst what most energizes and urges. The jumble of odds and ends in those days, the treasures and promises have sorted themselves out so that memories and impressions are tacked on to the right people and places, and all sorts of forgotten notions come into conscious- ness. To my mind, then in a world of uncertainties, there was but one thing to do, to grow up soon, to go upon the stage, and to play plays with Edwin Booth. I had no suspicion of difficulties or unrealities for a long time, everything else but that mimic life which tugged at my heart slipped into the background. It was extraordinary how adventurous and exciting life suddenly became. The twin arts, Music and the Drama, made for a new surprising life of freedom. It brought delicious poignant satisfaction that ran through the days like magic. It was no disturbing phenomenon, it was only a sum of addition. It seemed quite sane and sensible for me to read between the lines of all literary expression thereafter, in buoyant optimism and expectation, the grandeur of life on the Stage. THE LITTLE SOUTHERNER Bowdoinham, Maine. In the warm rays of the setting sun the past, not melting away, rises ever more clearly before me. Nothing of my early life seems very distant or indistinct, and today with all those years behind me, my Lake, stretching from infinite distance with the sunshine making dazzling glory, sings as always to create moods of adventure and revive the old dreams that used to make me so poignantly happy. Circumstances and temperament combined to make me an Optimist in the grain. Mine was a sort of insolent joy in life and with every physical care and comfort, the colour of my past tinged always the colour of my future. And as a school- girl of eleven I only missed for a time the vital accents of happiness. The family gathered at the old Maine homestead that Summer as usual. My Grandfather was changed, very listless and very tired — not interested as before, and I was warned not to disturb him. His mind stored with knowledge of life and men, no longer acted with its rapier clearness; he was very hollow-eyed, the lines had deepened between and around his eyes, there were dark circles under them, and in them no longer the old flashes of cynical humour. The cheeks fallen in and the skin like old ivory, made his countenance strange. But the full sig- nificance of his condition did not dawn upon me, only the undoubted fact that he was no longer interested in me caused at first a sharp pang. He looked oddly short and shrunken sitting in a rolling chair, and my chief memory is how strange a smile curled his lips, and how he raised one hand, the other limp and useless, and someway made for me a picture of splendid isolation. One day I crept close, and he frowned just a little as I asked timidly —"Oh! dear Grandfather, are you very sick?" Then he looked exactly at me and those dimmed blue eyes told their story all too plainly. Life no longer throbbed in face or voice and that twisted smile and futile effort to talk, plainly haunted me for long. My distress ending in a flood of tears and many inquiries, after that 1 was kept from the room although I took many a flying look at his closed door, and could not help knowing that he was stricken sorely. My beloved but broken Grandfather with a face carved in ivory, and lips still smiling that strange half smile! It was a picture I could not shake, I struggled with its unreality; but the heavy weight of loss at times made the blood seem to leave my heart. Hut that special Summer I Fell many a new thrill of admiration over tin- grace .mil beauty of my two youngesl Aunts, whose shining dark eyes and gloss] hair nippi '1 quickly any bud of vanity ever threatening to grow in me, and my flagrant tendency i" hold the centre of the stage and focus attention upon myseli was gone. I u.i in :■....,! temper with things around me ami there was quickening appreciably in me the love "i intrinsic beauty. Ami one thing was very different thai vacation. 1 went often to Grandfather Pagt a Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Lunt's, especially after my Aunt Dolly and her step-daughter Lou Burge arrived for a long deferred visit. I never lacked skill in making friendly approaches to girls of my own age and I quickly felt her sympathy and understanding. She was a clever little girl of middle height. She was dark-haired, with velvet black eyes, her hair was thick and vital and grew prettily round her slender neck. She had no freckles; I noticed her skin was smooth and dark, her features straight and clean, and face and eyes were alive with passionate distinction. She moved slower than any girl I had ever seen, and spoke with a soft drawl. She was all fire and flame even as a child, and she could repel with pettish words and gestures for her temper was not equal to her looks. I thought her very graceful and felt the fervent quality in her — She won allegiance with an effortless ease and we became friends with brave assumption on each side of self-dependence. Lou would tell me of her entire liberty at the Plantation, and I accepted every factor of that picturesque life of the South with enthusiasm. It was strange to me that she turned against bonds; the personal will in her always rebelling against the claims of those older; nature clamouring for entire freedom. If she was slow and drawled her words often, yet at times she talked as fast as the human tongue could go, and I was lost in admiration of her vocabulary. She was the first human being of my own age I'd ever met difficult to match or over-top. She told me her Ancestors were Knights, "Such as you read about you know", and threw up her little chin a moment, continuing — "When they died they were all laid in rows and rows of great Vaults, and they had swords and armour too — You can read in history about them, and how they wore knee- breeches and walked in armour and carried big swords and were splendidly hand- some like Princes." Her little oval face was flushed and she looked proud enough to assist in highest functions at Westminster, and to have Manor Houses to be- stow on us all! Well! however useless such knowledge she disturbed me with it — I could only reply that my Grandfather said we were direct lineal descendants from the ancient Grays of England, and so Lady Jane Grey belonged to my family and I supposed Oliver Cromwell and perhaps Queen Elizabeth, for anyway they were — Grandfather had told me — very distinguished people of the name of Grey. She looked at me scornfully "Lady Jane Grey had her head chopped off and never had any children, and Queen Elizabeth wasn't married either." I looked at her resentfully, and I certainly didn't chasten myself at that point with any knowledge or belief as to how the mighty Grays had fallen to our first American Ancestor, whose epitaph on the tombstone in Old Plymouth graveyard reads simply — "Here lies ye body of Edward Gray, Gentleman" — I merely continued proudly boastful, and Lou frowned listening to my further statements. She had entirely disassociated self consciousness and disbelief from her features, and both of us recovering equanimity, merriment and satisfaction ensued. She had concluded me a worthy playmate wherever our family Mansions or mythical Estates were situated! We were both plainly mere vessels of emotion, and phases of much earlier childhood lurked in our speech and aspect. The hours were like bubbles in which so much that was unreal was reflected. When childhood's hours are weighted with happinesses that have no true names they are as fragile as they are beautiful. And little indeed do we know that ugly or ordinary things are critical crises, and if beautiful weeks of joy are to be sound in their effects idealism must never be destroyed. That will save and prove itself. We talked very freely together and I told her all sorts of little intimate things about which I was habitually reticent, for frankness itself hides when it dreads criticism or amused comment, and often after I had ceased talking some remark of the young Aunts or one of the elders would make me feel I was nothing but a born prattler. One thing is certain those gay members of the household, or of the family, never tried to patch up things with the younger generation. There were never quarrels or estrangements in our immediate circle, but the younger ones were relatively indifferent or critical, and, as I had no sister and neither Joe nor my little cousins were with me in the Gray homestead, I gladly adopted Page 45 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood this little Southerner whose voice was as persistent and ready as my own. I felt a sort of shock when I heard hot and unexpected declarations of dis- like to any members of her own family, and sometimes she'd say — "I've made a vow I'll never never when I'm grown up have anything to do with So-and-So" — And she'd draw back as if trying to shake off a grip, as if nerves were shrinking, as if there was some invincible interior recoil. It was curiously as if the child were struggling to free herself — forcibly facing away from things as they were — with now and then sensations of impotent wrath, and yet all such temporary revolt was easily appeased — sometimes gone as rapidly as it had come. Lou had no looseness about her, no lack of firmness and she could strike boldly if upset by a touch. As far as she was concerned emotionally there was an instinctive certitude in her responses, in the swiftness of her speech and in the changes of her mood. Lou was haughty even to her Step-mother whose every impulse, every word was tenderness. My Aunt Dolly had a subtly expressive countenance, human kindness could hardly speak more plainly in a human face; her keen intelligence was free from personal preoccupation; hers was a warm Christian outlook on the whole world. There was something arresting, something noble in both my Father's sisters. And my Aunt Dolly's dark brows arching on a white forehead, her lux- uriant mass of wavy grey hair coiled back on a head so like Father's; a head well carried as though conscious of ancestry and tradition, yet in character she was too benignant to realize or count upon anything so extraneous. She was wise and humanly beneficent — Sweetened by generosity and sympathy she took upon her own shoulders many burdens and many needs. She bore her responsibilities and met her emergencies, and gave comfort, enjoyment and service without stint or any troublesome reflections. She rejoiced to see us together and encouraged every indication of intimacy. We had fallings out of course, both so positive and self assured, but they were like the filmiest of summer clouds floating mistily for a second, and melting into the blue before one really saw or felt the least danger of dimming the sunshine of unclouded youth and gaiety. Alas! one careless remark of mine, made with no foreboding of possible disaster, precipitated trouble prophetic in its nature and its threat of ultimate rupture. Many of Lou's words and my hot replies have left their lasting imprint — but even when words have apparently left no impression upon the memory the scenes of that period of my life cast on such simple lines, the fact of those experiences, the knowledge of the people and familiarity of surroundings, the effects of time and place and their long after results, all unite to bring back easily, and to make real exactly what in that early period was said and done. I can see again just how we looked and spoke because in the nature of things, realizing my own feelings and recalling those events, the whole series that led up to climaxes of sensation comes back forcibly — emotions voice themselves naturally and with characteristic spirit and expression. It is then that with a surge of recollection and feeling the words themselves, largely as they were spoken, ac- curately as they told their story, come back to me. We had come in from the orchard up into the small hall bedroom called the library, with its one large book-case, a table and two or three chairs on one of which Lou had climbed, and stood up to rummage the upper shelf, to be sure noth- ing was hidden away from us. Suddenly my eye caught the title of that shabby old volume, accounting for the careless question -- " Did you know Grandfather Lunl called Byron a bail book?" "Byron was a man, and he was a Lord and he's I looking I saw his picture It's " Byron's Works", don't you know enough to peak it right?— Bui Grandfather never read it; I have, and it's a beautiful book." Being very much chagrined over the nature of her rebuke, the justness of ii criticism appealing, I Was Bilenced for a moment but rallied to remark sting- ingly "Oh! you think you're verj smart and know more than anybody else n must be bad, I believe ( Irandfat her, you aren't right always." "I know bad 1 1. 1 and i know the very wickedesi one, It's "Unclt Tom's Cabin'*, for a Pagt ■!'< Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood second I was dumb and then shouted irritably, "Why Lou Burge, You don't know anything — That book is nice — I say it isn't wicked — I say you're crazy" — and with no deference or any reserve politeness for her as a visitor I added the un- necessary slight — "And I guess you are wicked yourself." She grew more excited. She was clean mad — carried away by something she had heard or remembered — but I interrupted raising my voice, my heart beating proudly and with some sense of power — "I tell you "Uncle Tom's Cabin" is a fine book, — You never read it — Everybody knows its fine." Her cry nearly rang through the house — "No, I wouldn't read it — My Uncle said he wouldn't touch it with the tongs — They ought to make a bon-fire as tall as the sky to burn them all up." But the ordeal of battle was not over, for she added scathingly "Wicked yourself! — I reckon you-all are wicked — I reckon you-all are black inside. Yes! you-all are black inside, — Worse than niggers, — Worse than pore white trash — I hate you Yankees — You-all are common." And my shocked silence was the price of her triumph. I was dazed, humiliated, bewildered — and I had long after a picture of her as she stood, that little figure drawn to its full height pointing at me with blazing eyes the finger of scorn. Those flashing eyes! and that face crimson with the hot blood of her race was photographed upon my brain. "For Shame! Children, How can you quarrel so?" The furious tones had resounded through the house. There was something oddly direct, oddly compelling in the level steady glance of my Aunt Dolly's grave unsmiling eyes. Always self possessed, always gentle and sympathetic there was now as she stood before us no sense of unfinished youth anywhere about her. She was the Judge, the experienced woman, and a very determined and decided one. We had been fighting as truly as if we had used weapons of steel instead of sharp words. And we were not willing to pick up what we had lost. It was still rage in both hearts with no desire for reconciliation. I slipped by and got myself blindly into the hall, as she addressed her step-daughter in reproof, but could beat no retreat. "Don't run away — Come here Neanie — You poor child! — Lou, How could you, dear? — Why you two are cousins," but the little Southerner could not be silenced. "She called "Uncle Tom's Cabin" a nice book — She said we were a wicked set — She is nothing but a Yankee." — "There, There! not another word — Now listen both of you — You don't either of you know what you mean. You Lou, are rude and ill-bred to call names. You're a visitor, and I'm ashamed that you shouldn't behave better. The Northerners are just the same as Southerners. Some are very fine — and some are not like our people. You don't like everybody down there! — Neanie — You see that book isn't true, I mean it says lots of things that aren't true. It makes you believe lots of things that aren't true." There was neither invective nor sarcasm in her quiet words as she proceeded to tell me how they took care of all their slaves, saw they had clothes and plenty to eat, and looked after every one of them when they were sick, and that they all had little cabins of their own on the place. And I never forgot the emphasis of her closing sentence — "It takes over a hundred of our slaves to pick the cotton, and if you could only hear them singing while they work or when they sit in their own cabins sometimes, you'd know they were happy and taken good care of. There are cruel and wicked people everywhere all over the world, but down South we don't any of us know such terrible ones as she writes about." My Aunt Dolly in her benevolence saw only her own and her neighbours Plantations. She had experienced only the Patriarchal system, and kindness to the core herself she could not conceive of injustice or tyranny. It only illustrates that truth that we all cut the diagram of human nature by our own limitations. Curious when one begins to think of a subject how it crops up at most unexpected times and in most unexpected places. I verily believe looking back that I perceive objects not visible to those of us who always depend on the usual senses — That is — I can see these things of which I now write without my eyes; but certain things are very curious and yet are all capable of a natural explanation in coming back to me, marching again into my field of vision as if they all actually stood up before the camera for it to take afresh the old-time pictures. There are faint differences Page 47 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood of course, sometimes a sort of shadowiness, sometimes almost a lack of definition because indistinct and so far off, to you who read — But I can smile at my feeblest efforts, and I am held so that I can neither turn away nor forget. My Aunt talked long and wisely. She drew us both figuratively as well as literally into her arms, and we were both finally reduced to apparently friendly relations, but were neither fully thawed nor at all altered in our mental attitudes. Lou's tones of scorn echoed and re-echoed. "I hate you Yankees, you-all are common." I had been chilled, dashed down from my high perch, and the humilia- tion of that encounter, the recoil and futile dislike it engendered, would have lasted long and killed all affection but for the skill and tact with which we were handled. We shook hands before I stole away but neither of us were going beaten from the field. I had a fancy that in both cases our strength was spent. I realized long after that hour of revealment that we had reached each other understandingly. Those words spoken in sharp detached particles that hurt swept so much aside — and it was momentous and revealing — but the force was not evil. We were both true to our standards. We were only riven apart by a blinding stroke, and Aunt Dolly's wise and tender touch connected for us the two edges of conscious thought. Aunt Dolly knew the signs — Knew a receptive mind from an inquiring one, and had understood the peculiar mental excitement in each of us. As I ascended the steps and entered the larger living-room at the homestead I so shrank from its recollection that I tried to slip through unseen. But there was Aunt Beulah Patten talking to my Grandmother, and the loveliest looking old lady ever seen, Aunt Hannah Gray, who had just come from Grandfather's room and there were tears in her eyes. Aunt Beulah was always smiling, humorous and kind, and now she called out — "Don't run away — What's the matter? You look peaked" — and out it came! They all laughed at being called "Yankees", and Sarah Ann Fulton who came in with my Aunt Sarah in time to hear the tragic tale, cried out, "Mercy Sakes! What do you care? They don't know us and we don't know them, and don't want to I guess. You'd better give your Grandfather Lunt's the go-by for a while, I should think Dolly Burge ought to make that young one she brought North behave better." But something stirred in my heart to defend her. "I said just as bad as I could, and I wanted to make her mad" — and in a subtle sense not comprehending it at all I seemed to see that if we wanted to keep something good and sweet we must not stop loving but snatch at the joy of being together. The thought of little Lou and Aunt Dolly being so severely blamed brought about in me a complete recovery from anger or aversion. Aunt Beulah invited me to spend the next day with her. She always gave me seed-cakes and awfully thick cream over the blueberries when I made her visits and I loved to go there. Her daughter Nannie was very pretty but very fat. She drank cream they said. Everybody laughed and had a good time at Aunt Beulah's. I guess there were no shadows or clouds hanging over the home. It was a lovely farm and they were dear and lovely people. On the second day after that, Aunt Dolly brought her little stepdaughter and came to the Gray house to spend the afternoon. She and my Aunts were great friends having grown up together from childhood. Lou's sparkle had DO sobering touch as we met again. She was a born charmer and something had completely tranquillized her. I felt the summons of her warm and impulsive nature. It answered to mine. The inner doors opened — Our hearts met-— We forgot differ- ences, — We felt the call of an acknowledged kinship. We glowed comfortably in happy sunshine far removed from angry clouds or the bl.uk background of battle, for years after t hat siimmcr it was a reign of peace All ! God that it could not have lasted I Why! Why should enmities burrow in and burn until llie\ Hash into destructive flame? It was a supreme chance that parted us for ever. And ROW I look back to that last day we spent together, to the last time 1 ever Iter and I cannot forbear speaking just here of a little scene, and some words thai surprised and gave me a thrill of pleasure unqualified, as all praises of those dear to us invariabl) must. Lou said to me what seemed at first a funny thing It BOUnded SI if il came out of a book "1 think jroUl Mother is statuesque." Pe i Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood My Mother always impressed me as tall, but she is not above medium height, only with a figure very straight and slender so that seeming height only adds to the extreme grace and dignity of her carriage. She has fair hair that shows a natural wave and is abundant, and large eyes of hazel or grey; dear deep eyes that look out upon the world always serene and yet with a touch of sadness and something indefinable. All that I felt, as I looked at the little speaker, but I could not then have put it into words. All I said was to quote Grandfather — "They say Mother was beautiful." — "Well she is, only she's very pale and they say she's very delicate, but she makes everybody comfortable, I like to be near her and I like to look at her." Whatever tests or trials my Mother met must have early opened her eyes to the calls and claims of others — to sorrows and disappointments perhaps — most certainly to the exigencies and demands of life we face daily. As I grew older my sensations were sometimes vivid as I looked and noticed the lines and shadows on that delicate countenance, that gave a touch of sadness and meaning that young faces never have. It is the great in spirit who have no affectations, know no jealousies, acquire a sort of infinite patience or gentle tolerance and never know fears of losing place or position, wherever they may be, or with whomever they are associating. My Mother never appraised human beings by possessions instead of personal attributes. She was very fastidious in tastes and habits, but she never showed that instinct of criticism of which she was not devoid, where it could hurt or wound anyone. All this returns to my mind in such vividness and strength that, almost the actual surroundings are here, and I am back at my Grandfather Lunts once more and see again the Little Southerner's bright face, and realize that she never har- boured unkind feelings long however unexpected or ominous her outbreaks. We two flew on swift wings of confidence until the eternal division came. There is no vagueness and no imperfect memory of that companionship. It is even clearer and less incomprehensible from my childhood's point of view than what so often and necessarily hung about my intercourse with grown people. That summer gave me surpassing views of beauty and peace, a sort of tran- quilness grew in me and, but for my Grandfather Gray's continued illness and close confinement to the closed room, the joy of its many experiences would have filled me to overflowing. But no days passed wholly without thoughts of him and memories of his undeviating kindness never lost poignancy or strength. It was all mysterious, inexplicable, deadly that I could no longer see or talk to him. The Gray homestead had lost so much of its charm. It had lost its stately Head that embodied such dignity and hospitality. There was something pain burdened in the atmosphere. And invariably I rebelled at the authoritativeness that shut me out from vision and association with the beloved invalid. I was always regret- fully aware of the fact I could not get away from that Grandfather was changed, that he no longer listened to what was said — and that no one must trouble to question or interrupt the train of thought in which he seemed so strangely, so completely wrapped up. He had never been unsympathetic. He had never before waved me aside — The few times I saw him he looked as if he did not see me — as if I did not exist, and I knew he must not be bothered, but did not know enough to understand that he would never again be free to occupy himself as of yore, or that never again could I look in his eyes, hang on his words or draw spiritual and intellectual strength from his store of knowledge and reservoir of experience, never got away from hope — because I had never known its failure to warm the hearts, and bring back life to the death-stricken. No intimate possessions of the Past have lost meaning nor have any been rudely wrenched away from me. They belong now as they did then, and if happiness in age is sometimes crossed by melancholy recollection I quickly shut the doors on any reproachful emptiness of the present. I write for you — Oh! Children of our blood! You that are here — You that will come after — And I am still touched with excitement recounting fancies and feelings that flooded everything with sunlight. Page 49 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE SECOND YEAR Nevvburyport, Mass. Memories as I write seem to be drawn up into the light as vivid as if the long line of years between had been only a "Watch in the Night". One day Grandmother beckoned to me, led me into the unused parlour where I delighted to curl up on the quaint and charming old sofas and where I used to hide because I could read without interruption. Grandmother startled and sur- prised me. She began to talk so seriously about my duties to try to save my Mother extra cares — "You see Neanie, they have the new house to settle in and a great many new responsibilities. If you will go quietly back to Newburyport for another year you can have all your vacations here, or in Boston with Aunt Nancy, and it will save a lot of trouble to know you are at a good school and well looked after, only when you are asked what you wish most to do, remember to be unselfish, and to say "Yes" when the proposition to return is made." Who was it that said, "That Love was so warm a thing and Heroism so chilly in its loneliness?" There was very little of the heroic in me but I was quick to feel, sympathetic to new ideas and insatiably interested in Life. I had the growing knack of sinking into my surroundings, tolerant of many sides and views — But this was too much — I burst into tears. I had found shelter, a sense of comforting protection — And to lose it again? — But I was quick to receive impressions and heard in grave almost displeased tones — "I thought you loved your Mother too much to let her know you wouldn't do what was best" — And I struggled for the self-possession my Mother always demanded in her children. With the readiness of the supposed delinquent whose conscience was stirred, I finally declared willing- ness to do whatever Grandmother would advise. God judges by our intentions, we are told, by those astonishing individuals who appear to have inside information on the subject, and I accepted Grand- mother's dictum as law and never breathed reluctance again. By and by one can put labels on experience, know the meaning better or better how to decide and what to expect, but then I was in a maze of bewilderment and plausibility, and suddenly but unconsciously rudderless, incapable of any decision and with no other choice of action — No voice in the matter — A little puppet merely of destiny which took me back to Newburyport. As an isolated incident it was all very trivial but it was symptomatic of the chronic state of things with my relatives, who thought it certain for me to be spoiled and selfish: And in that circle and atmosphere I was conscious of something never felt before and I could not mitigate any shadow of disapproval. It always seemed inevitable — For either through clumsiness, or honesty, or stubborncss, or pride, I began, even at the homestead, to feel never long out of trouble. \\ hen Mother was away I found myself easily put in the wrong. Perhaps Grandfather's illness, and my many questions, perhaps as no longer a little girl I was irritating. And memories and experiences that Summer shut me into a lane of thought intimate and isolated. That second year the qualities that developed and the influences that produced them came out in the Journal, nothing strange or unexpected marked the days that slipped into weeks and months; Fall, Winter and Spring, and the various entries recount little for the first term. My small interests may seem far out o\ reach but never secret. I never isolated myself from the Others for 1 was never COld nor inhospitable. I was ready to share what I had, all except the mastering visions which Faith fed, but which never really materialized. The glamour of honourable ancestors threw an unconscious light around me, and my thoughts, my motives, my every expression in the disturbing change back to rules and orders, in to lad, all the distaste and fear, and native cheerfulness was triumphant. I wa>, never difficull to understand for there were no mysteries t0 bailie the ob- server, but fed so long on hooks of adventure, on romances, plays and poems, wild yarns and Btrange fancies, all Buch avenues of escape were again closed. 1 shall never forgel mj overwhelming joy when behind some heavj coats in ■ closet I'nyr SO Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood holding our Winter wraps, I found a parcel wrapped tight in newspapers and opening discovered to my gloating eyes two novels by Julia Kavanagh, "Nathalie" and "Adele", respectively, evidently hidden for no eyes to see but the unknown offender or owner. Exultantly I seized them, and with no single pang of conscience appropriated for the time, the privilege of surreptitious reading, with a relish no other fiction had given. Sharpened by my long denial I adored my chance in the night hours to light the candle after the others slept, and live with those fair heroines; while fascinated I wished a thousand times I could bear such enchanting names, and be either a Nathalie or Adele, or both merged in one! To learn to wear a mask on occasions, to have life begin to develop as the drama of realities but also as the drama of disguises even in little things — That leads to the devices of decep- tion and should be feared and dreaded. But mine was a gay optomistic sort of conscience that worked cheerily and gave me no trouble. Of course it had few questions and no serious disturbances to deal with, the former were answered by my instilled beliefs, which were always in marching order and had guided me nicely enough with no heavy weights of doubt or desire to sustain. How I was to be stirred when burdens were to be carried — Ah! that is another affair, — So I progressed agreeably distracted by the simplest events and never any discomfort to myself. I had grown used to precepts and rules of discipline and Stoddard's Latin Grammer, pushed hard against the world of dreams that no longer invaded the waking hours, for gradually the monotonous days conquered the free hearted days of my young life. But no real concentration of power in the pursuit of knowledge ensued; no streams of information filled the empty spaces where fancy used to breed. It was all foolish repetitions to me of Latin Verbs and Parsing exercises of English Grammer, and dry Geography, and History without vitality, and those awful lessons in mental arithmetic, and Prayers — Prayers — Prayers in plenty, that frequently made tempestuous panic in me for all sober contemplation or sense of sacredness was gone. It became now a sort of chilling immensity to think of God, Heaven and Hell — an unreasoning thought-stopping state that blotted out the sunlight and that created unbearable ideas of pitiless and inexorable doom. The Deity was dressed up it always seemed as a sort of gigantic crushing Presence, a monstrous Ruler of the Universe that by degrees would fill the victims of his Omniscience with a frenzy of fear. That hovering danger might tower over us, but did not really grasp or grapple long with me. I was acquainted with a very human God on a great white Throne, very old and very benign, most vivid when most incredible: and close beside him, where streets were golden and harps playing, a miraculous Christ, Lover of Little Children. As to the Holy Spirit, which I was taught as necessary to a Triune God, He was a stranger, very shadowy as to power or being, but the names of the Trinity were familiar and tripped easily on the tongue. Who can measure the amount of elision necessary in childhood as in maturity to keep in strict accordance with the Protestant faith? I suppose it is what we think about, and do, when we are little, that makes all the difference afterwards. The friendly candle-light by which I read, when at last alone and the cousin who shared my room asleep, flickered only a little while at a time as I perused in passionate joy Miss Kavanagh's novels. I feared discovery and the sure judg- ment that would be pronounced, but my pluck continued undeniable and the chronic half-despairing hunger for more seemed to have all of my past self in its composition. Outlines of character were being emphasized and soft contours of childhood within and without were chiselled away. Certain longings find their way surely by some mysterious process from heart to brain; and the mildest punishments I took stoically, yet with an ever growing fear of calamity. Hence the unnoticed impulse to become quiet and self-centred. Certain disasters make one sensitive and secretive, and yet kill self-reproach. As I look down this minute from the little old Journal in my hand to select entries made that last year, truthful records and characteristic; I smile and not Page .,-/ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood sadly because I know well they will amuse the young members of our family for whom I am writing at special request. In themselves they are not specially inter- esting, having such common-place incidents and no adventures, but they are ac- curate accounts of a child's daily life and feeling. If not therefore intrinsically entertaining, as experiences they came hot at the time from the friction or monotony of those days. It is sixty-eight years ago and I shall copy without one altered word as I make these excerpts. October 1855. I have decided to change my name. I have just been re-reading Mrs. Stone's "Dred", and Nina Gordon was her creation as heroine. Why shouldn't I be Nina instead of Neanie? Mother was named for the Roman Empress Cornelia Augusta, and so they called me Neanie from Babyhood. Grandfather told me all about it, and that my Uncle Horace was Horace Augustus Gray, and that Aunt Elizabeth was named for Lady Elizabeth Lawrence, Countess of Lancaster; and he told me about Caesar's wife and Caesar the Emperor of Rome, only my Uncle William Gray was named for William Patten his Grandfather, and Aunt Helen for Helen Marr, but I forget the rest but it is no matter. I want my name Nina, and if they laugh I don't care, and I am going to sign it every time just that. October ig. It has been a beautiful day — no clouds — radiance of sunlight. I feel light- hearted since Carrie told me Miss Davis said she rejoiced when my music days came because I had such good lessons — And when I tell her so "her eyes sparkle and she looks so bright and pleased". She said all that, and now it is so seldom that Miss Davis commends anyone that I feel very much nattered. I began to take "The Child of the Regiment" with variations today. Oh! I love Music — ■ Miss Julia who has returned from Boarding-school plays very well, and I was stand- ing in the hall listening yesterday while she played for Mr. Leslie, who comes so often to see Miss Mary, and Miss Mary came to the door and called me in, and said without asking me, "Now Neanie will play to you". I did not answer, I was covered with confusion. "You would like to give us pleasure would you not, Neanie? Mr. Leslie is very fond of music." I arose and played the "Bloomer Waltzes" and Mr. Leslie said "That was a grand piece" and Miss Julia jumped up and asked "Well? Can't you play another or aren't you ready?" I felt queer and hot, and marched to the piano stool and played the "Aurora Waltzes", and Mr. Leslie wanted to know how long I had taken lessons and I heard him whisper to Miss Mary, "A bright child", and they all went off to hear a great violinist named Ole Bull. Oh I wish I was grown up and could go to Concerts too. November 2. I have not written here for a good while because there was nothing to say. I am tired to death of the sameness of everything. Oh! how I long for some excite- ment and gaiety such as I have read of, but that is never to be had at any price here. We have the most beautiful sunsets here that I ever saw. Miss Mary calls them Indian Summer Sunsets and she told us last evening exactly how Thanks- giving came about and I will relate the tale as nearly in her words as possible. When our forefather's had been at Plymouth some time they did not have any rain and everything began to dry up. If the crops were ruined they would have no chance for life. The Indians would come and kill a lot of them and take the rest into captivity and bitter winter would shut them in and Famine would stare all our noble Ancestors in the face. What a situation for our Pilgrim Fathers, for the lonely exiles who came over to be free to worship God. In great distress but greal faith they appointed a day to assemble together , It was Very warm and very bright and not a cloud to be seen. They prayed steadib all the morning and iu the afternoon the)' again assembled for the same purpose. My Goodness! they 11111 1 have been tired! on their knees all day. Miss M.irv did not say that bin I do. She told us that at last while they were all on their knees and their head', bowed down that .1 cloud c.iiiii' up 110 bigger than a man's hand, and it grew .uid v\iw mil il ii OOVered the whole Heavens, and the rain began fast and furious until the whole earth w.r. be i u I i f ullv watered. Kverv t hi AS w.is relreshed .ind Pagt ;■ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood everybody was awfully happy, and when all the Graneries were filled, being tre- mendously happy, they called a big meeting to thank God for his unbounded goodness. And ever since we have had a Thanksgiving Day and get Turkey and Pies and good things to eat and are very thankful. On the whole I think she told it very well and she ended with two conundrums: What is Joan of Arc made of? She is Maid of Orleans. And Why are Stars the best Astronomers? Because they have studded the Heavens for centuries. I guessed that last one pretty quick, and was praised because Miss Mary said it was not as easy as the first one. November 12. Friday night I told Mary Waldron to be sure and wake me Saturday morning so I could practice a whole hour before breakfast. Well! I was sleeping soundly, dreaming pleasant dreams when something terribly solid pounced on me — A violent shake which made my head ache and sparks fly before my eyes — "Get up — Come — Get up if you want to practice — It is high time, Neanie, that you were at it." I could hardly open my eyes, sleep was overcoming but conquering it I got out of bed, lit the candle and someway got into some clothes and finishing my toilette, candle in hand, I crept down the stairs. Mercy! how dark it was and cold as ice. As I looked at the big clock I stood stock-still with fright. It was half-past twelve and gruesome enough, awful still, and I shivered like everything. I just turned quick, the flame flickered and the light blew out, and I almost cried out just like a coward. I tell you I flew upstairs, afraid at mid-night and I could not tell of what, for I don't really believe in ghosts but I wouldn't want to see one — but I confess I did not enjoy peregerinating alone at that dismal hour. When I got to my room Mary was snoring and I know she was pretending. I just slipped off my shoes and my dress and put on my night-gown over my other clothes and crept back into bed. And after a refreshing sleep I was shaken hard again. It almost hurt me and I don't know why she wanted to be so mean as to keep it up so long. But I asked her to be sure I was awake, so I had no just reason to find fault. I descended those old stairs again and it was twenty-five minutes after five. It wasn't worthwhile to go back, I had to wait half an hour as six is the rising time, and I snooped round but couldn't find any books except the New Testament on top of the Family Bible, so I sat down in a corner of the room and in the interval I thought what a beauteous little person Margery Brewster was. She sits in front of us at Church and I love her looks, but I have read "The Mer- chant of Venice" lately and I wish little Brewster was named Portia, she looks just as pretty, and wise enough when she keeps still, but I don't think after all she could ever be called a "Daniel come to Judgment". It was about this time in the second year that I began to feel more truly drawn toward and interested in Mrs. Spaulding's daughters. Miss Mary must have had great tenderness of heart. I think all the girls loved her, and those who speak to the heart of children have a tenderness and warmth of nature that cannot be mistaken however cool the surface. I often thought her lovely to look at. She was pale — rather shadowy — a delicate thin face with small well defined features and dark rather haunting eyes. She was always quiet and at times aloof as if living in another world; yet recalling those days I remember we appealed to Miss Mary and begged her offices to help us out of small troubles. Her sympathy for us, or rather the understanding when we had been brought to judgment for various offences, argued something very sweet and generous. Something in the mind and heart of that young Teacher must have revealed itself, and it could not have come from my imagination because certain essential personal experiences were not lacking. That system of education which forces the intellectual at the expense of the ardent and engaging qualities of youth never troubled or endangered us in the Newburyport School, yet I know for those days we were carefully taught and a Page S3 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood foundation was relatively well laid. I think I must admit that it was in effect more lasting in its benefit and more conscientious in its guidance than any later curriculum offered. There was a quality of precision about Miss Mary's teaching and many of her observations sowed seeds that later might flower. Her face rises before me through all the mists of years. She was unusually fastidious I think, always refined in speech and manner. She had a cold way of looking at people and things, but it seemed to melt when she was with the young recruits in life that she taught. One felt her superiority and something fine in her made the grip of her personality unforgettable. Miss Mary never had the high spirits that on occasions marked her sister Julia, who was evidently a tremendous favourite in outside circles as well as in her immediate family. Most of the time away at school or visiting somewhere her reappearance always stirred us. It had the effect of novelty. And once I remember it so clearly — it was one of her vacations — She had just returned and like a little whirlwind or burst of sudden sunlight her greeting gave us all a sort of electric delight. "Oh you little darlings! You darling little flutter-budgets! Oh I'm so glad to see you!" We were instantly alive to her cheer. She looked so flushed and happy. It kindled a swift response and warmed us to admiration. And then she laughed and talked with us and made everything a joke until we became equally gay and pleased and very proud of her attentions. She was so bright and told such a funny story that I was almost helpless with laughter and wished she'd stay with us forever. Miss Julia had shining dark eyes that matched her glossy black hair. She was of distinct brunette type, complexion creamy and smooth, lips red and well turned but very little colour otherwise unless she became excited, and then it came and went, but never stayed. She was impulsive I think, perhaps a little imperious, possibly a bit exacting, but she could cast a spell whenever she chose. One night just after we four up in the front chamber were safely between the sheets there came a light tap upon the door. Up we started in our beds, a blinking quartette and speechless, for suddenly a fairy all in white danced in and dazzled us. There Miss Julia stood a candle in hand, which she first carefully placed upon the wash-stand, and then pirouetted round, whirling those be-rufHed skirts while we looked on too astonished to speak. She called out gaily still ballooning for our benefit, — "Well girls, how do you like my new dress? I'm going to the party." "You're awfully pretty", I answered, still bewildered at the vision in that small circle of wavering light — for she looked so dainty and flower-like in her billowing spreading skirts, that might have been mistaken for leaves of white encircling some blossom of Spring. The thin material of India muslin or tarleton was ruffled to the waist, and as she continued to turn swiftly this way and that she seemed embedded in flowing waves, and held to earth only by a broad sash of flying yellow ribbon that tied her tiny waist and floated like wings behind. Thus she looked to me a denizen of a happier world and, as she darted out quickly as she had flashed in, the words called back brought us down to the tacts of time and place. "Go to sleep now children; — Good-night Good-night, I'll tell you about it tomorrow." But sleep was not for us until \vc had talked it over with eagerness, talked of parties and line dresses and discussed the glowing picture in that new one just displayed. "It was nice of Miss Julia to show it to us, 1 think," and Mary Waklron who always assumed knowledge ol everything ivered carpingl) "I knew all about it, I knew she was going to the Brewsters' party I knew she was having a new dress I heard them all talking. I don'i think Julia awfull) pretty. Win did you say so, Nfeanie? h will make her vainer than Bhe is." "Oh shut up, Mary, you are alwa\s finding fault", I :ilv, Kill she interrupted: "Her mother thinks she's a wonder and she s If, and I Buppose she expects to catch a beau." And 1 burst out, "She has Several anyway. ( n ionise she has all the beaux she wants and she doesn't have i" hum for themjyou'd better keep still you'd have to look a long time befoi ne. You aren'l prett] enough. I say Julia Spaulding is ten times tiei than anyon< else in this house." And then with a sudden twinge oi loyalty, - Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "Except Carrie Reed" — and determinedly I got my head under the bed-clothes to keep from hearing her angry retorts, — daunted by her first words — "You're not much on looks yourself, and a perfect baby anyway — so stupid — you never see anything going on." And as I neither heard nor spoke a word of defense the tumult subsided. Silence fell but sleep was still afar off. As Miss Julia was only sixteen and that her first large party my assurance of her wealth of admirers sounded a bit premature, but I had felt a new wave of admiration for her, and a fresh wave of dislike for her detractor, and I lay awake a long time wondering how it would feel to be all dressed up like that; to look so pretty and to have plenty of Beaux! Episodes that live in memory easily recon- struct themselves. They come forth from the invisible where memories dwell and hide. One other memorable occasion when reproof was sharply administered to my disagreeable room-mate probably helped on her enmity of which I was unaware — knew little and cared less. It was study hour one afternoon when Miss Mary came in arrayed in a dress we had never seen before, probably fresh from the dressmaker. It was a sort of orange or salmon coloured cashmere with brown leaves stamped in figures all over it. It just fitted tight her trim little figure. It was high-necked and had large flowing sleeves, she wore a wide lace collar and fluted lace under-sleeves. She came in smiling, and said, — "Now children, here I am just to find out how observing you can be, and who has the quickest eyes. Look me all over and tell what is wrong about my dress." She looked so slim and neat I couldn't see a single defect. We were all staring, but it hardly took a second for Carrie to find out — "Why it's your belt, — of course, it doesn't match." It was a narrow belt ribbon fastened tight round that miniature waist, of a steel shade, quite grey instead of brown. We all verified the criticism with characteristic exclamations as Miss Mary continued, "Yes, Carrie, your bright eyes caught on at once. The belt should be the exact shade of the leaves. It's very much off colour, and de- cidedly wrong of the dressmaker to make such a mistake, but I've sent for an- other. You must all cultivate powers of observation, they are so necessary for us — our eyes were given us to see, and to really see we have to think and look close." Miss Mary symbolized refinement and some poetry, anyway to me things of the Spirit; and I hated to have it all cut into or cut off by sharp biting remarks. Mary Waldron always arrogated superiority on account of her advanced years I supposed — She had passed her fifteenth birthday lately. She was blind to true values apparently in those about her, and she regarded those of our ten or twelve years as too inferior to have their opinions worth noticing. Consequently she was given to snubbing us. Her daily consciousness was permeated with what she represented to herself, and now she sniffed with more than usual assumption, "I don't see how anybody could make that mistake. I saw it right off but I didn't want to burst in." "Didn't you hear what Miss Mary said?" interpolated Carrie. Mary's following remark was entirely irrelevant. "Mrs. Spaulding is proud as Lucifer and thinks her daughters something extra." At once Carrie's easy grace and sprightly spontaneity took up the cudgels. Hers was an entire lack of self-restraint when irritated by any open injustice of attack, or by any crass rudeness which she instinctively recognized and resented, and self-confidence was her strong point, for Carrie's abilities and clever retaliation seemed always to answer any precise test as now. "You probably never had such a nice dress in your whole life, Mary Waldron"; and I topped off with challenging energy and independence — "No, of course she hadn't, and she couldn't wear such a dress anyway, it takes a real lady, and nice looking at that to wear such a dress." "I don't call it very nice and I wouldn't wear one like it. It isn't one bit stylish." "Oh! Stylish! Much you know about that," laughed Carrie in open scorn, and, "You'd look a fright anyway". "You nasty little Chits", she cried, and tore for the door which she banged violently behind her. "We got her that time, cross old thing! Oh Neanie! Wouldn't she look awful in a dress like Miss Mary's?" Page 55 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Some ruling characteristic of Carrie's temperament made her like to measure herself with perfect glee against anyone who had overstepped bounds of propriety; and whoever disregarded the amenities she marked down for attack. Carrie com- placently regarded the world as far as I could ever find out as divided between two classes, the well-bred and the ill-bred. She never herself in company, or in ordinary interchanges, was rough, crude or common in her speech or behaviour. Her judgment never seemed in suspension in matters of politeness. She made curious distinctions about people and was very frank in expressions and criticisms. She had a funny little suavity wherever she wished to impress favorably, and to strangers, that she approved or admired, she showed great apparent deference whatever her own views or opinions. She rarely thought it worth while to offend or affront, or even to differ openly, although she would hold just the same to her own dislikes, distastes or preferences to the crack of doom no matter who she listened to, and when she despised anyone she could be terrible as an "Army with Banners". The amenities were very familiar and usually practiced and observed very carefully when she had a definite purpose in view, and I began to understand how she won approval so easily, and how when necessary she so cunningly worked for it. And now to return to the Journal in which I wrote my most private opinions, and all the dealings of Providence as we were being taught to put everything upon those Divine shoulders. November 20. Yesterday I wanted to cry but I wouldn't; I just hated those nasty disgusting sums I couldn't do, and I had to stay in a whole hour and all the time I could see them playing in the yard through the windows. I found out three sums and then I heard a noise — Sh — Sh — Sh, it was Carrie. Don't speak. Don't make a noise. Come on, I'll show you something. She had her Flat off. It was hanging on her arm, the ribbons dragging on the floor and she was all red in the face and laughing. Those big low-crowned Leghorn hats banded with ribbon had hanging in front the narrow streamer called "bridle" to hold down the wide flapping brim to shut or hide the face. They were called Flats and our new ones we thought especially fine. I threw down my books and we just hurried tip-toe up the back stairs to the front hall and leaned way over the banisters. The parlour door was open just a little bit and they were talking down there. I just drew back. "They won't hear. Don't be such a scare crow. I tell you Mr. Leslie's in there with the Spauld- ings, and they're all eating Mrs. Bowker's grapes." I said, "What?", because I didn't know Sarah had a box from her mother. Carrie said, "Perhaps we'll get some for supper if there's any left. Sarah's mother sends Mrs. Spaulding something every time, and I bet Miss Mary is engaged to be married," and then I was excited. "Did she tell you?" and I punched Carrie hard for she was leaning way over so far and laughing to herself. "No," she answered me, "but don't you know a gentleman can't call on a lady ten times and not ask her to marry him, and conic and sec her in the day time too — " I told her she didn't know what she was talking about; that lots of gentlemen called on my Aunt Helen more than ten times and didn't ask her to marry them and she said how did I know and that 1 liked to contradict. Carrie was cross and then we went back to her room and she whispered, "Anyway, I'll get apples out of Sarah for us, 1 know there are plenty in her box only they're down in Mrs. Spaulding's closet — They're Sarah's anyway, but she's a 'fraicl cat she hasn't got any spunk; she's so little she makes me think ol a mouse. Then Carrie called her, "Come on now; let's go down and get something out of your basket." Sarah was frightened but Carrie got her to go and they picked out three red apples, and we sat on the bed and ale them and then we had to eat up the ((.res and I sort of choked. Anyway they were Sarah's ami Carrie kepi telling her she didn't have to wait, she said that she never waited when she had a box from her mother; it Was hers and she wanted it and that was true lor once sin- ran righl down .iiid said that is mint- just as they were taking it in. ^l es and 1 heard her. Pagi $(> Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood December 2. Just lately I have noticed lots of things and I've pondered, and I think I under- stand better why Mrs. Spaulding so greatly prefers Carrie to me. _ Her preeminence is unchallenged I some way see why. Of course she's Bostonian and I'm from Chicago, but what's the difference? I heard Miss Gleason the music teacher, laugh once about Chicago, what for I don't know, but I know I felt mad. Perhaps one excellent reason for preferring Carrie is because she's pretty and doesn t tear and soil her clothes, but that little pile for the laundry which Mrs. Spaulding points out to me with praise, and then looks at my big one makes me laugh. I know what a lot of dirty clothes are in that old black bag to carry home, and I don't see it's anything amazing to admire anyway. If she really did have such a few to put in the wash I wouldn't imitate Carrie by keeping things out of the wash or wearing them long enough to save the school-washing. I wish my eyes were brown like Carrie's; then they'd be the color of my hair and I'd be much better looking. Anyway I'd rather look the way I do than like Mary Waldron, or have red hair and a lot of freckles like Susie. The world's full of homely people only I wish I wasn't homely, but Grandfather said I was well enough and he knows. December 15. Oh dear, how I hate Sunday. They call it the Holy Sabbath here. We rise at six, breakfast is ready at seven, and after that we learn the Bible Lesson and recite from nine until ten; then it is time to put on our things and start for church and church closes at twelve. Dr. Dimmick's sermons are awful with fourthly, fifthly and sixthly and I just fidget through them. How a man as old as he can preach so long I can't imagine. Sometimes sermons are delivered by Missionaries and once a Doctor from Northern India spoke very feelingly, that was the day Margie slipped into my hand a little piece of molasses candy done up in brown paper. She smiled and whispered when our teacher wasn't looking that she and her sister made it. She has a sweet little mouth and a small prettily formed chin and she has got beautiful white teeth and a trim little figure and tiny hands and feet, and now I have not exaggerated her in describing her beauteous little person, but I ought to speak of her Grecian nose, and forehead middling between high and low, and she's neither plump nor slim. I wanted to get a chance to kiss her for the candy, but we always have to hurry back for we dine at half-past twelve. I just feel injured because that second sermon begins at two and makes us go twice to Church. It's dreadful but it's the rule and we can't help it. I received a very precious letter from Mother yesterday. All were quite well and I prayed about it this morning for which I am very thankful. Mother said she had an exceptionally good cook and a fine chamber-maid also, and two black men for the carriage, and I congratulated her, and told her I was as far as the Life of Joseph in Latin. And I also told her that last Wednesday afternoon we took a long walk to the old Burying-ground. Among the graves we noticed particularly were those of some Spanish Refugees who fled to this country when their native place was in a state of confusion and trouble. Their inscriptions were written in French. The Pocahontas is the name of a vessel wrecked off Plomb. There were seven of the sailors found, no one knew them, so the ladies of the Bethel Society erected a monument to their memory. We had a very brilliant sunset and got a sight of the old Elm of Newbury which is enormous, and when we went back I spent the evening hour copying a long poem entitled "The Old Elm of Newbury" and also "Bingen on the Rhine", and some- thing Mrs. Sigourney wrote which begins, When adverse winds and waves arise And in my heart despondent sighs When Life her throng of care reveals And weakness o'er my spirit steals Grateful I hear the kind decree That as "My day my strength shall be" — Page 57 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood When with sad footsteps memory roves 'Mid smitten joys and buried loves When sleep my tearful pillow flies And dewy morning drinks my sighs Still to Thy promise Lord I flee That "As my day my strength shall be" — I think it is very fine and I shall commit it as I did "Maidenhood" last week, by Henry W. Longfellow. My Mother lost a little baby once and I read "Lines to an Afflicted Mother" which I think I'll copy and send to Mother some day, but "TheOldElm of Newbury" is pages and pages long, each verse has twelve lines, and there are ten verses, but I think I shall have to learn them when I have time. Once I wrote one of my poems which I entitled "To Our Baby", but I never sent any of them home, because my Aunt laughs so at everything I write. Mother never does, but I didn't want to hurt her feelings and make her cry in remem- brance. I'll write this out nicely if I can. "Thou hast gone, thou hast gone, Sweet Baby Thou hast passed from earth away And thy spirit now is dwelling Where it is endless day. Thou art happy, thou art happy, Sweet Baby Where never sin infests Thou dwellest with thy Saviour In the land of the Blest." There are several other verses and one begins, "Thou art free Thou art free, Sweet Baby" and another "Thou art loved Thou art loved, Sweet Baby" and another — "We hope to meet thee, we hope to meet thee, Sweet Baby", but I haven't time to say any more about this one just now. There are three different poems and one prose one that I have written all to our Baby — and I've told about his gold crown on his sinless brow, and the golden harp in his hand before his Saviour where he stood, and how he bowed in meekness and praised the Lord, and how we hoped we'd meet him because he's Jesus' son now. Of course we know God took him — I never saw him much, he was very little and I can't remember it, but I think I like best the shortest one I've written. It begins — "I had a baby brother once Oh where, where is he now? He's with the angels up above And low to God doth bow." I suppose mine was a rather distempered volubility. I never evidently in thought followed my own ideas or fancies to any logical consequences. The foundation of my own tastes and wishes was not on small moral or religious formulas however readily they tripped from the tongue. I did not allow myself to be con- demned into any straight or narrow path. I did not seem to have to ask, seek or knock for spiritual ideals — They were an inheritance or supplied with my earliest breath. I wanted material things— a downpour of pleasures. My wishes were like a hurricane of ideas all for beauty and abundance and happiness and freedom — Things mounted so readily in me to an eager expectancy of future delights, splendid and invisible— and the immense probabilities of answer to prayer for returns ol such undisturbed liberty and unalloyed enjoyment did not appeal. The Angels somehow, never reported concerning the inner treasuries oi amusement, enter- tainmenl or diversion. So the problem of praying for what I particularly wished had very little light thrown on it, and mv efforts Were tO rise above the mono- tonous surroundings, for m\ zest of life was spontaneous and communicative, always infectious in its own enjoyment. It would he difficull just here tO pa 88 B judgment on m\ orthodoxy, im te- ponsei I" Warmth and affection were instant and unquestioned and I think m\ [onal franlcm often amazing certainlj ai firsi I was absolutely guile- «•■,',. I h.id never before been awaj lioin ni\ own home or m\ own near kindred Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and my first mental presentment of things, foolish according to the Newburyport standard, nevertheless as ideals seemed to me enchanting. As memory works I realize more and more keenly the many illusions of that time, those impossible dreams of that early childhood; its direct simplicity that knew no affectations; the ease with which the very young glide from the concrete to the abstract in all their fancies, and the utter lack of appreciation of what is being done for them, their certainty that things are going to be far better and never worse, the indulgence of moods and growing intellectual intensity and desire for sympathy, as well as the distinct growing of prejudice and antipathy — the real axe in one, striking real blows in disquieting thoughts about people, and the developing of aversion or resolute enmity. It is high-heartedness that wins. It is high-heartedness that brings sanity and serenity in the end. And if in years to come one loses the enchantment of life's morning, those dear dreams and impossible fancies, since life cannot be all light and no shadows still I have found that in the nights there are whole fleets of stars — that if one can only look up one can shake the sense of revolt in proportion as he can believe in essential rightness, and continue to spread wings and fly high in the upper air. There is strength in those pinions if there is still joy in the heart. Why not? Why might not little souls be fluttering close? And why may we not listen to catch answers out of the silence if we can link love of God with the smallest of his creation, from the very leaves of grass up into liberty, up into liberty and life? I have listened in still nights and thought I felt the moving outstretched wings, and heard far off the silvery call of childhood till all its hours and hopes come flashing back. And even in age I can look out smiling — even now over a golden Sea. THE HAPPY FAREWELL Newburyport, Mass. My Journal for the rest of that second year, had an amusing tone of arrogance in its style and decidedly stilted utterance for a twelve-year-old, in its occasional lengthy words and lofty efforts which show pretty plainly whither I tended and the quality of my literary tastes at that age, which I had begun to think so mature in point of judgment and choice of expression. About that time my Aunt Elizabeth's advent and my consequent change of room gave me an opportunity quickly seized to furnish the three or four girls older than myself, who came upstairs a half-hour later, a nightly entertainment. I used the interval before their bed-time for Tableaux; I represented all sorts of characters in astonishing poses. My theatre properties were meager and pos- sessions limited, but the bed quilt was used to great advantage and the pillows and blankets helped to form background. With some of my own frocks, and occasionally daring to use some of my Aunt's, I managed a needed variety. There was a red silk shawl of hers which was a perpetual God-send to drape about my small person in wondrous and ever varying folds. My sole piece of jewelry, a good sized gold locket containing daguerrotypes of Father and Mother was pre- cious beyond words. It often rested upon my forehead, the chain wound about my head, or low upon my breast, or half hidden in my hair as the case might de- mand! My hair was a valuable asset, I had learned the value of its length; curls had been changed to two heavy braids and when I let it flow down freely the abundance helped out greatly. I represented various heroines familiar to me in stories, and arrayed myself for startling poses, arms akimbo or overhead, legs stretched out or doubled up, on toes or knees I struck into position as I heard the girls coming up. Ours being the hall-bedroom they could open and ever so softly slip in, usually in gleeful anticipation. Sometimes it was "Ariel", and I recited in soft tones, "All Hail Great Master, Grave Sir, Hail!" springing about the bed and with arms extended dropping upon my knees. Page 5 9 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood The Christmas holidays of the year before, when in Boston, I had been taken to the Theatre for the first time in my life — They were playing "The Tempest" at the Boston Museum and Mrs. John Wood was Ariel. I was enraptured, I made that mimic world over and over to myself, I acted the part and learned much of the role. Sometimes I posed as an Eastern Princess and, as I had read they were very gorgeous, my one piece of jewellery was always in broad view, sometimes it was Scherazade herself who appeared; but there magnificence was necessarily cur- tailed! "Joan of Arc" and "Pocahontas" were favourite characters, but I lacked armour for the one, and although I tried once to ride the bed-post for a horse, the result was disastrous. I fell off and the girls screamed, and but for that pre- cipitate flight, and my quick hiding of properties we would have been discovered and that chapter finally ended. Occasionally the pictures were original as to creation but none the less amusing to my appreciative audience. One particular night while I was struggling fran- tically to represent a Ballet-dancer, such as I had seen at the Boston Museum, I stood on one foot, leg as high as possible, and bent my body to and fro, gyra- tions so violent that I fell with a thump. We had been speaking as usual in whis- pers, the girls often choking with laughter, as with unbroken gravity I recited or explained what I was trying to do. The unexpected tumble frightened us all and they fled, dashed into their own quarters as I heard the first foot-fall. Very quiet the little offender lay as one of the teachers opened the door, looked in, closed it, and she was saved. That rapid melting away of my audience at any suggestive sound sometimes stopped the finest climaxes. My Aunt was too young and sweet not to be amused, and as long as I let her treasures alone, made no unpleasant comments or threats. In our little community, as I have indicated before, the Sabbath for the ortho- dox Presbyterian of those days had an indescribable and wearisome rigidity. Man was made for the Sabbath evidently, not according to the gentle Saviour's words— "The Sabbath for Man". From the old latticed book-case regularly every Saturday night its few stories were removed. They were innocuous enough Heaven knows, "The Swiss Family Robinson", "Harry and Lucy", Miss Edgworth's "Tales", Miss Mitford's "Lives of Shakespeare's Heroines", "Uncle Tom's Cabin", and I think "The Wide Wide World" and "Queechy" may have been in the collection. Certainly all were harmless enough and sufficiently moral, but all were carefully put out of sight and reach until Monday morning. Everything was ordered and orderly and forever the same. Poor little girls, only one hour of the afternoon as relief to tap the window panes, or sit still in our rooms, or read old Sunday school books before it was prayers again, and the round of verses, hymns, catechism and Bible. Perhaps what appeared as ' Mrs. Spaulding's dread of amusements simple enough in themselves, orof many ornamentationsof life that seemed normal to us — special accessories that she sternly banished, may have belonged to her particular form of religion which appeared to teach a sort of horror of what appeals or reaches one through sense-channels. It was as I afterwards analyzed probably like a protest against excesses; as she realized so many inequalities and injustices, with the fear and danger of dissipation and evil actions; they all combined in her ex- pression and desire to banish temptation but with no unkind disparagement. I believe really her words were salutary, and one single Bentence lias never failed to recur again and again, and to set a seal upon hast}- inconsiderate or ir- ritated speech. There must have been something flaming in me that brought it forth "Remember that every cross word you speak, once spoken can never be recalled. Our words go out into space and go on and on they never cease because they are always in the air. What yen seiul forth in anger or love lives forever. It DIOVes on and on, round ami rouiul the world and never stops." That picture dramatic. It appealed tremendously ami comes back to me often. It has deterred me often and it has done me great good. I have never forgotten how I ■hivered at the notion of my carelessly spoken winds resounding forever some- where in ipa< e. Page ''hi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I remember how I used to feel sometimes when reproved as if those actual surroundings were a sort of unpleasant dream, and then it was with a sort of shock, like one awakened from sleep by something unexpected that I found myself in that School-Study or standing before Mrs. Spaulding in her private office — never badly treated, but trying to patch up or to explain satisfactorily some trivial de- linquency that I was being brought to book for. I never got used to trouble that I easily brought on myself, and I never thought I harboured unkind feelings with- out cause. I could not understand that unperturbed and apparently severe directness. Discipline — it seemed all discipline to me — and probably her heart was filled with chanting and prayer, and was like an "Ancient Church in which incense was forever rising. But her eyes to me, glancing, resting and passing over me, seemed cold almost suffering, often surprised and never amused Her pre- sumptive proposition concerning her pupils and what they must be, meant con- demnation of what they were — and her gravity always struck hard on youth as severe and unsympathetic. It was as if she showed the secret of her being only to the distant Almighty, to the unknown Power above— yet she was a true Apostle of service — and I had at first looked at her only with the vague deliberation of an uninterested child. It was abundantly evident that second year that I read a little further — but still her appraisal of human values was all strange to a proud gay intolerant little girl, whose inheritance and preceding years had bound her to something tranquil, and a simple indulgence that accounted for intractability and stubbornness and blindness to Mrs. Spaulding's Sheaf of Gifts. But I do not want to efface from my memory that there was less and less hostility whenever I lifted my eyes to hers, only it never gave me a bit of comfort or promise to hear her discuss religion. I feel a sense of pity now that I was discordant so to speak, and had such a quiet, sullen and unsparing vision of her. She was like a dark well, a well into which the bright Stars of gaiety and fun fell only to be extinguished. The thought always came to me of discomforts, and her path through the Sky would be mine through an Abyss! We could not travel them together. I, who would have been foolishly expansive, felt too often set down as unworthy and so I forever guarded myself away from her. I could feel myself often striking out blindly, in some sudden whirl of feeling, and showing the resentment of a child rebuked — some- times reduced to tears. Things so weighed on me when with Mrs. Spaulding. I felt apprehension that if I moved quickly from the path something would spring out or fall upon me. And so my whole allegiance was confined to Miss Mary, and my appreciation and interest to Miss Julia and her friends. It was force, fire, charm in personality that had significance, and there was only strong appeal to me when I felt some beauty, some mildness, some affection and some distinction — and then curiously I lost all fear or dread of what had first surprised and filled me with apprehension. But life continued indulgent to me through all my youth, and I was demanding its best, and taking it all as a matter of course or resenting any temporary lack; not realizing in childhood or even far later years its high value, full significance, and wonderful blessings. I had never known responsibilities, and I had never faced emergencies, both of which are so sadly often thrust upon the little ones in our midst. Were all the gifts tossed into an unappreciative lap because I had never envisaged disappointment or distress, and knew so little of denial or defeats? Because I had always felt security and approval? Was I then in danger of seeming always to myself terribly adequate, assured and burdened with self confidence and self assertion? Years and years after, and very strange it seemed to me at first, Mrs Spaulding, Julia and her husband and children, moved from far Newburyport to Chicago and made their home in Evanston not far from my own "Anchorfast". And in the reunion that followed I began to realize certain admirable qualities, and how the stored up wisdom of a long life's varied experiences or sorrows, deeper thought and higher vision, had softened all expression and made her so truly gentle and tolerant. Page 61 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood What we children failed to detect must have been always there, but well hidden under an exterior of cold distance and impenetrable reserve that had at last melted into something very gracious and appealing. The brilliant little daughter of that house who became and remains so dear to me must, if her eyes fall upon the crudely painted pictures of a beloved Grandmother, wonder and wonder, and feel tempted to call in question what would seem to her child's heart an exaggera- tion, or an injustice amounting to cruelty. But it would have demanded almost a divinely inspired imagination to turn the lens upon a reserved high born and haughty Puritan, and not reveal shadows and upside down realities. It was cold hard facts that appealed to a child, and to me they were identical with the actual realities as revealed in my experiences and my reflections. I naturally disregarded what I could not overlook, but I do not mean to imply that my sensations or my descriptions were counterfeits ever — yet reality was only seen through the lens of imagination, and my power of making images was only equalled by the power of my imagination. To me in those days it was all a deep and close association of cause and effect, and whatever injustice is apparent to the partial eyes of love is only what the parabolic point of view consisted of — and a great writer says that words parabolically intended admit no liberal inferences. I have an absolute conviction now based on a clearer understanding that there was far less discord and separation and criticism than I supposed, but there was not much seeming harmony in the atmosphere, and very little beauty felt, and one so young could not conceive the power and dominance that enabled Mrs. Spaulding to lift herself so above the source and centre of all that gave joy to me. I may not have seen her truthfully, of course I mean that I could not in any wholeness of love or sympathy, but my affirmations in all these pages were built upon what I saw and know I felt. In that sense they are absolutely accurate statements. The deep inner meanings of symmetry or perfection in a condition of continuous prayer never to the childish heart seems to sound any large har- monies, and I was never capable at that time of conscious objective or subjective analysis, and could not therefore be fair in such early estimates of the mystery of being where there was so much moral and spiritual dynamite. I nourished no illusions by perverse or fierce generalizations. It was my own inaptitude that did the damage to my protesting self — and I regret in the last scene, that must soon follow and close my relations there, that I cannot modify colours or effects. There was no compassion shown me and I was shaken with threats and the reverbera- tions of my ill fortune or my capacity for doing damage. And in running away defiantly that afternoon with no promise of care, it was a kind of instinctive de- fence which I set up against her. I felt no sort of compunction as Carrie and I walked up and down together. I was afraid, and seemed on the edge of clouds which might drop away into a sea below. It was the veiled idea of "punishment" which disturbed a peace ami ob- sessed me by vague conceptions that outlined something terrible in my mind. So although we talked as usual I brooded absently, anxious and afraid of the thoughts taking shape. A strange helplessness exasperated me beyond reason, and I was in the first stage of a violent seizure of mental activity and rebellion. To look back a little, a great delight had come to me in March on my Birt lnla\ . It was a larger box than usual. It was a very stormy morning, March winds and March storms seemed to have brought winter back, that was a dreary nineteenth, y<-! this minute renews the glow with which my trembling little lingers shook out that little blue silk dress, with rullles on the skirt and a blue sash, and the card attached "To my darling child liom Mother", and Father had put in a beautiful picture Ambroi_\ pes they were called, in a closed case, which 1 opened tO ■• that Horace's curls had been cut oil, his hair brushed back and wearing his hr:, I little trOUBerS, a jacket with white collars and cull's and a black ribbon tie, and there \\,e. .1 double row of buttons on the braided Iron! ol the jacket. I'm little ( [eorge had his beautiful golden curls, and wore a new plaided coat and trimmed with Velvetj hr had a little tOJ gun in his hand and was .seated in Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood a tall fancy chair while his brother stood very straight beside him. The copy of that precious picture hangs on my walls and is never out of sight in my room. The pride with which I showed those Birthday presents has only been equalled once in my experience, and that was a tremendous surprise and ovation on my seventy-fifth Anniversary, but I cannot make that leap here and now. And now I must return to the incident I deplore — As a transgressor that second year in Newburyport I only once remember trembling with fear such as I have described. The Saturday half-holidays gave us the afternoon hours undisturbed if we were quiet in the house or playing with- out undue noise in the yard. My Mother was fastidious about her little daughter's clothes. And that afternoon arrayed in a fresh white muslin frock, ready to dance into the sunlight of temporary freedom, I heard Mrs. Spaulding's voice and its tone conveyed a menace. A small discomfited little girl summoned to the Presence stood before her, and heard hard words that fell like the flail of a whip. "Remember, I cannot stand such carelessness again — you ruin all your dresses — I have told you often enough how to behave like a lady — Now, and today if you soil that new dress I shall punish you severely." Oh! the hot rebellion in me, the sting of injustice, the recollection of my own persistent ill-luck in too swift running, in falling down, in spotting or soiling clothes, in utter forgetfulness of all but the game, and this awful threat of "severe punishment", to be meted out for an accidental sin! To do Mrs. Spaulding justice she could have had little imagination to realize the harshness of her sentence and would certainly never have carried it to any extreme. She was not unkind at bottom, and she held tender recollections of us as those experiences of my later life amply proved, but at that moment my own rebellious sensations were too painfully vivid to believe I would ever forget or could ever forgive. The influence that produced that feeling still works as I re-live it. On that June afternoon I vowed to myself to watch my steps, and not to be responsible by flagrant disregard of warning for any disaster. Very gently and gingerly I stepped across the heavily grass-grown yard to its side, several feet above the street, as the house stood high on terraces and the ground sloped and was an excellent place to dance or tread the earth in merry abandon to the games that made us forget the house and its comparative imprisonment. The other children played in groups while Carrie and I concocted fresh tales of marvellous adventure, decidedly more individual and with more exalted views of our own experiences than even those of our own "dream children". That day I remember well. It is down in my Journal that we chose new names, her's Georgi- ana Wallace, and mine Florence Somerville — I was making up a story, which I pretended some relatives of my Mother's who lived in Newport had vouched for, and I called it magnificently "The Bold Buccaneers and the Newport Beauty". Just as I neared a thrilling climax Carrie burst forth, "Look at Mary Waldron, what do you suppose she is hunting in the tall grass?" "What do I care?" I answered, too impatient to look round. She was the biggest of us all, we had liked her that term less and less. She was ungracious, easily put out, cross, and never seemed to play games fairly. But when I had roomed with her I used to rub those legs faithfully when she had those terrible "cramps", and I never knew that I was especially disliked. It was one of the bewildering things of life that hurt me. I never understood why anyone ensnared another by meanness, or told lies, as she had to me the first year, describing the boy that never existed, talking of her engagement to be married, and swearing me to secrecy in regard to a future elopement. When I found there wasn't a word of truth in it all I avoided her, very easily after changing my night quarters, and she had sometimes lately given me a sly or ugly look that spoke eloquently. At that moment Carrie again called out, — "Look Neanie, who's that coming up the walk?" and my eyes turned to see a gentleman in the path that made a straight line from the steps on the street to the steps at the front door, for the white framed house stood well back from the Elm-lined street. Page 63 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood He seemed to hesitate as we watched, he looked uncertainly towards the scattered groups, and at that moment Susie, who had seen him the year before, called out excitedly — "Neanie, Neanie, isn't that your Father?" I had hardly time to answer scornfully — "No, No — My Father doesn't wear a tall white hat," when my little cousin Joe jumping up and down, screamed eagerly, "Oh Neanie, Neanie, it is your Father, it is your Father.'''' Qne cry, one bound, and I dropped to the ground, sprang up to drop again, every few steps stumbling and falling, till in wild disarray and unspeakable joy I fell into his outstretched arms. I clung, I cried, the joy burst into sobs. I could not understand the bliss mingled with pain, "Father! Father!" Oh! the feel of those arms, the kisses, the smiles, — I was with my own again. It did not occur to me that the affection lavished on me emphasized by its long lack expressed a bitter need in my little heart. It was all as instinctive as significant. "What is the matter with my little girl? Father thought she had lost the use of her legs. Why you almost frightened him flopping down every few steps. Take off your Flat and let me see if you look natural. Your Mother and little brothers are waiting for you at the Hotel." Why did Mary Waldron knot up the tall grass? Why did she want to have merciless condign punishment inflicted on me? A queer pang came over me as I looked down at the result of that mad rush across the yard, its inevitable tripping up and wrecked destruction of my dress. "But I'm safe — I'm safe", I thought in exulting certainty. All confusion in my brain settled to that assurance, as with flushed cheeks, and bright eyes after the tear shower, I tore ahead of my Father, ran gaily up the steps to rap loudly, excitedly, and impertinently upon the Office door. "Mrs. Spaulding — Mrs. Spaulding" — between each knock, — "My Father's come and I'm green all over." — The eloquent insolence of that announce- ment! No longer hopelessly at a disadvantage, with no fears now of consequences, pride and temper shattered all my deference. The whole year's rebellion boiled into defiance and disrespect, and something sweet and generous crashed in me, until, with no note of reproach when the door opened, she looked at my dress stained green from neck to hem, and measured me with cool grey eyes that seemed to administer the much-needed reproof I had courted. That sharp glint in those eyes, while impervious to the humour of the situa- tion, yet understood and appraised me, and punished with a look— although she only said quietly, "Never mind now of course, go upstairs and change your dress," as she advanced with old-time courtesy to meet my Father. Her whole calm manner gave me a swift sensation of discomfort akin to humiliation. At bottom I was no less ashamed that I had brought it on myself. Temper became sometimes quite hot within me because of hidden intensity of sentiment. But I flung up my head in sheer desperation — hummed a tune to hide any sense of shame and whispered to regain the shadow of my victory. "Anyway she is a queer woman, and I think her features very unimposing." The whole family have laughed uproariously when telling the tale, and adding, as it is written down in my Journal, "Well! I know some of my wishes are very irrational but they are very "irresistible" which was considered one of my odd sen- tences and repeated as proof of the ridiculously long words I affected. I have always wished I had explained how it befell that I should seem so outrageously disobedient and show apparently such stubborness in missing no chance of getting into trouble. Bm I only gazed ruefully at the sight 1 had become and then meeting my Father's smiles, bearing once more the loving voice, all emotion that had so valiantly Hand up died down in relief at his presence and direct ion. "Don't be long clear, Mother will call on Mrs. Spaulding tomorrow and pack your thing8; we arc- going tO the Motel tonight, and home as soon as we can gel there." Oh! How those tones Spoke, stirring my heart with promise as I Sprang upstairs again without a shiver, to dress and leave jubilantly. A I descended I paused, distinctly hearing mj own name and these unexpected words "The child ha:, a knack of accomplishing a good deal while appareniK Pagt 64 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood doing nothing in particular. My daughter thinks very highly of her mentality. She makes friends with everyone and has a sunny nature." A twinge of self reproach at my unorthodox behaviour and late impertinence deepened. I was suddenly in a regenerate mood, but I had grown increasingly reticent, for no appeals that I had ever made had ever disturbed that stern monitor of discipline, and at that moment no mood of expansion loosened my tongue. She must have thought that this time also I had slipped willingly out of the straight path, and I could not wait for repentence to find expression. I feared to linger lest I become again a sort of butt for just displeasure and just severity. I have often felt vaguely in later years that I must have misunder- stood that Puritan of the Puritans, but then the sense of home and escape struck deeper than ever, everything else was undervalued against the mighty current of joy. It was an overwhelming tide. Gloom was wholly dispersed, and from that time on the Sun definitely had the best of it. That last experience however when I only said carelessly but audibly, "Good- bye, Mrs. Spaulding", I was mystified exceedingly by the pressure of her hand and those overheard words of praise, the first that I had ever received. "Didn't you like them there, are you so happy to get away?" queried my Father, unaccustomed to any lack of politeness or ignoring of the amenities. "'Oh bless the Lord' — Oh Father I just want to say it — that Psalm I learned last Sunday. 'Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, and forget not all His benefits.' " My Father with an unforgettable look bent and kissed me. The chapter in Newburyport was ended. Page 65 Book II The Little Brothers. George Horace Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood BOOK II THE ONWARD STEPS Chicago, 111. Oh! the light-hearted exuberance, the delights of that journey home, close again to my handsome devoted Father, my beautiful delicate Mother that with all the strength of my girlish heart absence had taught me to adore. Time now to get acquainted with my two little brothers after two years separation, and under parental smiles to amuse and be amused. The softening influences of normal and natural surroundings opened swiftly my closed heart, and made me conscious of secret unexpected and unexpressed regret that I had not been more worthy of high esteem at the school, which in my secret heart I knew I had made farewell to while under a cloud. It startled me, gave me a slight recoil therefore, to learn that a place had been secured at the Abbot School, near Farmington, Maine, for the oldest son of our house who would then be only nine. The very word "Boarding-school", made me shrink, and I pitied my little brother Horace who was to meet that experience after one more year. Fortunately for the pupils at "Little Blue", Mr. and Mrs. Abbot were skilled teachers; hers was a Mother's hand at the helm. Horace had three wonderful years there without handicaps and Mrs. Abbot is remembered by all the pupils as watchful and kind. She was a victim to her own unselfishness for after my two brothers left — (George was later put at the same school) — she sacrificed her own life nursing one of the boys. The child recovered but the lovely woman succumbed and her place was never filled. On arrival in Chicago excitement knew no bounds as we drove up to the new home, way up town between Adams and Jackson Streets, to 171 Michigan Avenue. As I sprang from the carriage and raced up the step after my smiling Mother I was the gladdest, merriest girl on earth, and later when she piloted me from room to room joy and pride seemed immeasurable. They were the first stone houses in Chicago, "Honor built", and considered quite exceptional. People used to pause and inspect them and they were often pointed out as noteworthy to strangers. Occupied by the Gilmans, Newhalls, Lunts and Suydams, the two centre houses had long balconies on each of the three stories above the basement; the balustrades were of wrought iron and they were a delightful novelty in Porches, commanding fine views up and down the Avenue, and way out to the horizon where the intense blue of the sky was reflected in the intense blue of the Lake. When I found the large upper room opening on to the long narrow enclosure was mine, my very own, I was thrilled and in one ecstatic moment forgot every- thing that had passed. I had never seen such luxury of appointment or such spacious comfort. My Mother had natural taste and my Father had rejoiced to gratify every wish. How clearly visualized is every room and passage and piece of furniture in that dear new home — ours until the Great Fire laid it in ruins and destroyed all those choice possessions. — The wide hall ending in that attractive Library, the very Busts above the Bookcases, the Secretary and large Library table of old oak, and the revolving chairs upholstered in dark green leather to match the tone of carpets and curtains! The Reception and Living room to the right as one entered was all in warm red; Axminister carpets and brocaded curtains, lounge and easy chairs and the bright blaze of the fire on the hearth made us welcome. But the special gift waiting for me, the beautiful piano in its carved Rosewood case, gave me a rapture that thrills me at this moment. "Oh Father!" I gasped, Page 67 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and his answer, "We are glad to have our little daughter home again", settled upon me like a benediction. More than all else was the impressive awe of that Drawing-room. It occupied the whole front of the second story and its size warranted the heavy crystal chan- deliers, the double fire-places and the great gold framed mirrors above them at either end; the heavily embroidered curtains at the four tall windows, the carved Rosewood tables and chairs, two full sets. And oh! that Aubusson carpet, I feel this moment its deep pile and see the white ground and distinct pattern of roses and green leaves, the flowers all wrought in colours to make the room wondrous fine to my astonished gaze. But what intrigued me most, what I liked best in our new house — palatial until the long Terrace-Row in the block above was built, to overshadow all that preceded it — was our broad circular stair-way, the low wide steps of which wound up three stories, and the sky-light of coloured glass just above and under the roof seemed to me the very acme of splendour. Everything is relative, and soon I who had seen-only candles and oil lamps before, became accustomed even to the tall-light upheld by a bronze figure on the heavy Newel-post, and the gas everywhere shaded and made effective. It did not take long to become used to those dear surroundings. I had never thought much of or depended upon externals, for occupation and an interested heart like a busy mind forgets unessentials. Perhaps I learned without knowing, certainly without power to analyze, that if one dared enough in dreams and the dreams were only noble enough, slowly outwardly and in time actually one might almost become alive to the image. Youth should not loiter — Play while you have youth! That was my creed. I suppose I needed emotional excitement — I always wanted to feel that I was living. Instinctively I sought companionship, amusement as all human creatures do. To some it is given as to me in full measure — to others forbidden. Why? Who knows? Mine was a normal yet privileged childhood, and at first after my return to Chicago it was all like an incomparable mosaic— the making acquaintance in our new neighbourhood, where our diversions were so quiet as to be amusing in the blare of today. We had for the more youthful the jumping ropes with gay painted handles which those skilled like my cousins, the little Lunts, could throw in great curves and jump unceasingly to the rhythm of those swift circles! We had the great steel wire-hoop, with its Q shaped handle to hook and hold in place that rolling circle, as the driver sped merrily alongside guiding it safely and rapidly around the corners. We had Grace-Hoops for inside play. They were so prettily wound in blue and red velvet and gilt and the Grace-Sticks had the same colours and floating ribbons. And we threw from a selected distance to each other in turn tossing the hoop back and forth to our partners extended sticks. Some of the girls had great skill and grace in throw and catch, and it gave me a sort of altruistic delight at the marvellous play they sometimes made. I made no secret of my admiration for skill and success in the sports and games our times afforded, and I pleased the clever ones whose company 1 invariably sought. The more difficult exercise of "Battledore and Shuttlecock" I grew to excel in — and the mildly dissipating games of Dominoes, Checkers, Backgammon were no severe test — but when my Father began to teach me Chess 1 found myself obliged tO work and was so to speak, often up against it. Soon I found myself the rent re of a little neighbourhood group, a sort of Man- agei of entertainments for which my Newburyport experiences in amusing the SI holars there had amplj prepared me. Here as there the demand was for novelty in amusements, to presem which certainly exercised no great powers. We were a very simple set of children. There were the Ncwhall Sisters next doov, one a jreai old< i and one younger than myself, :\ud pretty little Emma Gilman a house removed; and others who could be summoned for occasions. \l, cousin foe Evans was often with me for days together. They had moved to the little hamlei ol Evanston named for her Father, twelve or fourteen miles Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood away in the thick groves by the Lake. It was only a very insignificant inferior sort of village. I thought I'd hate to live there, but there were a few nice houses, and the Evans had a great big square for grounds and a lot of Lake shore, and had built a cottage that was brown-painted and had little gables and wandered over a good deal of ground. It looked pretty so near the Lake and all surrounded by tall beautiful trees. It was nice to go up there — it took a long time to drive from our house but there was a train that went between Chicago and Evanston once a day each way, only it was an awfully long way over to the West side where the Depot was. But we exchanged visits — frequently — I going to Evanston, she coming to Chicago. And Joe was always a sort of Star in the little plays, dances, and tableaux we got up. Acting I thought my strong point. I made up stories — described scenes and created plays so that my favourite heroes could be introduced. I used names from books and characters I had read of very freely, arranging, mixing, and inter- changing at will. I tried to fix up Gypsy-Caverns using draperies for background, borrowing dresses, skirts, shawls and cloaks to make tents of, or to dress up in. And things fancied became real. They existed. How I did dream of big voyages and set my plays in wonderful metres of which I knew nothing but the name. It must be we come into the world with our brains ready for our distinct activities and tastes. It is our pronounced tastes, aspira- tions, desires that make us feel and enjoy beforehand, and so in a sense live our destinies. One never to be forgotten Entertainment I conceived wrote and planned to give to the assembled family, and the parents of the children who participated. We proudly called ourselves "The Theatrical Club". It was a bitter disappoint- ment in consideration of all the thought and practise we as a Company had given to it. I loved playing parts and had the Stage set for our dramatics in the Basement. The hall was wide, could be cut off and made up for an imaginary stage — the Dining Room large and finished in old oak was an excellent Auditorium where chairs properly placed could command through the double door the scene beyond. That Dining Room had become a most attractive spot for me. It was large and had deep window seats where I could curl up and read or study. And now for this great occasion it was properly rearranged, and all the family and guests there gathered, and were solemnly seated. As a sort of Prologue to the play a Vaudeville performance preceded the ambitious melo-drama which I had entitled "The Abducted Princess and her Valiant Rescuer." We made an astonishing spectacle. The germinal force which made the thing go, my pride and enthusiasm, could not hold out when cues were ignored, and roles forgotten, and sentences mangled. I had originally one purpose in view, to display my talent, my supposed "rare talent" for theatrical performances to my astonished Parents and Aunts. My vanity there was unlimited, and to emphasize the occasion the interested neighbours were invited in and had gathered in great anticipation in our base- ment. There was no earthly reason why I should not be a gallant Prince, and rescue and wed the lost Princess! As far as beautifying was concerned I had done my best with the few properties at my disposal, arraying the girls for their parts with ever growing satisfaction and proud certainty of success. I felt we were fully able to look the parts, and had carefully trained the actors; and the play opened with promise. The first scene was greeted with most encouraging applause— but, after the lapse of a few moments, when Dutch Mary, our second maid, whose fat figure and swarthy countenance seemed to my mind to fit her for the part of Villain, appeared as an Emissary of Evil — arrayed in a long coat of my Father's, and below the coat as she swung into view could be seen some old striped trousers, and heavy boots a good deal discoloured with mud, which I had deliberately ordered should be dried upon them to look as if she had come a great distance, her advent brought out a perfect salvo! I had hoped that the old black soft felt hat pulled well down over her head would be sufficient disguise. Her recitation was to explain her Page 69 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood purpose to abduct, and she carried a rope to swing back and forth and suggest danger as she made her stealthy approach. Although she was to enact the heavy part I saw she couldn't seem to learn anything, so I had trusted her with only three lines, practically but one sentence — "Come little maiden — Come with me — Come, and Sweets I'll give to thee." But when she stalked in and the audience uproariously cheered the spectacular entrance, she stood stock still and stared round wildly. Every word forgotten — that I had tried so carefully to instil, training her for days beforehand to utter coaxingly — and now at my warning glance and soft prompting, "Come — little — " she suddenly burst forth loudly in her own lingo: "Come little gal — Come mit me — And I give Candy — " The boisterous merriment made me desperate. The Play was doomed, my free and daring speech, the gem I thought of the whole play was heard, if at all, only in the intervals of shouting laughter — details were forgotten, actors were confused — all the leads disregarded, and I recall that unable to control "my Company", I made, struggling with my tears, a speech to explain "that another night the Play would be performed" — but that night never came. The mortification put out a fire that nothing could rouse again. No flames came from those dead cinders. I remember that I asked them all to remain for a few Tableaux — Fairy scenes and dances — I was too proud although choking with chagrin, to admit entire defeat, and I tried not to cry as I called each one of the Actors to get into positions after I had re-robed them for Fairies in white skirts and draped night gowns. And I, as a sort of Ariel appeared and waved a wand, a cane wrapped in white ribbon — and I plagiarized freely — beginning — "All Hail — Grave Fairies Hail? Great Queen I come to do thy bidding?" When Titania in shape of little Emma appeared from behind the screen in trailing white — We'd put all the silver touches possible on her robe, stars were cut out of silver paper and flappy little wings all spangled over, which now wouldn't stick out, we'd sewed on to the shoulders of her gown. — To her I knelt extending the wand, and she forgot the speech in which she was to order my flight over the earth to bring her treasures, and in- cidentally to save the Princess from the Ogre! But it was all of no use — the laughter continued — I resigned my position and retired understanding that something phenomonal had happened — that I had not succeeded in doing the impossible. No entreaties or arguments could reinstate me. I eschewed play writing and play acting. There was an inhibition that had become immediately applicable and all such performances were ended. I visualized myself, and my intense chagrin; my humiliation on the increase shut me out from the stage and its glamour! I was never again stirred by the old promise — nothing in that line seemed sure or stable, for all my vanity, my self absorption, my concentration upon it and its concerns had not given me the requisite ability I thought to do anything fine. I excited amusement not at all, admiration! I stirred people to laughter, scornful laughter I felt, and every recollection brought the tears of mortification hot against my eyelids. The failure was unguessable as to how it occurred. True, Dutch Mary was funny — but I didn't know that would kill for my audience all the pretty graceful scenes 1 fancied I'd prepared. 1 hadn't the leasi idea how perfectly ludicrous it was to middle age, because the perception of its thrilling beauty possessed me; delights hail been quenched, and 1 shaken forever out of those particular grooves. Thanks to my associations and my temperament I was soon busy exploring new fields. I can feel again the rush of vigor and purpose and sheer .ulmiration for one thing ami another; exploring for new friends and enjoying those who drilled into relations thai promised reward or return. I thank lle.i\en lor those interests .uid those lives thai came along from year to year, oxygenating by new interests and fresh enthusiasm. The men and women I saw and the vonm; ol m\ own 1'iiyr yn Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood sex brought enrichment and sure growth which, as in all lives, like the Century plant itself, requires long years before there is any bloom. Of course I grew up in certain traditions in a certain atmosphere, and the happiness of those earlier years revealed itself in all its own radiance. The ex- citement of recalling these bright times of my youth when I felt no suspension of power to enjoy — No fears in the passing moment that anything would perish left little need of belief in immortality, for life was like a flashing surprise! I was not yet a passionate pilgrim on this earth — no phase of service necessary to con- version from egotism had as yet awakened me. I was interested in myself, my own home, my own schoolmates; my thoughts were seldom away from the home-circle and my eyes only open to individual needs and individual wishes. I felt no losses, and I needed no remedies. I was still gloriously and wonderfully young. I did not understand complications and I never had to face them. It was Youth's splendour and Youth's selfishness incarnate. There seemed to be caverns of time behind us, there seem to be caverns of time from which we can get nothing back; nothing to make a single record. How- ever rapturous the delight in merely watching the revolution of the days we cannot hold our memory to the music in the mind. About this time I began to realize what a Ministers' or Missionaries' Hotel our house had become. My Father's hospitality noised abroad, the generous entertainment given and welcome never lacking, brought the Clergy in increasing numbers, and occasionally here and there some devout soul plainly desired to serve his Master and pay his keep by bringing the young daughter of the house into the Kingdom. I began to learn the signs of the very pious, who cut down human nature to a sort of irreducible minimum of claim to natural freedom of development. And there was a certain good and heretofore gentle old Brother who had claimed consideration and shelter for what seemed to me an unconscionably lengthy stay. At first he seemed mild enough but he soon showed a spirit that denied good in any outsiders from the Fold where he felt himself endowed with power to lay down the law. His was a hard gospel of unworthiness in everyone, and he walked in that faith doubting all individuals not in the Church, and his preaching was of the narrowest and severest as I found to my cost. I wonder what pleasures such people do consider lawful. I judged, observing his excellent appetite, that roast beef and plum puddings and mince pies were permissable revels, and I noticed he never scorned sweets of any sort or the flavour of fruits! There are echoes that sound in a thousand memories that makes the entire past of childhood come rolling in long waves, slow but shining, which cannot submerge, which only seem to cleanse like a fresh baptism. That man had given me a terrible scoring, and I hope he felt he had done his duty — I never knew, and although his remarks were his stock in trade and in a sense general, the de- nunciation sounded very personal. And when I got away I just knelt down and did my own praying decently all to myself, and promised myself to get over the dread of seeing that man again; but his memory haunted me for a long time for he had given me a sharp warning. Why did they all desire to convert me? I was harmless enough — but like a sort of quarry for them and I laugh now to think of what a profound sense that minister must have had of my original sin. It was that year I was attending Dearborn Seminary, a well started enterprise in Chicago for young girls of well-to-do families, which soon stood quite unchal- lenged in the Middle West for educational advantage or opportunity. I made quite an army of young acquaintances and became friends with several of my own age whose attitude was flattering because I could reel off my lessons, was chosen sometimes to make long recitations, to prepare for an occasional exhibition, or to read a high-sounding composition on a theme probably utterly beyond my com- prehension. On the whole I did not learn there as far as I am able to measure it the fraction of a degree. To excel without study is not calculated to inculcate steadiness or modesty. Page 71 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood We were always it seemed during that year hearing and talking so much about Evanston. The Institutions, Father thought, were well started and Father seemed to be always going to and fro. They had a nice little Church all built and quite big enough to hold all the people in the little town. The College and Institute had a few pupils and some very pleasant professors, especially I liked Dr. Bonbright. He's small and young and very blonde, and has very soft hands, and he's the most perfect formal little gentleman that ever was. He talks just like a book and he's very learned. They say all his pupils are tremendously impressed because he insists on everyone observing the utmost politeness, as well as reciting their lessons quietly like gentlemen and ladies. I like him lots, and I like the Noyes and Kidders and Bannisters and Willards. They are all nice and they all have nice houses, but its a kind of bare wilderness up there after all. There are only a few streets and its very still except when there's a storm on the Lake; but I oughtn't to speak as if it was a desert — I ought to call it a wild forest for its trees, trees, trees every- where which makes a green loveliness up there. Of course in good weather I like to go to Evanston, because Joe and I like to go in the Lake and she gets the girls of the Village to come and see me and some- times it's very jolly. It's funny to see Uncle John Evans take his breakfast as if he had a whole month to do it in — every minute the train time getting nearer and nobody can ever hurry him. I've laughed inside seeing them all try, with that Buggy always waiting at the door and Aunt Margaret saying "Now Pa, you know it's getting late", and he slowly swallowing the last of his coffee. Perhaps he'll say "Plenty of time", or perhaps he'll only smile and ask for another cup of coffee, which he'll relish to the last drop and it seems as if the whole of Evanston couldn't make him hasten over it. "That's good", he often says with keen approval; then up with- out one evidence of hurry getting leisurely, sometimes with the whole family standing nervously by, into his coat and hat, and giving some last directions or farewell words with undisturbed composure. Then — a swift turn from that door and with one jump he's inside, grabs the reins and dashes off like mad. It's all in a second and you can't see the trap as it tears round the corner and makes one shiver for fear it'll turn over — but it never does. I suppose the train waits if he's not there — They say he comes up steaming every morning, and every morning just the same he alights coolly from his Buggy. The boy is always waiting to take it back — and he throws down his reins and calmly gets out, and calmly gets into the waiting Cars. He never will hurry beforehand and he was never known to miss that train. One morning Joe and I had just come up from a splashing dashing dip in the Lake and getting out of our wet night gowns which served for bathing suits she began to tell me about the new President Dr. Foster, and his clever oldest daugh- ter Florence-Annie or Annie Florence; "The family call her Annie, but the girls called her Florence" — and added, "That name suits her better for she's reserved and haughty," and, "there's a whole lot of children there and her Father's splendid looking and very brilliant. Father says we ought to be very proud to have such a scholar for a President"; when she suddenly veered to something quite personal. "Frank Willard said your Father had an acre of noble brow" — "What did she mean talking about my Father like that? Nobody ever saw such a beautiful head and hair, all soft and curly, like Father's!" 1 uttered it indignantly as both protest and challenge. "Oh well I don't suppose she meant his brow was bad, only big and high She did say Uncle Orringlon was handsome— 1 heard her Once, and t here's no use being mail because he's got a high forehead," but 1 w.is not quite mollified. "Francis Willard has got a soil of red head an\ w.n , and she thinks she's on top of the heap." "I'm I tell you she's smart," spoke up Joe, "she knocks spots out of mos1 of i hem. II you could only hear her Journal ! Why Nina, \ on is isn't in ii ! It's [USl nothing tO hers Why! she has pages and pages of long words, and awful high thoughts and you have tO use a lot of short (Mies 1 mean words, and (he talks |UBt about a:, did and fine a:, Dr. Kidder himsell, onl\ it sounds more I'oyr ;.• Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood stylish and like little Dr. Bonbright! Mary Bannister says Frank is wonderful — the way she can talk and write — " "I suppose she's the highest type of culture you have", I said grandly; but modified by curiosity and aroused interest, my attempt at satire ended, and I continued more mildly, "Don't you think she'd read her Journal to me? I wish you'd ask her; tell her I like everything of that sort, and doesn't Mary Bannister keep one too? I think she's sweet and awfully bright." "Oh yes, they all have Diaries, but Frank's beats the bunch." I admired the girls of Evanston and I knew inside they were far cleverer than any of my schoolmates. I liked the young people of the Kidder's, Bannister's and Willard's especially. Katie Kidder was the prettiest of the whole lot, and although her Father and Mother are awfully solemn, high-minded sort of people they were pretty sociable at that house. The students gathered there often be- cause Katie was so pretty I suppose, and Dr. Kidder was a very elegant gentleman indeed. He's tall and fair and smooth faced and has very bright sharp eyes. He too, had an acre of "Noble brow", and the most shining splendid teeth and you could see them a block off when he smiled for they were something to show! The Kidders all had an air about them, and somebody called their house the "Social Centre". There were plenty of books and everybody was made welcome but it seemed pretty stiff to me. At the Foster's the people gathered often and they said everybody there was likely to have a good time for they were merry, and they made everybody feel at home. Somebody said it was the difference between Vir- ginia and New England and was the Southern type. Mrs. Bannister was the sweetest of all the women it seemed to me. She was so gentle and had such a lovely low voice. "It's a good deal like a big family", I once said to Joe coming back from one of the Evanston parties, and "I think it's pretty dull." After I got pretty well acquainted with them all I had the girls come to our house oc- casionally, and we had some jolly times in Chicago; but best of all I liked to hear Frank Willard's Journal. She did read long passages and pages out to me more than once. Joe was right — Mine wasn't a circumstance to it; and I used to listen to those readings with unstinted admiration for her vocabulary and her lofty thoughts. And now I'll turn a leaf back to speak of another contact with the Ministry which by comparison made that earlier experience seem very calm. This was like a whirlwind and created havoc and it stands out stark and dreadful. I was fourteen at the time, and far better able to cope with attacks than at the earlier period described, and I must admit as well that I had become somewhat hardened to them. I shall never forget the censure my character and manners received nor the unction with which that Clerical attempted to bring me to a realization of my sins. He was a solid substantial looking saint, en route to General Con- ference, staying over a few days for rest and good food, I do believe. He was put in our largest guest chamber, was quite a talker, and seemed to be having a fine time. One fatal afternoon he managed to get me into the library under false pre- tenses, because he asked about certain books there. I can see his face this minute when he fixed his glance and opened fire. I shuddered inside because he had actually got such a fine opportunity for his ministerial criticism, and the flagellation that emphasized it! He had always been quite polite and he was moderate at the first go — but he was a man of religious affectations and flaunted his spiritual authority as if his was a personal friendship with the Almighty. He said he wanted "to help me learn to resist the temptation of my gifts". Fine sentence that! It stuck in my mind and I've used it often, and it is choice in my mouth to this day. But when he unctuously proposed that we kneel and implore Divine assist- ance, my ire rose. Of course I knew I used my tongue pretty freely, and he did not wait to haul me over the coals, but painted my portrait in lurid colours unless I reformed and was snatched as a "Brand from the Burning". I was as mad as a March hare. I looked right at him and deliberately reiterated that "I'd attend to my own devotions and bridle my tongue when I feel like it." To be assured that you'll grow up into a disagreeable and unloved woman and Page 73 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood asked to pray against that certainty does peril courtesy in response! What business was it of his I thought, if I did grow up disagreeable? At first I had really tried to remember Mother's words — "That no matter whether we liked the person or not, once under our roof and dependent upon our hospitality, we must always be considerate and polite to a guest." But when this one continued to insist, and besought me to get on my knees and implore the Almighty to set a seal on my lips all politeness gave way, and my training was forgotten. "You needn't trouble about it," I said very hot, but still struggling to speak mildly. — "What! Not ask the Lord that the meditations of your heart and the words of your mouth should be acceptable in His sight?" "I'll do my own praying, and be much obliged if you'll let me alone." — Mercy! his wrath was as open and as unregenerate as mine. He told me a few things I won't repeat, and didn't scruple to declare where I was going if I continued so obdurate; what I was like, and like to become; — And when I said, "My relations with The Most High was no affair of his" he was in such a heap of wrathful astonishment over what he called "my blasphemy" that I emphasized my own state of mind by an exit that was not noiseless. It was a storm upstairs in my room where I heaped up lamentations. I burst into tears the moment I reached that haven. All his accusations at first seemed simply cruel. I had been on the defensive against my liberty — I could see no further, no deeper into it. In hot wrath I asked how it was possible to have brought on myself such wholesale condemnation? Did outsiders then think of me as always defiant and disagreeable? Had I caused genuine dislike by what he called my assurance, my attempted satires, or bad manners, or ways of speech? But how I hated his accusing me so violently and insisting on my asking God to forgive me. Satan raged in me — and I just sat there and wailed, and wanted to pull his hair! He'd overdone it — and for all my gentle rearing I felt fierce and furious instead of mild and penitent. What difference could it make anyway, to him, what way I grew up? And I remember how I walked about my room and went to my windows and looked out. The Lake was dark and rough and angry and that seemed worse than his words — and I looked and looked — and so I ceased to struggle and something rose in me. As I look back it was something that vibrated in my poor little heart. It was like a sort of music that spoke and softened — like the wash of the waves opposite. There have been a few times in my life when for a second it has almost seemed as if I had that greater gift than mere sight, the imaginative vision — but it has failed frequently to declare itself in seasons of need, or to ensure calm judgment, and the effect of any spiritual insight has not lasted for long. I am grateful for one fact. I can at times look on myself objectively. I can at times feel there is cause for criticism even when convinced of its unmerited sharpness. And then and there in the very throes of rebellion and revolt my Mother's invincible charm of manner and voice came over me. Would she have been so racing in the face of any accusation? I could not imagine her voice raised into shrillness and commonness. My Mother had always represented to me the quint- essence of gentleness and refinement. To my thought as a young girl she had all the graces of life in looks, voice, manners and habits. Something sweet and Btrong and rarely lovely had been passed down to her through a long line 01 an- cestry. Her very delicacy and serenity seemed the most potent influence for law and order. No — I knew instinctively thai impertinent words could never be spoken in her presence and suddenly I knew also what she demanded 01 her children respect for their elders, courtesy, self-control and a kindlier judgment. 1 knew I had provoked whal I found the hardest to accept and the thoughts engendered began now to act like a merited warning at least 1 must have deserved ■"in' "it "( comments unpleasant and uiuoinplimcnt ary. It re.illv had done me no injury. On the contrary it forced me to think and remember "I.e. mi i" ee '."in 'If a little as others see you " Mother had several times said to me win never I raised my voice in loud protest, or any sudden impatience; and J Pagi 74 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood don't like that tone" was her familiar reproof if my discourtesy or resentment broke forth into sharp expression. And although I must always call in question that Minister's taste, breeding or knowledge of the amenities, and consider him quite outside the pale and a most undesirable guest, still he had given me cause for dwelling on my own defects and deficiencies as no one else before had ever done. I had a shock at the vision of myself as he painted it, and knew that I had furnished him with additional reasons for a bad opinion of me, far worse than first entertained. While I conceded and considered my own rudeness I was yet curiously con- scious of a strange inner sinful delight in giving as good as I had received! In a measure realizing how I had appeared, yet for that one sin, as far as he was con- cerned, no real penitence has .ever swept over me. Satan continued active inside! I knew myself sorry that I could not live up to something finer and better, and I did make a resolution to think a little, if I ever could, before rushing into speech; and to drink a little more deeply, as my Father's and Mother's daughter, of the milk of human kindness. And if I was, and even consciously or unconsciously continued to be, pretty awful, at least I never made public complaint. I avoided him successfully through the remainder of his stay and no retaliation of mine in looks or manner, when we did meet, could have added to discomfort, and certainly did not shorten his stay. He was safe from any reports of that disgraceful scene, and I broke none of the rules of hos- pitality inculcated by family example — but Heaven help me! And Heaven be thanked, that in my home lessons of courage, honesty and devotion were waiting to be taught. Our house, I think, always had an atmosphere essentially its own, for first and last in the fullest sense of the word it was a home, permeated with good taste, warm affection, high principle and fine breeding, which made generous hospitality as natural as its genial dispensing was characteristic. And it was amid such in- fluences that I was learning to check rudeness and develop consideration in a happiness and peace that can never be forgotten. THE DREAM PRINCE It has caused me no trouble or unrest to become fully sensible of past scenes. In giving my thoughts the rein and allowing them to take me back to childhood I am buoyed up as past life flows back upon me. Subtle memories impel me to retrace steps, and it all returns with the strength and freshness of a day old ex- perience. Vision is not darkened by any veil. I do not have to vex myself with struggles to add brilliancy or poignancy to descriptions, for all are facts — exper- iences — no play of imagination that creates illusions. They are the beauties and delights of this world as they appealed in the joyousness of those early days, and those early dreams reveal themselves again in all their own radiance. I can talk almost exactly as I used — I see the characters and persons about me as then and feel all the beautiful play of that sunshine of old. The very flowers of memory have dew on them. They arise in bright bloom. They are not as dreams for all I set down are absolute realities. Mine is a distinct remembrance, a consciousness not dimmed but that freshens itself each time I write. The fra- grance of those yesterdays when circumstances and conditions were so felicitous! After all to an intensely imaginative child everything dances to one identical tune — vivacity of feeling, an eager thirst for knowledge, capacity for enjoyment, all unites to make life literally a dance of delighted acquiescence, and whether bring- ing anything to pass or not, or however trifling the merry pantomimic scenes, extravagance of emotion and enjoyment transmuted all to gold. And so I am viewing it all from a natural vantage point, or by virtue of ir- repressible instinct that forever urges and impels, without the disturbance of any unaccustomed tumult. If I slept open-eyed in those first years impalpable Worlds came into being, every sort of sphere depicted itself as dreams, setting new images of beauty afloat. Page 75 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood And now another step onward for me came in my experience at the new Chi- cago High School. Repeated printed advertisements of the difficulties of entrance had caught attention and roused interest, and I at once declared the purpose to secure for myself the much flaunted High-school course. To do that I must submit to and pass certain examinations — a new yet consciously not much dreaded test, as in that stage of ignorance I was afraid of nothing. Fear was never a companion of mine. It was a bright July morning that collected the applicants and skimmed the cream of private schools. I was driven over and at the entrance joined the ex- cited groups, a unit among many. I felt keen zest, but no embarrassment as I sat in my appointed place in one of the several well filled rooms. I applied myself interestedly to the work assigned, struggling to answer as quickly and as best I could the written questions given us. The hours fled and when we broke for a recess at noon I noticed with a slight sinking how many knew each other, and how they came together or separated for luncheon which they had known enough to supply. The evidence sharpened hunger and loneliness, and I went out into the wide corridor alone and hungry. As long as I live I can never forget the leap in my heart, the sensation of joy as my eyes fell on my blessed Mother. She sat waiting to care for me and smilingly beckoned me, as she held up to view a pretty little oval basket she had purchased, containing the daintiest of luncheons. My greedy eyes sparkled as they fell on sandwiches, hard-boiled eggs, fruit and cake, all packed in that fancy basket, arranged to surprise and enchant me. That incident stands out sharply, showing so clearly what I have since learned, that my Mother's singleness of aim and unselfish devotion to her children was beyond measurement, as it was then be- yond appreciation. The act I do not claim as unusual to be supplied under such circumstances; but conditions made it truly exceptional and a severe strain on endurance. It was very hot. Strangely that special day my Father had driven far up the North Shore to look over those beloved Educational Institutions, which had materialized and created Evanston. No carriage therefore was at my Mother's disposal. The High School was far on the West side and a long distance from our Michigan Avenue home. She had walked to the shops, had prepared and packed a dainty little meal in the lovely new basket. She was very tired and pale as she sat wait- ing for my appearance. When I reached her side she had encouragement for mind and food for body; and full of sympathy for me lest I grow too weary in the effort. She said nothing of those hot walks in the blazing sun. She went her long way back with the emptied basket and never one word of personal fatigue. It was only one proof of many. Oh Mother!— Oh Mother, Mother! Did I ever give thanks enough for you and your love? God knows I suffered enough after you passed into the shrouding shadows and unbroken silence, although goodness and mercies spared you to me until I too, had counted up many /ears and knew in some measure the sad disillusionment and losses and sorrows of hue middle life. The High School curriculum of study was far in advance of any preceding or es- tablished order with which 1 had been familiar, and in that atmosphere under well trained Teachers, I appeared for a while to thrive, for there at last, was my sole experience of demanded or fairly rendered scholastic work. There was also one greal eye-opener in what co-education offered. For the first i ime I mel daily, and crew familiar and contended in classes, with boys. They had been before an unknown quantity, and as they became familiar in daily interchanges and contests, 1 grew more interested in the sex. There were in the same room with me two who stood out sharply with char- acteristic! as Bharp as their rank. Albert Lane was tall, finely developed, and unusuall) good-looking; be was always genial and his looks and manner made him irerj popular; he was fair and florid, with curlj brown hair, and to me in- ter) ting I ><■< -i M .' he o high in his classes; he had a beautiful voice, and with Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Edward Williams, a small slight, dark-eyed boy, quiet and most refined, often contended for prizes in oratory. The two boys were always called upon for re- citations when the room was on exhibition, and they topped all others in charm and gifts. We were in some of the same classes, our relations were pleasant, but we never got beyond the cordial acquaintance that meant only free expressions of opinion and the mutual invitations for one or the other entertainment. There was a dark-eyed youth named Louis Tucker, who asked the privilege of walking home with me, and as it touched my vanity to receive any special attentions, arid to carry my books gave me a set-up feeling entirely novel, I fre- quently gave him very loftily permission to be my escort. It went no further, and as I look back, I think it was because I lacked the "come hither" in my eye, and really did not know how to flirt. I lacked that fine instinct, and I do not think I have ever learned the art. Mr. Dupee, the Head Teacher, had very strong hold upon us all. His marked superiority as Instructor and Scholar, inspired respect and commanded deference. And at that period, eager to reach high levels, I was told that those deep lines between his eyes meant intellectuality, and that whenever seen in any human countenance they indicated pre-eminence and exceptional powers. I remembered also that Grandfather had deep wrinkles between his eyes and dark circles under them. I knew his mind was stored with knowledge and I saw several people who seemed to have that mark. By a curious logical mental process I asked why couldn't I produce such evidence? Even if I wasn't a great scholar or different from other girls, I'd like to look different; — Why couldn't I make lines grow upon the brow at proper angles to bridge the nose? Having none — I still soared with desire to acquire their outside dress. And so with vitality and determination, I sat before my mirror fiercely determined to do my best to make my face look wise. I screwed up furiously to make the requisite wrinkles at the requisite spot. It was hard work to hold them there, but if one persists in anything long enough measurable success follows. Many times I examined and practised, and soon slight lines appeared that I could draw at will, but not hold long in place. I was finally convinced that will power was no secondary matter. These efforts did not advance my education; but they operated upon my countenance, and long continued efforts finally made apparent faint indications of such superiority. A few faint, or furtive lines coming between my eyes occasionally supported my idea that there was proof of intellectual supremacy, and with great calmness of conviction, I felt that I had secured a physical asset as well. Mine was a gay optomistic sort of conscience that worked cheerily and gave me no trouble. About this time there moved into our neighbourhood a family with whom I readily established relations of affectionate comradeship. The two daughters, one three years my senior the other my own age, I found congenial from the very first. Annie, the younger, was fair and plump and pretty, a blonde pretti- ness not at all uncommon, but Lou, the older, small and fascinating, hair soft and brown like her eyes, oval face, delicate features and ready smile, was unusually attractive. But oh! the son and brother! Tall, slender and young, it was like something coming out of darkness into light whenever I saw him, a funny little heart-stab or a brain-stab. Oh! silly age of girls which most of us know so well, but sharp astringent medicine comes later! Perhaps I can hardly present this phase in proportion to its importance. He appealed to me as a flawless masterpiece and I prostrated myself joyously before that Shrine. It was beauty thrown finally into fascinating physical relief that appealed, while allowing me to bask fanci- fully in its light, and what was painted inwardly pointed to something of high value belonging to what is Divine and ultimate and eternal in us all — Love, in- comparable and splendid to my awakened fancy, my first love! My first object of worship! I suppose what the human heart is always seeking until wisdom, knowledge or experience has demonstrated the impossible, is an object of worship. My juvenile admiration of that young man's expansive splendours was like aspiring Page 77 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood religion in its fervor of absorption. Under the magnifying glass of my excited imagination he came out with glorious distinctness as the most unique being of the Universe. He continued to tower above all others in my secret soul. All sentiment now had its outlet and was hurled in hunks, but often shook me by its impact. He was perfect, and mysterious too, for his manner like his face carried for me an im- penetrable mask. I was very sincere in swinging incense before the Altar I had erected, and every other youth I ever saw or met was dull, colourless, toneless, commonplace, compared with that adorable one who never so much as suspected my silent adoration. He did everything so well and with so much facility. He was always so beauti- fully dressed. He was always so erect. He would always lift his hat so politely when we met, and I always noticed how his hair shone, and to me that marvel- ous youth possessed value, beauty, and gracefulness which gave me ecstasies of approval and delight. Of course it excited me to run a whole gamut of fancy, and yet did not as I recall it unbalance or hurt me eventually, since the standards I was used to were never lost sight of and the fascinating youth himself, courteous and friendly, never once suspected my abject devotion. He was entirely guileless as far as I was concerned, considering me as one to whom there was nothing particular to say, and once in a while his manner ignored me so entirely that I felt limp and drooping; and it was an overwhelming catastrophe when too many days passed without a single chance for Good-morning, or Good-evening, or How do you do, or Good-bye. It was a short journey from my home to his but a far longer one from his home to mine, where — notwithstanding his regular invitations to social gatherings large or small or any little neighbourhood entertainments — -he failed to put in his much yearned for appearance; but terribly as I missed that joy it only served to register more deeply in my memory the looks and vast superiority of that "Prince of Dreams" whose value and potentiality for future greatness was only the more assured in my mind. He was preparing to enter a large law-firm. Ambitious, proud, determined and gifted he studied late and long, and often evenings I walked by the house that sheltered that paragon with one excuse after another to gaze up at the light in his window — wonderful as a Star and as distant! I had never encountered anyone so indifferent, so little alive even to the fact of being admired, and that something in him which assailed me at first was something which never defaces or distorts the human mind. He first piqued my interest as a girl of fourteen, and his inner aloofness, his individual interests, his intense studiousness, all helped me to embark on the disastrous building of Castles in Spain; for with unshakable confidence in my powers of judgment I was convinced of his ultimate Kingship — that he was to be enthroned somehow in future greatness. There were some pangs in that enormous episode carried to such heights, entirely without outward expression; since at no period can I remember special encouragement, but some way that did not rack my feelings long. Once or twice I thought he was looking at me with some interest, but it was always the look that people give to some ordinary familiar or unstudied object, when someone speaks of, or to it. My voice would become quite unmanageable if I found him listening, and it made me falter and feel clumsy. I then felt myself the most commonplace of my sex without the coveted lure of beauty or any special fascinations, while the adorable brother so exquisitely proportioned was perfectly at case ami suc- cessfully preparing for the loftiest position among men! And once in a while 1 tortured my imagination over my own iinuort hincss. lie h.ul no sharp out- lines. I I'- had no defect ions. I viewed liim somehow in an extensive clarity of vision that defined and painted a transfigured picture. Mis beauty tnerelj exaggerated on an enormous scale made him a:, powerful a;, he was amazing. There were no disturbing possibilities in my dreaming I never distressed myself aboui it. I Buppose 1 was guarded by the very simplicity of my heart. Love was natural a:, the drawing oi breath. Pap 78 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I never thought myself as either fortunate or unfortunate. I could not have wished for a more enthralling ideal or idol; and at first I was too young to feel it necessary to conceal how wonderful he was in my sight. I lived in the day. I managed to see him frequently although often from a distance. He walked by our house occasionally on his way to and from town, and a sight was enough honour for the moment. The courteous recognition, if we met on the street, recompensed me for all my planning to accomplish that desired end. Even if it should chance that we merely passed on the street, whether he saw me or not, I had uplifted thoughts, I was upraised at once and carried high above myself. To care for another out of all proportion and despite indifference is to pierce the armour of one's egotism. I cared with a sort of singleness of devotion which is the glory and the curse of such natures — of the fatally warm-hearted. For four years he held his place, and even after death a kind of feeling of awed passion grew in me as if emotionally I walked on tip-toe. I continued in a sense bowing before that Altar my mind blindly seeking its complement; held, yet uneasy perhaps, because of its strange sense of incomplete- ness. But what I carry in my memory has long since recompensed itself, and what I secure in remembering is the noble face and carriage, the rare and tested charm, the proven heroism, bravery and gallantry of that Prince of Dreams. It was all a fable of the Arabian Nights and a dream rapture to think of it — Satire or mocking tale? What did I care who indulged in its rapturous dream — nothing shattered that dream for reality never obtruded itself. I loved to love him, and for all those years he remained in truth my Fairy Prince — life-like — and dream-like — unapproachable. Had he lived I am sure he would have achieved what he wished to achieve, but he was fated. He was one of those who leave this life by tragic means. The Seal was on his forehead. He died a hero doing at the time what he had left everything to do. It may have seemed an unfinished life — it was in point of years, but it was a much more important life than most. He left an example, a sort of guide to existence, and what he stood for cannot be forgotten. He gave me my first miraculous impressions, and there are griefs as there are breakdowns in fancy that nothing makes up for. And now to jump some years — When they fired on Fort Sumpter and the whole North in one hour as one man was aroused to battle for the Flag the South had lowered, in a few days thereafter I lost sight of him forever. He was an Officer of The Ellsworth Zouaves, A Company of our best young men, admirably equipped for spectacular performances, and now suddenly ready for serious service. Chicago was very proud of that splendidly trained Company — They were ready even to full uniform and equipment and were at once started for the War Zone. Never shall I forget that last sight of him as they marched through the City to the Station. That vision of his face — the face of a scholar with the mien and stateliness of a soldier. As the Company passed our house, where on the steps and balconies a crowd of friends watched and cheered, it seemed to me that once he turned his pale fixed face upward and smiled a signal of recognition. The night before when he said Good-bye he had asked me to write to him. I have always been proud of that request — and the crowning wonder of it — he gave me his photograph in uniform. How can I ever but be glad that I idealized him and was never disillusioned? He was magnificent. That last sight of him in full uniform, all of him from the cap to the shining tip of his boots seemed in a special radiance of sunlight to my dazzled vision. The brilliant Company in perfect discipline went flashing by, making sure promise of victory to our Arms in its bravery of colour, and to our unaccustomed eyes in its martial splendour. It was an unforgettable scene — I was speechless, open-eyed, open-mouthed, open-hearted with breath almost suffocated as the pageant passed in its full glory. "Look — Look," I whispered to my Father — "Oh Look — Look at him — at him." And the spell was not broken until long after that marching Company of young Patriots had passed from sight for ever. Page 79 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood He entered the War a Captain, recklessly brave and rarely efficient, and died on the Battle-field two years later a Colonel, leading his men in one of the great charges and sacrificing his life for its victory. As they found him on the Battle- field wounded and dying he spoke once — " Turn my face to the North." — It rang, as repeated through rank after rank, like words re-echoed from the Great Silence to urge the Army on. Memory of his heroism and self-sacrifice makes my prodigal unasked offering worthy. In the last analysis for me to love in life or death someone outside my family meant magic, an invisible sort of spell. Youth possesses the proud illusion of its own value as of its own immortality, and it raises haughty Idols for itself and stretches them up high into the infinite blue. May the Lord defend Youth lumbering along the Highway of Life. THE FINISHING SCHOOL It was about this time I began making up my mind that certain mistakes educationally must not be repeated; that I began to wish most earnestly not to waste my hours; that I began to realize such knowledge as I found in those High School Teachers to be of some account. And so I wanted to better satisfy my Examiners although the prospect of severe study was somehow indescribably grey. But I had begun to find it entertaining to listen to long-winded discussions, to certain lectures, even to sermons, and to hear conversations and be with older people of some scholarship. I now wanted eagerly the testimony of praise from high sources, and I wished and worked for benignant sentences of approval, when I had really prepared and scored well with my recitations. So good resolves grew and began to sway in my brain. I think my frankness was that of a child, unconsidered, instinctive and with no practise in the facile ways of compromise. I was not well acquainted with "The Father of Lies", I was never suspicious, and I could be easily deceived and very easily circumvented. Yet I have always believed that directions, guidance and associations in that High School, the course of study marked out, and the insistent demand upon industry and application as well as the spur to ambition, would have been most advantageous in development for me had it continued, but all suddenly it closed down. In the sunshine my life had been aroused to higher effort and was becoming increasingly interesting when suddenly the centre of it shifted to New York. It was quite a delirious excitement to get ready for the reported "Finishing School" of those times at 3 and 5 West 38th Street, on the corner of 5th Avenue of which I had heard many descriptions. Curiously enough this period seems more of a remote past than all that preceded it. I know that lots of interesting things happened initiating me into that life, yet memory has become somewhat blurred. The landscape, looking back, is familiar, I see the clear outline of many people and things, yet some of them as through a faint mist, although knowing so well all the time that they were important as they then existed. In that large school no teacher turned on the lights in his or her special depart- ment so that attainment meant a renewal of right spirit, or any real progress and d. I never learned there the significance of things, and the quality of impres- reccived and stored, gave me no joy or interest in aiming at any special distinction. It was simply and inevitably the principle of conformity to rules and text-books. 1 cannot believe that I showed any results or had .my income of treasure to look back upon ami remember, except the widening experience oi human nature. I was usually, I think, in conciliatory moods; I was not pretentious or hypocritical; bui I never there bad emblazoned on nrj shield faithfulness to study or any beatitude thai 1 ailed to me. I had bteen sent to New York according to plan in my, bo to speak, conventional education. Thai ma) have promised dazzlingl] to mj beloved parents, whose understandable temptation was to give theii onlj daughtei every opportunity l'. lf r To Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood for advancement, and yet with no knowledge how to keep the balance sheet that would have indicated clearly the success or failure of different experiments. As for my Father, firm was his belief, that in the dear Lord's time, the work of our hands would be established upon us; and surely my Mother must have felt that her children should be given every opportunity and allowed every indulgence that, in her judgment, seemed to promise desired results. But, Oh! the elaborate futility of Fashionable Schools! No technique for severe self-measurements or discriminations, no fair understanding of individual talent. It was an over-development in keeping ideas close to earth, and a reduction of practice to the level of worldly standards. It is when the Eternal Standard, the estimate of worth in terms of efficiency and nobility, is observed that helpful- ness and guidance become an inspiration; but lacking sincerity and simplicity nothing is done well. So few seem to know what to do with the individuality of child or growing girl. It is not somehow seen that we are all individuals at every age or stage of growth. My natural element resisted the efforts of teachers and surroundings to subjugate it — peace and enjoyment was not easily disturbed. For ever tugged at my heart the beauty of things, the things seen and felt, so that love of life had a hot intensity in me, and it never burned low. The great Universe did not speak even in shadowy terms. My world was just about my feet, and little things spoke loudly and meant to me what I never dreamed I could live without. Alas! In New York I had no passion for learning, but in a modified sense it is true to say that I loved my books— stories and poems continued to have a terrible fascination, and took firm hold of imagination. It was as if my heritage was a sense of exhiliration, my training seemed of a kind to make me rather more of a good friend. There was there, as everywhere, good opportunities for warm human relationships touched with a maximum of imagination. I felt free as air to demon- strate preferences, and yielded readily to the heady impulses of youth eager for adventure, and therein lay the explanation of many things I did, and much I felt. The Puritan's shadow was never over me. Our Soul is not subject to periods, and certain experiences are never wholly out of date. It is a temptation to dramatize one's lot and be a bit picturesque if possible about oneself, especially in new and strange surroundings, with a re- pressed home-sickness that shows how distant ones daily life is from what one wants it. So to make a picture of it all is the thing now to be resisted. After all there was something to me sweet underneath everything about living, even in those brown stone walls; for there was always a wonderful time ahead, and so much to learn and feel about the people around you. I sometimes feel that even then I had an outsider's perspective, which probably is the proper perspective as it saves one from too exaggerated a sense of individual importance. And from the first day I managed to get a good deal of rather detached amusement out of things, my relations with them at first being very slight. The moralizing of the Pharisee at the Head of the School! I can see that broad face, the very mobility of it was unpleasant. There was no lack of expression that he seemed for ever forcing into a benignant loftiness of look and patronage — but his was a curiously flattened face, the hair framing or topping it standing straight up on his high forehead in a pompadour most fetching. His head someway was incongruous, his eyes had a curious glint behind the benevolence, and strangely enough, as he rambled on in daily preachments that no one minded, he someway at times suggested the feline. The Teachers under his driving rod of speech tried often futilely to fit in by example with what they struggled to teach. No where scholarship, no where striking nobility or examples of the right and wrong always talked about — facts and fine illustration constantly shelved instead of challenging in power— nothing specially interesting or exciting, a sort of droning monotony in the school. There were over a hundred day scholars and about thirty boarders, and they all blended at first, or like some crazy-quilt, showed no beauty or harmony. Page 8 1 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood My first thrill came when Louise Van Norman floated in, Madonna-like in her pale blue gown with a scarf that made classic drapery, and seated at the piano played for our morning hymn. She was instantly the embodiment of Music to my adoring glance. Fair as a lily, with wavy golden hair growing very low, her complexion of creamy white, rose-tinged, had the rare perfection that struck one amazed; for it was a beauty of bloom that rivalled all the flowers of the field in delicacy of tint and preciousness of quality. That perfection of loveliness, I afterwards learned, was thoroughly appreciated and carefully preserved — no butter — no coffee — no sweets, the simplest diet, and regular exercise, and if a pimple ever appeared, proper remedies were immediately applied, and more self-denial enforced. The result certainly paid for the sacrifice, although she declared it was none, since she cared nothing for rich food and craved no special indulgence, whatever others claimed. She was unique to my astonished and admiring eyes, her classic features and grace of movement, set her upon the pedestal she adorned for long in my Pantheon. She always made me think of an engraving, very popular at that time, of "Evangeline". As we only saw Louise at morning prayers, unless going in or out, when I used to hang over the banisters for a look, I occupied myself during the Scripture lesson and prayer staring in delight at her bent head and fascinating profile, while her Father droned on haranguing the Almighty. That fair daughter of his house was an asset to charm the girls to silence, and the well-behaved school preserved conventional quiet and reverential posture as far from true devotion as if they were openly boisterous and rebellious. In the attentive silence of that first morning, I whispered excitedly to a tall dark-eyed girl in the desk beside me, "Oh! Isn't she a wonder?" "Yes, she's up to the picture — Only appears to the public eye once a day" was the whispered response with a sympathetic smile that quite won my heart. It only took a small amount of imagination to arouse my interest, emotions being spectacular rather than real and as such were generally transitory and shallow. I soon found that it war an admiration of silences when with Louise, for with her conversation limped, and sentiment alone led. But Gussie McClintock made of all the girls, the most decided and lasting impression. The sympathetic under- standing in her smile won me at once, and there was soon aroused a deepening admiration for her ability as well as appearance. She stood very high in her classes; but brilliant mentality did not militiate against kindliness; she was at- tractive and responsive and stately to my fancy. It was a happy chance that placed me near her, and the same gentle good-morning was given to the new and apparently insignificant Chicagoan as to the most regnant of the haughtily satisfied New Yorkers. We soon became friends. I was asked to her house, the pretty Parsonage of one of the largest Churches, and there learned, to my grief, that the family were preparing to leave for an indefinite stay abroad, as the eloquent and eminent Divine, her Father, had accepted a Call to the American Chapel in Paris. They were very real friends, I thought, and our good-byes were to me very sorrowful. "We'll write and you must come over" was Gussie's consoling farewell. I was comparatively a negligible quantity that first term. My room-mate, the daughter of a Bishop and very clever, had gifts for leadership which made her very popular; her scholarship was unquestionable, and her superiority unquestion- ed; She was three years my senior and usually \ I t\ tolerant of me. Our gas was always lighted again as soon as the watchful teacher had made her rounds at ten, and Florence read, wrote or studied long after 1 dropped asleep. She was usually kind, hut naturally critical and sometimes sharply satirical, and always held her own with teachers and pupils alike. If she had not died \oum; 1 verily believe she would h.i\e been ;i lis-hl in the literary world. She laughed good-naturedly at my persistent home-sickness, the expression of which was proudl) controlled and resen ed for the occasional Bolitudeoi mj room. Several t i im ■• , thinking myself alone and safe, she had found me weeping un- n trainedly, hue buried in the pillows, <>n the bed under the pink mosquito-net, Pag* 8a Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood which protected us from the singing pests that in late Fall took possession. It was a ridiculous picture as in years after she described it. One day she ended finally those fits of despair — lifting the folds that dropped about the bed, she looked at me quizzically! I did not feel contempt, but the disapproval was most marked. "You'll never be worth anything if you indulge yourself this way. What's the use of letting yourself go? Haven't you sense enough to know you can't change conditions? I really thought you were too proud to cry like a baby when you have chances many would cry for. Nobody gets anywhere that whines." "I don't whine" I cried in angry impetuosity. "It looks like it" was the cool response, and gathering up her books she added, "It's no use to expect everything you want, or that everybody is going to dance attendance, — for Heaven's sake, be something more than a spoilt child at your age." And that vigorous presentation did its work. I continued highly romantic, and was usually carrying on some thrilling affair in fancy, but gained in coolness of vision which is usually the other side of romanticism. My room-mate never conducted things on picturesque or impossible lines. She was practical, different from all others I knew, allowed herself no heavy in- dulgences of any sort; was sharp in making jokes and quotations, and puzzled her class-mates who never knew how to do it. She was ruthlessly in earnest, and in strength, superiority, and sarcasm kept the others to heel. She had the deferred emotions of her type, and as permanent interest was in her studies, she swept on from triumph to triumph in our midst, with always an air of calm indifference. It gave me many a vicarious thrill that was never acknowledged in words, for mine was an inarticulate intensity of respectful admiration. In the small hall-bedroom adjoining us was the one boarder I envied — pretty, sparkling, saucy Carrie Sims — dazzlingly recognizable as temperamental, and able to give lessons in allurements, and where lovers were concerned she was very useful; men were merely something that fell in love with you; delicate, passionate and mirthful, she gave me the greatest possible pleasure in deliberately choosing me for comrade and intimate. She counseled me to the effect that, when a boy was wild over you, you felt vaguely right with yourself, because you could forget school, and get a superlative satisfaction over receiving your dues from the other sex. It was a bright, but dimly visaged place to me, where lovers dwelt, but she painted it vividly, and behind the tremendous curtain of reality it glimmered in my mind for long. I loved the pageantry of it. At first, I even loved her arrogance. She was a born coquette, and in secret or public, quite genuine as the object of "crushes" in quantity from various boys of whom she told me. She carried herself like a little Queen, her joys in "love affairs" began very early — and at sixteen she was past-mistress in the art of attraction. She always had her own way, and insisted on social supremacy. People who want their own way, enough to bend all energies and forget all others to get it, have a wonderful advantage over those who shrink from contests or hate getting messed up, and shaken up by the earthquakes of dissension, and the rumbling and wrecking equivalent to fighting. Carrie had a wealth of golden-brown hair, it was short and fluffed, and her dancing grey eyes and laughing mouth told stories as glowing as herself. That highly coloured face beamed rapturously when you did not question or deny, and it was pitilessly useless to struggle against her charm. Merriment and good times and an adoration was what she claimed and secured. Our alliance was friendly, and it was her week-ends at home that stirred me to such longing. I waited every Monday morning to hear reports of marvellous experiences, and the happy and wonderful periods with her lively and noted family. Oh! If only I too could get home over Sunday I thought, as I listened to such vivid accounts of adventures and engagements, as yet wholly outside my horizon. The great event of the early winter, was the projected fancy-dress party the Boarding School was allowed to give. I merged myself at first in its gossip and preparations, listening eagerly as I heard discussions of characters and costumes, Page 8 j Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and plans for adornment mutually whispered over, but I finally awoke to the fact that I was not included in any group. It was the first Fancy-dress affair I had either ever heard of, outside of books, or participated in, and someway I soon began to feel ignored and neglected. Nobody cared to give me a single suggestion, each girl seemed to have secrets, and a circle that made her enthusiastically eager to secure as many guests as possible. The invitations properly engraved, were issued in numbers as demanded, and as I had no need of them I seemed wholly out of it. Later, when I timidly inquired of my popular room-mate what I could wear, the blunt response shut me up immediately. "I don't know or care a thing about it — Catch me making a fool of myself and spending money — I'm not going to dress — I'll look on and laugh at the rest." Florence was privileged beyond all others, as the oldest and cleverest, no one ever called her to task. The waters rolled back at her rebuff. I was not hurt to any profound extent, what she had said was not aimed at me I knew, but I was suddenly and consciously alone with no one to help me. I felt hot, indignant and defiant. It seemed nobody's business what I did — "Each for himself and the Devil take the hindermost." I, as hindermost, did not propose to be either gobbled up or crushed out; / would be in it, regardless of a whole school or city full of indifferent human beings, and decided I did not need assistance in making decisions or selections. So I thought out, more and more calmly, how to accomplish that end. I knew that somewhere costumes must be made and sold. I looked at the papers, studied advertisements, wrote down addresses, and laid my plans regardless of all the world; and without open tremors or any hesitation, I asked one afternoon for a Chaperon to shop for necessities. With one of the younger teachers I sallied forth to visit an advertised Costumer with plenty of Theatrical properties. I revelled in what was displayed, but wisely shrank from assuming the royal robes urged upon me. "Oh yes, you could look a Queen" smirked the salesman. "You have distinction enough for Cleopatra, or any great character" lied the proprietor of all that glory, as he sized us up ironically; but a modicum of common sense helped me to turn from the great costumes of the great Heroines of History, and self-respect selected a more modest costume. The picturesque dress of "The Daughter of the Regiment" seized my fancy, was rented for the day and evening in question, and feeling as if I had resisted temptation, I calmly gave name and address, deposited the five dollars demanded, and very loftily offered the assurance, that the other five would be paid when the goods were sent. I had used all the money in my purse, and I remember well the teacher looked rather admiringly, as, without question, I stopped at the Telegraph Office on the way back, to wire request for funds, deliberately adding — "Money is necessary without delay, will write explanation later," which incident I detail merely to prove a growing independence of action, as well as thought. Proudly successful, I had concluded that as no one in all that household was sufficiently interested to ask or to care what I wore, I tried, as the few days of interregnum wore on, to assure myself I did not care either. But I shall never forget the thrill of sudden delight that made the blood rush to my face, and quickened every pulse, when Carrie Sinims beckoned me mys- teriously into her room, and excitedly declared "Nobody shall know what 1 am going to be, but I'll tell you,-I'vc got it made at home, the loveliest French Peasant Mime you ever saw, Oh! I tell you it's becoming Even Mother said 1 looked beautiful I'm going to act as Flower Girl, ami carry the loveliest basket ami wreaths, And Oh my! you'll all be surprised — My sisters are coming, and they are si unning." And sure enough, on the eagerly anticipated evening, there Came a moment that made it seem as il the world had stopped to take breath? When Mary and Eliza Simms iwept into thai amateui assembly as Pocahontas and Sappho, bj itidden comparison with all the others, thej represented professionals in beaut} and high artistry among a lot oi caricaturists. ■ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Mary was superb in full Indian panoply, her long hair braided with wampum fell to her knees, and every detail of the Indian costume suited her splendid brunette type, as she marched haughtily through the rooms, the cynosure of all eyes. But Eliza, fair and wonderful in white cashmere, with bands of gold in Greek-Key pattern, bracelets and anklets, and classic clinging folds, was too adorably a Princess to allow even a word; for my heart beat fast in passionate delight over a realized vision of dreams. When Carrie said casually "Come and speak to Nina Lunt, she's my best chum," I fairly choked; all my pulses were fluttering with an intense admiration and unutterable longing for sisters— sisters like Carrie's! Mary gave me a stolid stare as became her character of the haughty Indian Pocahontas, and moved on without a word, but Carrie said, afterward, — "Sister Mary spotted your dress at once — said it was about the best of the lot — but that you didn't fit in, you weren't saucy enough, and you didn't use your drum." I minded nothing of that criticism for I didn't feel at home in the character, and Eliza, who had stopped for a kind word told me, I "looked very pretty" and smiled approvingly. Days and weeks after that memorable evening, I felt the fascination of those beautiful eyes, as beautiful now in age, as they were in her glorious youth. It was not long after, that hurrying through the hall, passing the Principal's Office, I heard his unctuous voice and my name. — "Yes — a bright girl, we like her, but fear she is going to lose her eyesight." The last horrible prophecy in the same smooth oily voice, that urged us daily to follow the promised road to perfection, and implied its possibility if we continued under his jurisdiction! That bland statement, which shut me into darkness, rolled in upon my amazed and horror- stricken soul, and, to my thought, must be based upon the confirmed diagnosis of the distinguished Occulist, that a temporary weakness had forced me to consult. An inflammation had followed his drastic treatment, necessitating a reduction of work, and now there rushed upon me the appalling threat of blindness. I had no power to reason, the awful fears that swept over me made for ac- ceptance, and I fled wildly upstairs, threw myself down in utter despair and gave my eyes cause for further inflammation. "What on earth's the matter," asked my confused room-mate, finding me in such an abandonment of grief. "Oh! — They say I'm going blind," I sobbed in an abject misery that compelled her instant sympathy, and she actually put her arms about me. "Now Neanie listen — That fool of a Doctor may have said something, and our big Gas-bag loves to hear himself talk; You're frightened, stop crying, and don't believe it, they are a parcel of fools anyway." Florence, it seems, had heard the rumour, felt somewhat apprehensive; and knowing my family, her instant advice was to the point. "Why don't you go right home? What's the use of staying here, anyway, when you only moon around with weak eyes? If old Van Norman believes what he says, he's criminal not to tell your parents." And in consequence at her dictation a telegram was sent privately to Chicago. It brought instant response, and the order I yearned for. I turned my back gladly at the end of that mid-year, and all apprehension was allayed and confidence regained in the midst of the excitement I found at home. It seems I was to have been sent for in a month's time anyway, as my Aunt Elizabeth wished me to be "Maid of Honour" at her wedding, and those prepara- tions were far too absorbing to dwell on small aches and pains, which my Mother never believed in emphasizing. My eyes were pronounced normal, only over- strained and tired. I forgot them myself in the tumult and excitement of last preparations. It was a festal time indeed — of breathless interest to me. Grand- father's death had reduced the style of living at the Homestead, and my Mother's younger sisters were, in turn, both married in our house. The great evening came, and it was a gay wedding party; the solemn service; the large reception; the sumptous supper; and the shining loveliness of the Bride. She was very beautiful in white satin and laces, and wore the pearls the devoted Page 8 5 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Groom had given. She stood, so slight and tall, and the long lace veil added mysterious charm to figure and face. Her beauty thrilled me as I stood close beside her in prideful possession of kinship, yet not forgetting my own part in it all. That shimmering white dress of mine, trimmed with Lillies-of-the- Valley, low necked and short sleeved, with a veil to the shoulders, and my lovely bouquet differing in choice from the other Bridesmaids, filled my idea of picturesque splend- our of raiment, and had given me rapturous satisfaction when I regarded my own image in the glass. But at Grandmother's exclamation, as I joined the group before we passed in, "Why Neanie! You have beautiful arms and neck," my cup overflowed. "How lightly sits my bosom's Lord," if not in words yet fully it expressed the moment's ecstasy. Just as before the hapless Romeo met his devastating blow, so was I also to be felled to earth before the evening's close! Who can measure the service rendered or the harm caused to one possessed of refinement of feeling, who, groping for the significance of Life, hears accidentally adverse opinions as to any, or all, personal charms; driving one harshly back to the common type of the unattractive in an hourthat had promised some achievement of social success. Whether a little decent humility was needed on that occasion of my first introduction to the gay world or not, it was certainly decreed for my benefit. The whole house had been a suitable setting for the radiant Bride; those gleam- ing eyes, that perfect figure, the beautiful smile and face so full of life, were all consummate in fascination, and my joy was unalloyed in its sense of possession, as I gazed in enchanted delight at the adorable central figure, and felt kindled by a pride that knew no bounds. When she slipped through the crowd I started to follow, that I might assist in the change from Bridal to Travelling costume. It was foredoomed that I should never reach her, even to say good-bye, which she could not have missed in the gay good wishes and hilarious accompaniment of her farewells. Sheltered behind one of the drawing-room doors, a kindly protesting voice, using my name, had given me sudden pause. I was fluttered with unfathomable satisfaction over Mr. Chandler's adjectives. As one of my Aunt Elizabeth's train of adorers, he had been often in sight and hearing during my former vacations, and he spoke of me now as "clever and promising". But the popular son of one of Chicago's leading families, who always glistened with pride and a sense of his own superiority, was putting the young pretender in her place! It is a tremendous power a man wields when there is danger of his hasty words being accepted as infallible judgment. And to think oneself unpardonably unattractive, batters all the bridges down and submerges one in bottom lands of humiliation. "An entertaining little cuss perhaps, but no smart school-girls for me. She is no looker, and I don't care for that sort; women must have beauty to be worth while. You can't say she wasn't a good foil tonight for that stunning Aunt." The shock to my nerves made for a stunning helplessness. Those unguarded statements caught at my breath. There was no glint of pride left in me; 1 felt visibly torn as if in some staggeringly bad dream. I slipped safely out of hearing, ami I could not have cried openly as 1 lied to my upper room. I only tried, as the d<>or closed behind me, to smother a shriek. Il was isolation again like the crushing despair when Grandmother introduced iih i,, Aria. I remember this momeni how 1 looked, as I Bat, hands pressed against hot cheeks, bending to study the mirrored reflection thai glanced back at me. The distressed face, ordinarily round and plump looking, had suddenly grown sharp- featured, and with vision half blurred, I leaned forward questioningly "It's no ii i no ii e, Vou'll never l>e good-lookim- Whal can \ on do aboul it? What Can \"U do'', for I found myself talking audibly. A sick hopelessness Hooding in, wa\ e after w a^ e. The room fell airli and dn i\ as I hacked away from the pale reflection, I Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and something began to drip down my face, something wet that I did not recognize at first. I saw myself, mouth opening and shutting, repeating — "What shall I do about it? What shall I do? And out of my unmanageable mind came self-scorn. No one must know about it; nobody shall know I heard it. Grandfather said I "Wasn't half bad". Mother said "It didn't make much difference if people loved you", and a strange sympathy and passionate purpose began to sweep over me. I must be something — I must, I must; and in a sort of shrill reciting to myself, the truth surged over me, very real, very certain now, that control and conquest and unshaken determination was necessary to self-respect. I will do something, I will be something; / will, I will. And suddenly the summing up appeared as individual criticism, merely handed out as a matter of course to be conceded or ignored. Whether born in the purple like my Aunt, or as a "good foil" for her beauty, no one should ever know that I cared. And later, to the very two I had overheard, who drew near for last compliments, I made stumbling attempts to be conversational, and in stiff little phrases to conceal my excitement. But deliberately I ignored the extended hand of the one, who "had no use for school-girls" and had named me — "The Foil". I felt a sudden temper rise in me like a hurricane, as he was smoothly declaring his purpose to make effort to call soon, and secure the desired pleasure of further acquaintance. A little shudder swept over me, and I heard my voice raised in sharply flippant rejoiners. "Quite unnecessary, quite unnecessary — spare yourself such efforts"— and at his startled stare — "It's school, not society for me; happily it will be a full year or more, before I shall need to make further claims on the courtesy of my Aunt's admirers." I did not put my head down, I did not drop my eyes, I looked straight at, straight through him, as he backed away incredulous and amazed. "And then," broke in Mr. Chandler, the understanding grasp of whose hand made my eyelids hot again. "And then, when you do come back to us, you will find that you have inherited your Aunt's friends." That instant comprehension made the situation less tense; the hurt was salved and never became articulate; the wound to pride was successfully masked. The convulsive shock with its chilling personal meaning and piercing significance soon passed. I was in harmony with my own surroundings. There was some evidence of a growth of philosophy, the kind that while not rejecting the appearances counts them of less value. Its doctrine being briefly that beauty in itself brings no sure happiness — that we have to value things ac- cording to the quantity and intensity of our feelings, purposes, and experiences. I had a vague desire for something that represented the moral valuations as well as the esthetic — I aimed somewhat consciously at a certain lofty point of view, and I think there was decided danger of my becoming a bit of a -poseur. I pos- sessed a certain amount of taste of a certain kind, together with a lot of old- fashioned romantic ideas and ideals which I could not attempt to regulate. For a time, however, that castic and freely expressed opinion of my personal lack of all feminine allure, because of criticised physical defects, would not allow me to discard wholly my futile longings, or to lessen the sense of probably intoler- able loss as regarded my future condition and prospects. But the things that pleased me most were filling my life. I was becoming more definitely immune. The world had in it a blessed friendliness, and Life was again bountiful of material advantages. THE FAVORING WINDS From the very earliest remembrance since the night I learned its meaning, and realized its blessed message to young and old; since my Father told me in such tender words the story of the Manger, of the Star of Bethlehem that guides wisdom to its source; the panacea for all evil in "Peace on Earth, Good-will to Men", I have loved Christmas beyond words. It became the climax of the year, Page S7 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood with everywhere symbols in the Heavens and on the Earth of that majestic cele- bration of the Saviour's Birth. Oh! the joy and glamour and lovely import of that day! The fulfillment of the gift of Life to those who believe, the shining of its own unfading Star, the hope and promise of Life Everlasting. To my Father it was always a religious festival, his devotion and large hearted- ness celebrated the Birthday of our Lord in simplicity of real worship, yet working and planning for us all, in the rejoicing that comes with thinking for others. The Christmas of my Father was like the gladdening of the hearts of the world. It was more than feating and happy exchange of gifts. It was wonderful in a sort of rythmic music, that gave me tense excitement in preparation and fulfillment; the idea always of a vast festival that prevailed over the whole earth gladdening the hearts of men. Life's illusions can never pass when in the day's routine there is always rejoicing in what one can give and do, receive and enjoy; no harsjiness, no bitterness, no austerity, no chilliness in charity, no sternness in word or look, only love, kind- ness and pleasure; a welding of home-life that forever answered to our family the Moslem's greeting, — "God grant Thee Peace". Largely on my horizon for Christmas, following swiftly upon my Aunt's wed- ding, loomed the arrival of my little brothers, and their growth and brightness, and to me, beauty, established between us a sort of fighting fraternity. There is an instinct between those of the same flesh and blood that no one can argue down, and when I first laid eyes on them again, I felt a sort of bewitchment and the struggling of the new sense of responsibility. The warmth of their wel- come each vacation burnt itself into my memory. I wanted to fling open every door in me, tightly sealed before, in our interchanges. Emotions and sentimental reasons made me at first want them constantly in view. It was a fortnight of great happiness, and the perfection of those holiday hours was like light itself with no shadows to break the spell. I can see them now, standing in such an intensity of delight, under the tree surmounted by its Star and flying Angel. Holly wreaths, flowers abundant, gifts and goodies, and such benefactions as belong alone to Christmas. We laughed as if it were a new sight to see old Biddy's cap, with its streaming ribbons hanging high, and to hear the usual outcry, "Glory be to God, Will ye's look at me grand cap?" and that devoted "Queen of the Kitchen" addressed me now, thankfully and respectfully, as "Miss O'Lunt" as, since my return from that brief three months in New York, which, in her view, added largely to age and dignity, the importance of that initial in my Father's name belonged to each member of the family now as indicative of our high station; it was Miss O'Lunt, Mr. Horace O'Lunt, Mr. George O'Lunt for evermore. It was dear of my Father that Winter to offer to teach me to skate. That graciousness of generosity in time and patience seemed beyond price. Oh Love! Love that does not tire itself in giving; that knows no exhaustion, ever eminating as a fresh spring from the parental heart. Can there be higher or holier things than that which is daily inspired by tenderness of bestowment, that coming from the depths forever strives to give children comfort and cheer and courage? For me there has never been necessity of going to Heaven. It has not been hard to make a Christmas, not of the day, but of every day throughout the year. I think I was the first girl in Chicago to go out on the ice. My Father was expert, and it did not take long for me to feel at ease and exult in that swift in- describable grace of motion. And our example was speedily followed by a neigh- bour and friend of my own age with her Father. My relations had been affectionate, even at limes intimate, with Jessie Bross, whom 1 had known for yean back. II challenged considerable comment at fust to see Orrington bunt and William Hmss with their daughters among all those skating men and boys, but there was ii" unkind criticism, and our careful Fathers were always with us. and gave small liberi v to Veni lire far on t he icy fields. The bake was fro/en smooth lor a distance, but although we gained in skill and confidence, we were not taken much beyond Mi-- Break-water, however tempting the Bhining surface. Pau 88 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood It was a white Winter, and a Winter fiercely cold. The stillness, the absolute silence of the Lake hushed for weeks under its icy shroud, the glitter on that spotless mirror of ice, and my growing fearlessness and exhiliration, tempted to adventure. One never to be forgotten afternoon, Henry Cook, the tall well set up and sandy- haired son of one of my Father's special friends, who had often joined us, breezed in to inquire "Why I was losing such a splendid chance for sport?" On learning Father's engagements had not permitted leisure, he urged my going forth with him. Securing Mother's rather reluctant consent by promising watchful care, declaring that I "rivalled most of the boys, and for that matter understood well how to be cautious." A flame of spirit in me, that meant immunity from cold or fatigue, mounted high as we started, and when Henry extended his hand, and we slipped out of the Break-water, excitability and forgetfullness of all warnings was aroused. We swept together as if speeding with wings through space. I can feel that glorious thrill now and see the smile of approval which flattered and urged me on. I had no realization of time, the world to far horizons looked a silvery sheet of ice as the voices of the skaters behind us grew distant. All suddenly a darker stretch before us, a change of colour caught my eye and breath, and at that menacing second a boy dashed by us — and dashed in. The treacherous spot of thin surface gave way so instantly that the water crept toward us. But I heard above the buzzing in my ears and the shock to vision, a loud cry of command "Back — Back — Go Back — Quick, Quick," — and instinctively I obeyed. To my last breath I can never forget the awful terror on that blanched face when the boy came up — livid — dreadful; such fright and despair as he clutched the edges of ice that gave way and gave no hold. The quickness of action that thought not of self and would not yield to the inevitable was to Henry Cook's lasting credit. He saved that young life while imperatively ordering me back to safety. Without a moment's hesitation he stretched himself full length, most of his body on solid ice behind the hole. The coat he wore had been torn off and was thrown to the sinking skater. The boy managed to grasp the safety rope and was pulled from that strangling death. A boy about twelve, I should judge, who lay as if wholly dazed after being dragged a distance. Then while Henry bent over him, making inquiries that he could not answer, between choking gasps and sobs, he sprang up shaking, dripping, staring, and livid in paleness. He gave us a wild look, and without a word dashed, all drenched and silent, for the distant shore. "Didn't he thank you at all" I asked, as Henry shook out his icy coat.^ "Not a word" he laughed back, "but no matter for that, we are saved from getting into the papers, he doesn't know our names, any more than we do his." " Don't tremble so," he added kindly, "you've got a chill and so have I. Now for home, and to get something hot." We sped to the shore, I was shivering like one who has taken a blow on her shield. We had come so far. The amazing stillness caught at one's heart just as if the whole world was listening — listening for death or deliverance. The only course to insure any further permission to be escorted anywhere, by any young man, was to preserve my own counsel about either danger or rescue. And I was fully confirmed the following morning, when they read from "The Tribune" an account of "some boy being saved from drowning by an unknown skater," with warnings to the adventurous that venturing far out always challenged disaster. "There is reason for caution indeed," said my Father, and we could never skate on the Lake now outside the breakwater. To my Mother's summons, one evening soon after, I responded with that feeling her slightest request always engendered. My Mother was never indifferent to any calls or needs in her household, and she invariably roused in me some con- sciousness that made me want to love and serve. There was no wall dividing me from human beings when sympathy disarmed selfishness and there was no shadow between my Mother and myself. Page 89 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Now the sudden illness of one of the maids demanded certain remedies. "It was late, but the sleigh would be ready, there was no one else to send swiftly, and I must bring back the medicine without loss of time." She brought my grey squirrel cloak, and a close fitting cap of fur pulled well down. With loving directions the door opened and I stepped into the night of snow — white everywhere in blazing starlight. Masses of clouds flew before the icy wind, so that all the stars seemed rushing across the Heavens. The darkness had no threat; nature incarnated itself in that world of snow. No sound in the sky above or on the earth below, as the sleigh swung into that hush of white lying spread — like a pall of peace — as far as the eye could see. The spectacle was quite different from anything before, even in imagina- tion. Overhead blazed the constellations, and small and smiling I snuggled with content under the robes, and felt foolishly happy like one escaped from a house to adventure alone. An errand at that hour appealed as an adventure, and chal- lenged one. As I entered the large Drug Store, alight and warm, blowing in from the harsh outside, someone arose from the desk in a distant corner of the store. With a nod he dismissed the sleepy clerk from his stand, and the dark shape of a dark man came smilingly forward. His face differed from any familiar before, and his eyes fixed on me had a curious piercing quality. He was large featured, with drooping mustache, and rather long side whiskers. His thick curly black hair was parted in the middle and waved back from a low narrow brow. He looked the foreigner, and it was natural that I did not like the way he glanced at and seemed to be taking me in, neither did I answer as readily as usual to his brisk tentative questions. "A cold night for a little lady to be out alone! I hope you had not to come too far?" This hard Winter seems to make the world seem dead," he added, as for sole answer I made my request, and thought him long in getting the package ready. He seemed to pretend in his search, and the voice became somewhat veiled and mellow, as he gave me the unsolicited information, that his home was in England, that he had not been long in this country and "was quite on fire to meet some young ladies." "Were you ever lonely?" he added, — "Oh! where is my purse?" I interrupted, hunting a bit wildly, and thrown into sudden consternation. He fixed a gaze full of meaning, but to me totally unrecognizable, as he replied with a sinister smile, — "Don't distress yourself unnecessarily — Money is not indispensable." "It must be I left it in the sleigh, but you can charge it to my Father, Mr. 0. Lunt, 171 Michigan Avenue, it's the same thing anyway." The change in look and manner was instantaneous; he handed me the parcel and said in totally different tones, "Excuse me if I presume, here in America, he added gently, one feels homeless and lonely without friends; I never dreamed Winter could be so mournful and yet of such loveliness." The Heavens tumbled their magnificence as we rushed homeward. The stars were bigger and more golden than before, and for the first time I had heard an appeal from a stranger for sympathy. Out of that bright frosty night into the warmth and lights of homo, I found consternation, caused by a telegram announcing the death ol Grandfather Lunt, followed in a few hours by that of his wife. There was excitement and preparation for my Parents immediate journey East. The scene I had experienced faded swiftly, and the picture was blurred and forgotten. My untutored insight Could give it no name, and in the haste and excitemenl of their departure I never spoke ol it. The return of the wedded pair suited my Mother's plans to have them with U lor a while, as in all its furnishings their lovely home was not quite complete. And thai vrry day my Aunt Elizabeth had been installed, and m\ Pa rent 8 left well .Mi Bed that I would lie protected, and the house run on its usual lines. Two da] afti 1 came Bom< thing complete!] astonishing, in the shape ol a floral Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood offering, the very first I had ever received. I was too delighted to be critical. It was a large bouquet, with a large Camelia in the centre, with Forget-Me-Nots and other flowers packed tight about it, all set in green leaves. It was stiff in ar- rangement to the point of artificiality, and for a second my heart beat as I looked. There was no card. A curious thrill of hope and delight swept over me. Oh! could it be? Could he have sent them? — My dream Prince — For I was still domin- ated by that force of passionate idealism within me. I still hugged my only idol. He was ever on his throne. To that worship I was consciously faithful. It was then the year before the War, the gathering clouds had not burst, and how could the young know that conflict and destruction and death were so im- minent. I smile as these old emotions stir me in their partial return. As I had never been caged or cramped in fact, so with all fancies, sentimental longings and baseless dreams, I played at will. Disappointments never lingered long nor stabbed too deeply, but that moment of possible realization sent the blood rushing through my veins. Something stirred to renewal of joy in the vital fabric of thought. Duncan Jackson Hall. It was a fine name. To his family and circle of intimates he was merely "Jack". That was out of character to me. He was too nobly fascinating, keeping his reserve inviolable. Just lately we had met a little oftener, and sometimes I caught a swift gleam out of the corner of his eye and what might have been a slow amused smile. Yet he was always indifferent and continued aloof; his untiring concentration on his studies had made all tokens and pledges to me unnecessary, impossible in fact; and I suppose to him I must have seemed a young girl with no goal, and with a passion for the irrelevant, perhaps the mystical and altruistic. To that day when I dared to believe I had received an expression of regard, while I could not analyze it, or him, yet, his definite individualized category of life, was as if he piloted himself on a chartered Sea that would forever prevent any real understanding. I was behaving like "An idle ship upon an idle ocean", and would have gladly broken all rules. He had never descended to the level of my other friends, and I have never known how much he noticed me, nor have I dared to hope he ever cared. My insight and penetration were all lacking of course. There was in me only that hungry zest of appreciation and admiration which had been the greatest treasure I could pay. And now for one week with no sign whatever, totally unaware of the pathos or ridiculousness of my sensations and position, I walked in an ecstasy. Offering my little silent pledges and waiting for his call or signal. Six days only, and bouquet No. 2 stiffly arranged as before, and with the same bloodless centre, a great white Camelia! "Tell me why there's no card" said my Aunt, with a light laugh that hurt. For a minute I think I was as pale as the Camelia itself, as she added, "Whoever sent those flowers wasn't burdened with taste or fine feeling, or he'd notice the wilting ones on the edge — I suppose you know who it is? and in your place I'd let him know that withered Posies are a poor compliment." Aunt Elizabeth had received offerings all her life, and had sat on her throne too long to understand lesser lights. The complete conviction gripped me at her comment. The absolute certainty that they never came from the source I had hopefully settled upon. I swallowed hard, with a total inability to treat things simply. I had been a sort of puppet pulled by invisible strings, and it had been all at my own initiative. Suddenly I remembered a Birthday two years before, when at their house, the adored and adorable son to his Mother said, as far as I can recall the words — "That he had selected only fragrant ones, I don't care for any others, its like beauty without a soul." How could I have believed passionately that such flowers came from him? For a second it was like a scene dramatically set, as I turned away crying, "I Page Qi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood don't know who sent them, and I don't care, I hate them now, and you may throw them into the street." The hope that illumined a few short days was crushed, but I still had a sure instinct for honesty, and the forbearance of understanding, and I made immediate concessions in the spirit. I apologized, as it were, to the idol I had created, in- spired always by the tenderness of idealization and that un-selfconsciousness that believes in its own creation. The shadow cast by tradition, by inherited qualities, by a fertile imagination is bigger than anything we can create ourselves. My philosophy, myself that time in my 'teens, led me always a pilgrim to some uplifted shrine. It was the urge of love, and service of faith without rewards, a steady offering or sacrifice with no connections between feelings and gifts; a satisfaction in emotions, with a strange indifference to suitable or deserved returns. Bouquets No. 3 and 4, the last of the series, were met with contemptous ex- pressions, and left on one of the centre tables, behind the closed doors, of the large drawing-room. There was a small party at the Yoe's in Terrace Row, and my Aunt Elizabeth had accepted for me, and arrayed me very prettily. Early that evening, one of the girls I had known at the Dearborn Seminary, who was lately married, whispered mysteriously, "There's someone I know who is just mad about you; he's English; John Henry Parsons, he bought an interest in the big Drug Store, where my husband is a Partner, and the first moment he saw you here made us promise to introduce him. Oh! Look! he's coming towards us now, that dark foreign looking fellow over there." In a flash the scene of that snowy night returned, also those last words that spoke of loneliness in a strange land. But for that memory I could hardly have met him with courteous response to his unusually warm greeting. But the im- pressive manner, acknowledging introduction, certainly impressed me; he bent low from the waist, a sort of military bow, quite new to me, and murmured in stilted fashion, "That he greatly desired the honour" or something to that effect. When he proceded in that strain about paying homage before some Shrine, Heaven know what!, I tried to raise my eyebrows, as I had read of heroines doing, but I didn't know what to say. The relief of the amusing situation, to a complete novice entirely unused to social persiflage or semblance of devotion, came in his asking for the dance. The Lancers were just over, and instead of one of the Square Dances, I found myself on the floor for a Waltz. Lessons in that fascinating art during the three or four months in New York, aided by a musical ear and a sense of rythm, had not been without satisfactory results, and in the Gymnasium of the School where the girls danced daily, we had out weekly lessons from a Professional, and the sense of harmonious motion had sometimes made me giddy with delight, and finally became a conscious joy. All my partners hitherto however, had been of my own sex, a curious exhilara- tion seized me as I accepted this stranger's offered arm. The excitement soon changed to dissatisfaction as I felt the awkwardness of his movements, and the closeness of his hold. As I asked to be seated, plainly critical, I thought to myself, "Mercy! If this is dancing with a man there's no fun in it, he moves like an ele- phant." The distressed partner, almost as if he understood me, remarked apologetically, "Your waltz, with its eternal reversing, differs greatly from ours. Evidently my experience does not insure my being a welcome partner, lie gracious, and give me another opportunity, I pray." At thai moment I was seated beside B tall vase of red roses, to the Ih.iuIx aiul fragrance of which he made casual mention adding "In our country, at all functions, the ladies carry them in lovely, often jewelled, bouquet-holders," and my suspicions "I those stiff bouquets became instantly confirmed. Suddenly, almost unconsciously, 1 blurted out, "1 don't like Camelia's." Me flushed to his temples, and overcome with shame .it m\ inexcusable rudeness, 1 Pagt 'j.' Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood plunged in deeper, trying to make things better: "I — I only mean, that I care most for fragrant flowers — others have no soul," deliberately quoting that ultimatum of my Dream Prince, who had settled the value of floral offerings for all time. "If you will permit me then, I'd like to send you Roses hereafter, only give me permission to say it that way." This I remember, because it sounded so romantic. I must confess that I was flattered, and that no sense of humour made it ridiculous. He stayed beside me all the evening, until Jessie Bross whispered mischievously "You've made a conquest, who is he? — a Prince in disguise?" and at his name after introduction, and a brief colloquy in her merriest manner, "You know this is a sort of neighbourhood club for dancing this Winter," and as we were to meet at her house, she invited him without reservation for the next time. I am quite convinced my embarrassment was evident, when she capped it all with the announcement, "That, although it was my first appearance, they counted on me for a regular member until my return to New York next season." I began to grow accustomed to his marked attentions and gave unequivocal consent, vanity flattered to blindness, when he asked to call and pressed it for the following evening. The vision of my Aunt Elizabeth's face when I made her the requisite explana- tions rises before me this moment. Ridicule is a terrible weapon and with fright I recalled her laughing summons a few days before to her husband. "Oh come quick George, come and look at that fellow on horse-back! What a figure of a man! He's humped like a camel! Its the English Trot and he rises yards." The new Uncle's careless comment as he stood beside her at the window and yawned openly, — It's that English Druggist. What's the matter with the fool out this weather? He rides like a jockey, but was never made to adorn a horse." "He ought to see himself," my Aunt interpolated, and he'd " never try it again." Their laugh returned to me and the picture was unmistakable. There had been a January thaw which must have tempted him to the role of the solitary horseman. As it thrust itself upon recollection, Alas! I knew what to expect. The calls that followed were provocative of sarcasm, and I congealed under it. When surface defects are made too plain, one naturally grows cold to advances. And soon, as I was driven to chilliness and declined certain invitations, and the acquaintance that followed wrapped his approaches in a wet blanket, all enthusiasm was deluged by constant criticism. When my Parents returned the accounts of his calls and flowers did not seem to please my Mother, and it was made amazingly difficult for any man, young or old, to persevere in unsolicited attentions. It died therefor of inanition. About that time I became really interested in my Music lessons. With a relatively decent Teacher, at last it began to mean something more than a personal performance of some showy piece, thrummed out in my slap-dash style. My ringers dashed about with cheerful inaccuracy when I tried to play, but from the very first I was a sincere passionate lover of Music. And it came, not only from the instruction, more or less perfunctory and complacently inadequate, of old Mr. Perribo, but from the meeting, seeing and hearing that little prodigy, his son Ernst. That strange dark-looking child impressed me as one so unusual at first glance. His Father had told me in halting phrases but gratified tones, that the boy's gifts meant the becoming a great virtuoso, which I then did not understand was the highest possible attainment, and the greatest possible tribute to genius. The manners of the youth were anything but agreeable, and until I heard him play, were decidedly repellant. When he came first he was easily disturbed, or angered apparently at the least notice, and made such irritable and trivial objections when asked to play, standing unmoved, and plainly taking advantage of a chance to mortify, before me, his tyrannical parent. That little fellow, stunted somewhat in growth, swarthy, sullen, dark, and at first so contemptously silent; when at last preemptorily ordered to the piano, startled and amazed me by his brilliant attack of the instrument and, to me, his Page 93 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood brilliant interpretation. There was a fine scorn in that young face, and my expres- sion of delight did not seem to stir him in the least. Those sombre eyes seemed to hate everything; so small, so thin, so untidy, so unhappy looking, and so evidently forced to unwilling obedience! The passion of his silent rebellion, the dramatic repression in him, touched some strange cord in me. The brilliancy of such gifts, almost those of an accomp- lished artist, were wholly new to experience and captivated me at once. It was a queer sort of extraordinary power, transcendent to my fancy, that produced entirely new emotions as I listened. The musical effects were instantaneous. He gave colour and passion in tones. Sounds of hope and adoration awed me into a belief that it could come from no mortal conceptions, but was evidently the Divine language, and my sense of rapturous enjoyment assimilated a kind of knowledge that from that hour related sounds to ideas. My outbursts of admiration the lad received stoically. He seemed incapable of interest in surroundings or of any responsive emotion. At my urgent request it became a habit to bring little Ernst often; and always, my Mother, who had learned of their poverty, had a treat prepared, and from time to time thereafter, a basket of "goodies" was sent to their poor shabby rooms on the far West side. At last the child warmed to cakes and candies, and what praises could not reach, the assurance of good feeding accomplished. The stomach satisfied, ice cream melting down his throat, melted his reserve. The mind opened and I gained his confidence. He told me he was often whipped to the piano, shut up in the cold room for hours, that some keys to the piano were broken, that his fingers hurt him; that sometimes cracks came and that they bled, that he hated it all, and he hated his Father who drove him so relentlessly. Old Mr. Perabo had a suave and smirking manner, was as gentle as he was shabby, and had always appeared to me a mild character. But who can measure or understand those Polish Jews, their slumbering power, or the unapproachable genius, of the greatly gifted few who have arisen to challenge the world? The apparition of a genius is incalculable, anywhere or in any line it is beyond all comprehension. Ernst Perabo was to become in future years a noted pianist, and acknowledged artist, yet certainly in his hard and bitter youth, he had distaste rather than love, of his instrument. I do not forget my occasional visits to the miserable tenement that sheltered the Father and son, and they called me a "good angel"; and I could not realize that such distinctive compliments merely meant the degree of largesse bestowed and received; a real compliment, later in life, was paid my mem- ory by Ernst Perabo, of whom I had entirely lost sight, in his dedicating certain compositions to me. In those days Musical Art, with us, was at a low ebb, in fact the Glorious Muse had few supporters in our Middle West, then far removed apparently from seats of culture. The benefit was not small to me in the experienced delight which established taste, increased activity, and kindled an eagerness in a manner far beyond any tuition that the Father, without the aid of his son, could have given. My chief defect at that stage was in knowledge, not in taste, but in understanding the power of sounds. And once, owing to my Mother's generosity who gave them tickets to accomp- any us to the advertised Violin Recital, I hail a shock of joy. The great Artist with the strange name, that I remembered from New 1 > u r \ port days, when 1 had envied Miss Mary and Mr. Leslie starting for a Concert, 1 was at last to hear. The day had come when I listened to Ole Bull, the first great Violinist 1 had ever heard. The sensations of triumphant joy enraptured me, and 1 have no words now, as I have never had, to describe such sensations. Pegt ijj Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE OVERSOUL Remaining at home for the rest of that year there seemed about me an ir- repressible sense of joy. I used to watch the early morning lights over the Lake, and the lovely tones and tints of evening, and thank God, sometimes in light- hearted awe-struck gratitude for being so happy — so comfortable — and so free from restraint. Perhaps Fate is always with us, and the more of interests even of strangeness we crowd into our lives the better. That Winter did more for me than any previous year at school. More and more I enjoyed reading, reading aloud sometimes to hear the words — I so loved words — but instinctively I longed for companionship in a way that would give immediate understanding. We none of us wear the badge of Caste like the Hindoos, but it is none the less visible in education, in taste, bearing, and manner, and it divides and separates implacably. After all it makes different persons and personality profoundly distinct. It isn't that some are less refined, less attractive, or that surroundings are hostile. It is the superior force, the vitality, the call, the challenge, the charm that conquers. And so with some affinities felt at once, thought becomes stronger, action more harmonious, faculties more flexible, and waverings of purpose and feeling diminish. It is not the question of disposition but of secret affinities — and happily I found a comrade of smiliar desires and finer abilities. A subtle instinct told me that books would be like witnesses between us and a sort of protection. It was this mutual taste discerned that drove me to effort and brought her out of her isolation. We had always, to my knowledge, friendly acquaintance with the Clark's and I had played in childhood with "Libbie", their only daughter. Our relations were cordial enough for me to have been sent to their house when my darling youngest brother was born — George of the golden curls, blue eyes and sunny smile. But we had swept apart, and until this half-year of my remaining at home, there seemed a strain between us whenever we met. In my ignorance I could not break it — school or travel, or time or something unrecognized, had largely separated us. It might have been a separating quality of the soul. She appealed as distinctly intellectual and socially alien; and the three years difference in our ages, at first of no account, seemed now marked by a sort of cynical superiority and a consequent strange aloofness. Her intelligence was the charm, and her indifference a sort of challenge. For, what I wanted I never ceased striving for. I did not understand why she could not care for me, coldness was no great deterrent since I was unaccustomed to being denied what I sought. She never seemed to talk lightly, was apparently thinking deeply as if tightly strung; and at first, her isolation denied any communion of interest or pursuits. However wrapped up in self, or however tight-fitting the armour, my persistent wooing lifted the visor and slowly removed the breast-plate. I asked her to drive with me here and there, arranged special meetings, sent flowers on her Birthday, which I happened to discover and, making several calls to her one, the way was finally opened. It was then at my urgent invitation and suggestion we arranged to read together, in my rooms overlooking the Lake, twice or three times a week, or oftener, if pos- sible, so great was my ardour. She was very individual. She was, even at that stage, a sort of critical onlooker, not a participant anywhere. She never asked questions, and there was no exchange of confidences, and no occasions for the strivings of curiosity. Her sarcastic shafts were not always aimed at the individual, and I soon learned to treat her remarks as accidental and too widely general to be hurt over. To a degree, I conquered native reticence, got her out of her solitude, and finally she stepped down to me. It was at this very period that I met Mr. Wiley, a shy, clever, mild speaking man, gifted, and yet dumb, before his idol. It was always pathetic to me that so endowed a being, one so eminently suited to make a woman of her nature proud and happy, should lack all knowledge how to make inroads, or how to lay successful siege to the citadel of her heart. He loved Elysabeth but dared not "rush in", Page 95 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood as did a simple soul later, where "Angels feared to tread". With Elysabeth, it was as if she wore a cloak which she unwrapped very slowly, layer after layer; as if reluctantly unwrapping her reserve, and perhaps it was not strange that so delicate, high-minded and spiritual a nature as his could never pass the icy barrier. Whether coldness was intentional there, I could not decide, but to me, it was always remoteness of nature; a sort of untouched something in her; probably she did not intend to be really impersonal, certainly she seemed easily won while I was in Europe, by a seemingly very ordinary man. I have always felt in debt to Mr. Wiley, for he had familiarized us by gifts of the volumes of James Martineau's Sermons, and in years after he opened the door for me to meet that distinguished scholar and Saint with whom he cor- responded. That kindness also made me acquainted with a few other distinguished Englishmen, that I met at the Martineau home, which gave me experiences no one else could have afforded. When Elysabeth and I first began our readings I found her thoughts were never wandering like mine, she was not led astray or dominated by the personal, or by any sparkle of fascination anywhere. She was stable, clever, accurate, concentrated where it was likely to be exuberance or diffusion in me. I was never as keenly intellectual, or as sure as those who know a sort of personal immunity and fix eyes steadily upon a single goal. Sensitive and intense feelings, a widely imaginative vision, is not desirable when singleness of aim and complete concentration is necessary to accomplishment. I believe things someway spoil each other in warm natures. When we first began our regular readings she broke in one day, "Don't ever call me Libby again." My name is Elysabeth. I have decided to take the English spelling. Please remember it is now Elysabeth — E-1-y-s-a-b-e-t-h." "Yes, I responded quickly," I changed mine from Neanie to Nina, when I was at New- buryport. I made up my mind I would not have that baby name and queer spelling any longer. You know I was christened Cornelia, but that is Mother's name and because her Father loved the Classics he called her Cornelia Augusta for the Roman Empress. They say that Mother is stately and that it suits her, but I'm what Grandmother calls a Flutterbudget, or something that sounded like that; anyone would laugh to say Cornelia to me." And thereupon we laughed together, and figuratively clasped hands over the pact made with mutual satisfaction. We both of us had what we craved, sympathetic companionship, opportunity, and congenial enjoyment in our eager dippings into Literature. She once said to me years later, for still we walk the same earth with our friendship unbroken — "I was in those days passivity itself, and you, dominated by a force of passion, con- quered detachment in me; loving life as you did you seemed a sure victor in it, and were, to mc, like a haunting accompaniment to its beauty." None the less as I recall that time, I know well I scattered ideas when she most wanted them clarified and concentrated; and whatever we were reading I continued steadily emotional, and created my "Garden of Dreams" as a form of conquest over the commonplace of practical days. It meant detachment to dream. Elysabcth's suggestions were strictly followed, and all the books she advised were purchased; but after wallowing through Alger's History of "The Doctrine of a Future Life", and Draper's "Intellectual Development of Europe", a few days of "Spencer's First Principles", made a rebel of me. 1 flatly refused a further of Philosophy, and produced "Arnold's Kssays and Poems", which were followed in course by James Russcl Lowells, "Study Windows" and finally Finer- son's Works, presented to me at that time, started us in the path of mysticism. And for me it shot up from the ground to the stars. We solemnly pledged our- selves to eschew the Ancients, and entertain or enlighten ourselves by studying the modern school of Thinkers. Somew.iy 1 fairly began tO revel in the Trans- cendental Essay's that I could only pretend to understand. One day, seeing in The Tribune that the great Fmerson himself was in town and hooked for a certain Lecture, I dto\e hastily up to Flysabct h's with my Father's last gift, a pack of visiting cards, which 1 proudly displayed with the Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood important announcement of its use! Once, when a very little girl, I had dressed up to play making calls, as did my Mother and Aunts; and aware that they always carried cards, I secured a blank one and printed something I thought better than my name. It was my real title, I thought, and single claim to consideration. In carefully formed letters I wrote, "O. LUNT'S DAUGHTER", fully satisfied with that distinction. When I proudly displayed the same to my amused family, Father caught me in his arms and gravely asked for one as a keepsake. He kept it until soiled and worn, and on my Birthday, at the mature age of sixteen, he had shown it to me with an embrace, and added to the beautiful watch and chain purchased at Tiffany's, so delighting me with its stem winder and exquisite case — he had handed me the cards engraved in Old English, which I have used in prefer- ence to all others for over sixty years. How proud I was to show Elysabeth, "Miss Lunt" in Old English, and I could not refrain from saying, "If you don't happen to have cards of your own, just write your name under mine. That will do just as well. It will be quite neces- sary to the situation. We are to make a call on Mr. Emerson. That is the thing to do." She looked fairly stunned as I continued, "It belongs to our rank as disciples". It was a splendid chance to send up my fine new card, and incidently to inter- view the philosopher! " To call on Mr. Emerson! Why we can't— we never could," cried my astonished chum. "You're crazy Nina, I wouldn't dare to go." "Why not go and call on him? Aren't we his disciples? He ought to see us," and naturally, I said loftily, "he will be glad to welcome us." At further objections, my extravagant spirit in arms arose, and a new crop of words burst forth. "We must gain new knowledge, Elysabeth, all the time by seeing writers and people who do things. That will help us to understand life; and you are forever talking about understanding the relation between books and people, and of course, with patronizing calmness, he will be pleased to know how much we like his books. Everybody is flattered by appreciation. You like it, and so do I, and it isn't the best way to be too retiring. You are too calculating, Elysabeth, the situation doesn't demand it." The heart of my inexperienced and undisciplined youth repeated its argument hotly, until impetuous assurances brought confusion to her clear headedness, and she fluttered and consented. There was something incalculable and inexhaustible in my desire and determin- ation. That self-confidence which nothing had ever destroyed made me see, and partake, and act in a way not foreknown or foremeasurable. The statutes of the God's had grandeur; but all reverence was in the background and fear to me un- known. And I, who in abject humility, knelt before the Altar to a boy of twenty, felt no shrinking from assured approach to the mightiest intellect. The Great Writer, was to me, an ordinary mortal, compared to my airy, indistinct, distant, yet highly coloured "Dream Prince" who could not be identified with any real or solid inhabitant of the earth. Oh! how can I tell of that visit, the history of which always arouses intense amusement in my circle; the reciting of which I am still at times called upon for, and that sends its occasional swift shiver down my spine this moment. Its vast assumption! The unconscious arrogance of words and manner; the ignoring conformity and conventions; the insistence upon individual right to all honours and privileges, characteristic at the time, but crushing to remember. In great excitement we drove to the Hotel, and I sent up the bit of pasteboard bearing the names, "Miss Lunt", in Old English, and "Miss Clark", carefully written underneath. It took all the force I could exert to encourage my halting comrade and impress her with the great opportunity. No conviction of impropriety daunted me, I disdained objections, as I had when we started forth, all arrayed, that afternoon, in our best clothes. I had no tremors as we reached the Hotel and our names were sent up. Mr. Emerson was at home, the message came, and would receive us. Elysabeth lost capacity for self direction and followed her leader dumbly. The audience Page 97 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood kept her silent, in a rapturous awe, as she afterwards confessed to me. Mine were conflicting impressions — but a grave respect was impressed upon me pro- foundly throughout the whole interview. And the perfect familiarity in him that could cross boundaries and communicate with the least among the children, made me at home. The first look, bent kindly, as he greeted us, was poetry and religion — it was like a ray of light, irresistible, with nothing to show the omnipotence of my limitations, or of any possible purpose to put us in our place. Fancy that picture! That tall, thin commanding figure, prominent but refined features; erect and quiet without pretension; the spirit shining from a serene and expressive countenance. As Hawthorne said of him, "Encountering each man alive as if expecting to receive more than he could impart." The man that, sitting, walking or speaking, was as much aloof as a Star — and two callow girls with neither definite statements nor explanation for their uncalled for presence, leaning forward on the very edge of their chairs, staring admiringly at the simple austere Thinker, and nearer to the mysterious seat of worshipful learning than ever before. Race was stamped upon him, and pure intellectual gleams were diffusing about his presence like the garment of a "shining one". It was Harriet Martineau, who spoke of his "vague nobleness and thorough sweetness" and even a child could feel that. It is gladness to think that however profound our ignorance, for one hour, without being overawed with his supremacy, our callow spirits were bathed in his influence. Greatness in the garb of gentleness must be one of the great uplifting levers of our world. And that great man, the Prophet burdened with a message for the people, did not disdain to give of his kindly courtesy and interest, and did not discover by look or word to me, my own private folly. The spontaneous hospitality of manner, the affable courtesy that met our advances, and my cool and casual demand on his time which lacked all the reverence of his contemporaries, who hedged him about with something like saint-ship, produced no apparent con- sciousness or criticism. It is said that he had welcome for the young always, that he opened to them more readily and with some touch of the intimacy only his household knew. Surely it was proved then and there that the Philosopher and Poet was not one to sit on heights and look with indifference on human affairs, or even at ex- treme manifestations of crudity and assumption. He caught from the pinnacles of Parnassus, and brought Peers and followers face to face with the Infinite, yet he walked the same streets with us, and lived with humanity there. He asked many questions, allowing no long pause of silence. "Where we had been to school? What Church did we attend?", and entirely at ease, in assured conviction of its value, I proceeded to give in summary the history of my life; to enlarge graphically in outlining my ideas; to prove my educated tastes! and even certain aspirations were suggested, if not dwelt upon; and he spoke on in gentle compassion, while I gravely continued — "You know, Mr. Emerson, we've been very anxious to meet you, — We are reading your books. — We like them very much indeed, and we hav'nt skipped a single page." "Indeed," he replied, the swift flash of a smile lighting his placid benignant countenance, "And so you came to see me? Well! Now tell me what you have read lately?" "The Oversoul", I replied promptly; that had been our last Essay; and instantly he asked with an unmistakable twinkle, — "And do you understand it?" Lacking time to evade, and with no instinct for prevarication, the habit of truth prevailed. With a remarkably impressive, inconsiderate and emphatic negative, — "No I da not. I don't quite. I'm sorry." The K'reat Transcendentalist broke into an irradiating humour, and said, in a tone full of laughter, "Neither do I" Mis amusemeni was almost in effect like audible laughter, and without any Comprehension Of itS quality Or real reason, it arOUSed mine and a very happy sense ol presumed approval, and it went to my head. It took yean for me to see tin sell, or to appreciate thai admirably ironic reply to such superb arrogance. The l',l,r ijS Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood transgression of all rules had afforded me only a triumphant and unclouded satis- faction. When he said Good-bye, it was with a gentleness that hid all irony, and with no sarcasm of tone or glance. "Thank you for coming, and I'm glad you like my books." As a tribute to the perpetual claims of simplicity and sincerity, it showed also in that great moralist the undimmed light of the spirit. His nature and genius has been all the more wonderful to me from that day to this. That special charm, that serene smile, the whole picture combats all my sensations of mortification. Forever to me thereafter Ralph Waldo Emerson represented the Transcendental behind all accepted dogmas. His Transcendentalism may not have been profound, he may have been no metaphysician, but he is a great light in darkness; and I have thought that no person capable of feeling the force of spiritual truth, could fail to realize that his doctrine and teaching whether convincing or not, has weighed heavily. And he was his own evidence that needed no verification. The truths he uttered, when once understood, had an enfranchising power, and were as sure in action as the laws of gravity. His was the view that saw beyond, and sounded the call from a lofty soul that will never die — the glow and charm of a strange and marvellous world of thought. For me he will ever take on majesty, and mystery and brightness, and dwell in memory a shining figure on some Mount of Transfiguration. Page 99 Book III 'Her Children arise up and call her blessed.''' Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood BOOK III THE SEA TRIP The Ancient Teachers say, that our thoughts and acts are not merely the incidents of life but its Creator. "All that we are is the result of what we have thought. It is founded on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts;" Surely this expounds a high truth, that one must control wishes and feelings because of their immeasurable inherent potentialities, because the least of human acts and human thoughts by self-registration may fix the basis of a new departure from the everlasting truth of moral law, and so set its sure but invisible seal on the soul as it passes through time into the Eternities. Our history is always with us, softening or mellowing the quality of our daily lives, or sharpening or lowering it. The Past imbues the Present with its dignity or despair. And now I look back into no pale sunset of memory, nor do I find the light in my past growing faint or the colours cold, for there returns as I write the sense of happy exhilaration — the sense of wings! After all it is the imagination of man that triumphs over what most eludes and perplexes us, and reaches the heart of the matter at issue, whether joy or sorrow, labour or pleasure, whatever faces us! And yielding allegiance, it seems to be a means of approaching truth, although it may have invaded an insolvable dilemma. There was a restless energy in me that Spring — Immemorial passion for beauty was ever present like a City of exhaustless resources in a country where there was nothing shadowy; where all was lambent light toward which awakened fancy struggled; where everything bore witness of abounding life and adventure. Verily! Life in its simplest forms is arched about by mystery; and of all those bright ex- periences only memories remain, and they are now but the faint aroma of thought and sense too delicate often for words. When Gussie McClintock's letter came, I read it aloud with interjections of delight over the affection expressed and invitation repeated. The Spirit of Youth in everything, made me burst forth without qualifications, "Oh! — Oh! — If only I could go, I'd rather do it than anything," — no fears assailing, or realization of difficulties, distance or dangers, — only a sort of new game suggested, a kaleide- scopic change of environment and surroundings, that tempted, in its gay promise of setting a new pace to the days! Someone called Fear, "Imagination turned Prophet" — but my courage for adventuring, or being with strange people, had never seemed to desert me. "Do you mean you would like to cross the Ocean, to go so far away among comparative strangers? Aren't you a bit afraid of the dividing distance and such a great change?" gently queried my Mother. "Nonsense," interrupted my Father, "we couldn't allow it for a minute; What! to let that Ocean roll between us — she doesn't know what she wants half the time, do you dear?" "Well!" I said laughing, no thought of its possible realization, "I think I could stand seeing the world outside of Chicago and New York!" in my heart the acutely conscious feeling that I never thought of being afraid, and would refuse to imagine delights of travel, if I did not know fears would depart. Ever since that Emerson episode I had gained the most extraordinary sense of being acceptable everywhere; of being taken for granted as all right; good enough; proudly recalling Grandfather's encouragement that I was certainly "Not half bad". Page 101 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood And this light interchange all passed from my mind to be emphasized soon by a special expression of the love, sympathy and indulgence of my Parents. And first, last, and all the way between, of the one who easily mastered opposition — My Mother — who at times seemed to sit at the Wheel of Destiny and revolve it for her children. It was March 19th, and I rose happily to think, "Oh! I'm seventeen — I'm seventeen!" The Lake and the Sky had such manifold music and meaning — and Oh! the wonders of seeing and hearing and feeling and seeking! Life was so abund- ant in me that Birthday morning. It was like being shod with winged sandals! And when Father, at breakfast, handed me a jeweller's box of delicate kid, and added laughing, "This or a trip to Europe?" I opened in excitement to see the loveliest set of Seed-pearls — Necklace, Bracelets, Earrings and Brooch, all set in hand-wrought Etruscian gold of exquisitely fine design, so beautiful to my ravished eyes that I could hardly speak. The Tiffany box in itself, had aroused expectation, but the sight of that full set of jewellery, my first possession of intrinsic value, gave me extravagant delight which overflowed in adjectives, as I handled first one and then another piece — taking out and putting in again, and refusing food until I heard my Father's voice. "You told your Mother last year, that more than anything else you wanted a diamond ring, apparently not even satisfied with the fine watch we gave you last year — How about these pearls instead of diamonds?" "Oh Father! nothing in the world could be finer — Oh! they are so lovely and I am so happy." But eyes opened and filled instantly as Mother slipped me across the table, a fascinating little blue velvet ring-box, and tears streamed so suddenly that I could hardly see the shining of the three diamonds that gleamed on the cushioned lining of the little case. Oh! those three diamonds! They seemed a miracle of loveliness. I look down now as I write, and it flashes back the picture, for I wear that ring today, re-set years after to better suit my Mother's taste for her grown- up daughter. But that Birthday morning was almost too much in fulfilling my lightly ex- pressed wishes, and well I remember some comments of my Aunts that dashed enthusiasm. Hearing that I was "too spoiled" and that I "was likely to become very selfish and self-centred." However I merely danced about, to the general amusement, arrayed in my new splendour, eager for the few friends who were invited that afternoon. When Jessie Bross came in, I held up my finger, shifting it this way and that, for the light to catch the different facets. To my astonishment, after answering inquiries, her eyes filled with tears; "Oh Nina! — Your Mother! — Such a Mother! — and mine?" with a choking sob I shall never forget, "She doesn't love me; she doesn't like it when Father takes me anywhere" — but, with a brave struggle — "I'm so foolish, forget it, I'm so glad for you." But Elysabeth Clark gazed upon my display with a sort of amused smile, and rather coolly expressed admiration, and with unconscious but characteristic superiority — "They are certainly very splendid for seventeen." "She outshines the neighbourhood" piped in my cousin, Joe Evans, who was staying with us for a while. "I only meant," added the former, "thai they seemed very fine for her age." But what interested Elysabeth far more than personal a dor 11111 cut, was a pile of new books from the Library. "Let's start in with 1 lu Hem's Middle A^es" was her comment. "Merer!" I cried, "that means wading through three volumes; I'd rather take "Lewes History of Philosophy", Only one, and be done with ii. For pity's sake, why can't we read something of another age?" 1 ventured. "Would you prefer The Attic Orators, Plutarch's Lives,The Dialogues oi Plato, or the Greek Plays", sarcastically inquired my clever companion, con- tinuing, as Jessie punctuated our conversation with laughter, "We've got to stud) backward before we can go forward. You're too impatient and too desultory, Nina." "Yes," l sighed, catching the .unused glances the tw*> exchanged, "I'm too /■ in ■ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood occupied now enjoying the glitter on the fourth finger of my right hand to care about anybody or anything outside this house. Do drop the books, Elysabeth, for once, it's time for Birthday-cake and ice cream, and to gaze at my seventeen candles!" That very night, Mr. Chandler came, with some lovely flowers, as he had learned from my Aunt the day, and, at his exclamation over the diamond ring especially, he declared "he was quite frightened at first until he saw where I wore it." "How I should deplore losing my little friend," he said, as he held the hand indicated; "don't go away too soon or too far." George Chandler, was liked and trusted by us all, and I could never forget his generous defense, and chivalrous coming to my rescue, that night at the wedding; and of late, my head as well as my heart, had begun to swell when he looked approvingly, or listened, well pleased, to my chatter. He came to our house often, and there was a prospect of real friendship, but he was cut down in early maturity, for he too, was one of the early victims of the Civil War. It was soon after that memorable Birthday, that there came into my life a new influence. It made all minor relations sink into insignificance, compared to the interest that deepened into admiration and swift response, aroused by the specially expressed regard of our family physician. He was a splendid looking man; of noble bearing and marked intellectual gifts, and he began to set my feet in new paths of literature and understanding. "You have much too good a mind to waste — You'd far better study more and work less in Mission or Sunday School; the ignorant and criminal need lessons from quite a different source. You can't afford to spend yourself as you are doing. Haven't you a higher ambition? What do you suppose it all means in the end? Here and there with such limited vision; or is it personal as I've heard stated?" For the last few months, incited by the ardent Missionary zeal of Axtel Keane, a young Banker, who seemed to rate my services very highly, I had taught for him, and in his company occasionally visited the poor whom he was helping. Finally he had claimed me regularly in that field of uphill labour, and confided hopes and wishes for the world in general, and his Mission in particular. Looking back upon that period I have often wondered over my blindness at first. I did not appreciate the meaning of his singular devotion which continued so long, whatever the interval, and without any formal declarations. I was grati- fied at his praises and marked partiality, always resumed whenever we met again, no matter how long the separation; and yet years passed without the inevitable climax that urged me to consecrate my days to the same sacrificial labours. His faith was great, and he was insistent that I was amply qualified to carry on the Lord's work, and that wearing his name, success would crown his efforts in a blessed life-union. That did not appeal to me in my more advanced periods of experience, but it had seemed natural to correspond, whenever away from him, although his epistles were mostly discussions of the purposes of The Most High with which he ever seemed familiar. As he argued, at last he called all of the Scripture to witness, that self immolation, severe discipline, and unfailing service was what The Almighty demanded of us. It was the poor that we had always with us and our duty to them was clearly indicated. The chasm between us always widened, and after a repeated refusal to accept or listen to further arguments and protestations, I asked him for my letters. Upon the outside of the rather bulky package, which was finally returned, he had written two significant words — "Seven Years'" — and that explained considerable I don't care to dwell upon. But for Dr. Bevan's appearing as a guide upon the scene, supplying fresh food for thought and effort, and my Mother's awakening to what the association and Mission was leading, I might, at that early stage, have been carried away by the idea of sacrifice or the suggestion of martyrdom. Under the Doctor's guidance, I began to read with greater intensity of interest. I grew quite impressed with the idea of responsibility to the world at large; horizons Page 103 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood uplifted; I listened to large talk of the integrity of the race, of freedom from dog- matism, of intellectual independence of view, or aspirations toward a wider life, and I became ashamed of my narrowness and orthodoxy. The mere joy of living had heretofore been enough, and I had accepted every- thing without question; but someway the conviction grew, that I was like a plant needing more air and water; and must cram my brain with knowledge, and make ideas germinate there. As I read the books he furnished, I longed to take pilgrim- ages to Greece and Italy, Spain and France, where I might know the treasures of Art and Beauty, and gain a richer inheritance. I did not define it then, that he tried to put me in more direct contact with the Divine Forces of nature, for it seemed only as if Providence had offered a great chance to put vision right and give me more exact notions. What was Missionerying in comparison? I began to feel as if I had been only a spoiled creature, whose words and deeds were not of much consequence, and all idea of "acquiring merit" through Church or Sunday School, quite melted away. When he offered to conduct a course of History and Philosophy, I asked if Elysabeth could share the privilege? We went to his office weekly after that. He had a curious power of rousing our spirits, and the delight of having such oversight, created new currents of thought, attracted new forces of feeling, ac- celerated the movement of "The wheel of things". It was an ebullition of fresh intellectual and emotional life. The days of that late Spring kindled some am- bition to excel, that grew more definite as the readings progressed. But my Music lessons began to have only a perfunctory attention, after the little prodigy had been sent to some well known Master in Canada, or across the Sea and I saw little Ernst no more. I ceased to congratulate myself on marked progress anywhere, growing a bit modest, and having lost all idea that I could gain credit on high by accustoming myself to romantic relationships with con- secrated souls, or by cultivating illusions concerning my "Prince Charming." The intimate contact we had with a stored mind and generous and aspiring nature pointed rather sternly away from the highly painted heroes of dreams, and made one a little more alive to ideal standards of ability and nobility. I think what is necessary to growth in character and conduct, is that we should have the personal inner life that abounds; one's own individuality must both attract the good and repel the evil, since — " The two powers are but one pulsa- tion of the Soul" — and no externals can direct, any more than they can long please, if the character at bottom does not. So no matter what the tint of flower, or lustre of sky, or breath of forest, or murmur of our Lake, they only say noble things to the noble. But I did not learn then, not for long after, that my dreams were only dreams; that facts were stubborn things and could not be conquered or evaded; nor did I realize the dangers always in our path, that we were so often dwarfed and stunted by. Now I know that one's highest dreams can never be more beautiful than beauty, and that we can only cling to what we love best, and revolve in thoughts about the best we know. It was after a June day of glorious brightness that the soft clouds gathered and fluttered as the night came down in a filmy roseate loveliness. All the gold and blue and purple seemed to dye the atmosphere with passionate beauty making me feel a part of nature, of fragrant winds and arching skies, and of the fleecy cloud-shapes over the Bummer waters of the Lake. It was the twilight hour when my Mother tailed, and said she wanted a private talk with me. I became mysteriously excited, forgetting all else as she Bpoke quietly "Your Uncle William has written, that as it is a short trip from \>\\ xork to Havre and back, and as Kate is going with him, they will be glad to take jrou across. Thej Bail the last of this month, and if your mind is still set on it, you can accepi your school friend's invitation." "What? Oh Mother do yOU mean it? That 1 can go to I'. iris and visit ( ,u ie Mi ( Ilintoi I."" "The way opens, ii yov reall] care to go," she said gently, lomethin Pi mi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood pure and tender in her tone; the soft hazel eyes smiled on me; eyes with a sad look, that in another would seem to have harboured fears. There was something at times wan, fragile, appealingly tired about my Mother, who never once uttered a complaint. I can never recall impatient words or any sign of revolt; always gentle, yet always powerful to wield circumstance to her will. It was now a consummation of her indulgence. It was like a miracle wrought for my pleasure, and in my excitement something swept over me, that blinded me to all pangs of parting, giving me an imaginary affinity with startling realities and wonders of the great world beyond. What had gained on me imperceptibly in the happy months of reading and music and the interchanges of home, I was ready to exchange for the distant and unknown. Perhaps it was in defiance of common sense or common feeling that I did not hesitate a moment; my glad spirit suffered no eclipse, ready to recharge the battery within, with a force unrecognized; a main-spring of action and en- deavour that would carry me beyond bounds; that in my essential self was like certain unrealities that had no real diamond sparkle of truth, — but stirred life in my enclosed garden of dreams at such a prospect of travel and adventure. "I can see how it is," was my Mother's comment, even before I had uttered the longing, and thereafter in all the necessary preparations my enthusiasm was never once quenched. As I look back, I think she restrained Father's doubts and questions, and met and overcame any objections, for the smallest and most familiar facts now return to rouse unexpected trains of thought and remembrance that makes my heart ache beyond words — to think I then, or ever after, left my most precious ones so lightly! Words now spring into my memory, clear and articulate as if they had been spoken this very hour, and the prayer — that prayer of my blessed Father, when his beautiful voice trembled as he committed his only daughter to Divine Guidance and care, in the absolute faith that in him was never broken or clouded. The Devotional morning worship at our home was always sweet, be- cause neither too exacting nor too formal, or solemn, in any depressing sense. It was wholly sincere, aspiring, and consequently a natural expression; the appeal of love, never of fear. All my life, every morning the Father of Lights had been asked to bless us, and those prayers were answered in the peace of our home. With my Father such profound religious belief, very sane and simple, lay before speech and almost forbade it. It was the daily round, in his daily life, that he made truly beautiful what he exemplified. Light shone through him. He saw truth. Verily "God's Covenant was with him of Life and Peace." Through the intervening weeks I do not think I had knowledge of dangers to be anticipated, or of any possible disappointments, or of the long separation involved; the awful dividing distance did not arise to deter or appall me. There was something magnificent about such a journey. My eyes looked at the world and everything before me, in fearless eagerness. Life at home, in all its exquisite care and provision for every wish and comfort, was slipping away from me like a garment. So many little things of arrangement and equipment delighted me while there was being made ready the complete outfit to meet all demands of a long voyage that then seemed symbolic. In the very caution there was forecast; preliminaries that sounded the note of readiness, and were to my fancy stepping- stones and a sort of rehearsal that wheeled me out of my daily rut. A huge delightful egotism was developing by the experience, and in a final analysis, made me willing to undertake any number of responsibilities in any unusual situation that would call for courage and endurance. I felt fully ready to venture anywhere, competent and proficient however hazardous or extra- ordinary the demand. I was captivated by pictured possibilities, and I enrolled and registered myself among adventurers. If imagination was becoming disordered, it only affected me inwardly with its fervour; I did not betray my enthusiasm for the enterprise by extravagant words or set phrases. I some way felt extreme expressions of delight would seem ungrateful, but none the less I was affected Page 105 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood by an extraordinary fever. And happily the crossing came, about the time my nerves were flying about, like the screaming sea-gulls themselves. At the Hotel — It was the Astor House in New York — my Uncle William and Aunt Kate were installed waiting for us; and when Uncle John Evans who, having business in New York, had brought me on, left finally, with a cheery "Bon Voyage", a sudden reaction followed. It became a sort of tragic dilemma in a flash of feeling. Visions came and went and haunted me. My Father's face, so serious and sad. My Mother, holding us to outward cheer with her brave smile and gentle cautions until we reached the station; her courage, sweetness and self-restraint and complete control and unselfishness shone forth, as they confided me to the care of said Uncle, and blessed me in parting. It was Mother who had planned and worked to bring about that which I had so wildly longed to experience. It was always so for all of us, for Father, for the boys, for me; striving to secure for each one of us the best and most; disregarding personal preferences, and sacrificing without expectation of returns or acknowledgements. Truly it may be said of that devoted Mother "That her children arise up and call her Blessed." Those first days of waiting I saw everything in a different light. I felt, returned to me, a fierce clingingness to home, a longing for my Parents that grew stronger every hour. I had to struggle with an inrush of the inherent fear of not seeing my own for so long. It was queer — uncontrollably I re-acted, yearning to go back. And I had to reason and reason with awakened fealty, and to remember that it was perfect freedom of choice, and unyielding desire, that bound myself to go — that it was I — I alone, who had taken that final decision, had hidden the ache of actual parting with a certain gallantry; that now, by a shred of determina- tion against suffering, made me feel that I must not turn back, that I could not retrace steps, or reveal to anyone the pain that took possession of me. So I clung carefully to the surface of things, trying not to face putting the Ocean between us. And I had luncheon with the Sims, saw several school-mates who envied me my chances, and it materially helped to hide possible outbursts or the fiercer feel of home-sickness. "Fancy", said Carrie Sims, that first day at her house, which was later to become a second home to me — "You're going across in a great big ship and the Captain your Uncle! What luck! And where did you get that ring? Diamonds, I do believe." And at the name of the beloved donor she raised her pretty brows, "Oh Papa," for we were at luncheon, "do come and look at Nina's ring. She says it is from her Mother." "She wears it on the right hand, and it's a very pretty hand," responded the fascinating Father of my gay little chum, with a smile that completely won my allegiance for all time. Who can measure the consequences of a few words or the effects of a meeting? It was indeed an event to meet Dr. Sims, as charming as he was distinguished; the perfect courteous Southern gentleman; a brilliant genius, a generous friend and a lover of wife and family. He was ever thereafter, through many years a beloved, genial and lavish benefactor in the sense of conferring unstinted hos- pitality, and contributing immeasurably to future experiences. 1 le has bequeathed memories that so largely in bygone days ministered to happiness by making me for long almost one of his children. At last the hour came. The day of our sailing was brilliantly beautiful. It was a line ship with every comfort for the Captain's family, ami one passenger l' ide myself; he was only a boy of nineteen, nephew of one ol the owners, and not personally attractive; of Blight build. Bandy hair, light-eyed, with an air ol conceii and forwardness of manner that antagonized while it betrayed his charac- teristics and rearing. Out of the prelty little Saloon furnished with books, a lounge, easy eluirs. desk, even a Melodeon, all fastened solidlj to their places there wen- two com- fortable little Cabins,minc actually possessing a Wed, i he .nine ol luxury then at Sea. /' Ktli Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood There are experiences, I suppose, for everyone that may seem divided by some impassible frontier from the rest of life. They may cover a long period or last but a moment, yet their magic may be far deeper than everyday events or even great epochs, and yet their final impression like a dream. Many other things I have forgotten or worn thin with long remembering; but something catches at my heart whenever I recall the scenes of that morning. I am plunged deep again as if I had just ventured into a bewitched and unknown land. The silence was filled with noises, and I stood speechless on deck, the wind of the sea sweeping over us as the Pilot left. The wind swept by me — I was alive with the wind — with myself. I seemed to myself like a shadow against the sky; around me the great heaving waters, and I stared and stared at the empty sea or gazed up into the unquenchable blue of the sky. Realities slipped away before almost unen- durable beauty, and there seemed wrought in me a sort of change. Well, alert, strong in sensation, yet I scarcely knew myself; new scenes, new people and new thoughts, and in that new environment the great spaces — with wind and stars and sun — not a moment of sickness or discomfort, every breath a tonic, and a sort of passionate enjoyment in freedom and the curious absence of all tasks. At times the strange solitude itself, captivated with new and strange sensations, as I felt the breezes of the open sea, and little thrills of happy emotion stirred even in the hot sunshine of those July noons. The music sung to my soul that was singing in the sea. I am haunted still by the smile of the moon upon the sea, the drowsy airs of noon, the loveliness of the sky, the beauty of mists and clouds, the lights of dawn and evening, and I live back into the spirit chambers where seem to come baptism and consecration from the ocean itself. I was so vigorous, so exultant, so buoyant with new feelings that I could not name, akin to the subtler, in the two vaults themselves, the Infinite Heavens and the unfathomable sea. I did not know it then; but it was unconscious aspira- tion, repeated and recognized in later years, to live in harmony with sky and sea, the earth and the air. From the moment of climbing and being helped up the side of that big ship, when I looked into the brown eyes and felt the lifting strength of the First Officer, whose firm hand actually swung me over the rail, I received the impression of a body well-knit and erect, built along the lines of strength he had made so manifest. He was above middle height, brown hair, brown lashes, brown skin, with eyes that smiled on me. He had good features and an ingratiating manner. But I looked at a low forehead heavily thatched, a close clipped mustache, and an eager face that appraised and welcomed me when, at our first meal, Mr. Patten was coldly presented by the ship's Captain. "My First Officer, Mr. Patten, Miss Lunt." My Uncle apparently had ceased to be a relative. Mr. White, the Second Mate, appeared reserved and very silent, with a shy, almost embarrassed manner; a trifle awkward; but unquestionably well-bred and unfailingly courteous. I liked his clear cut features and pleasant voice. I did not realize that my immediate popularity was due to causes that had nothing to do with personality or characteristics; much less with my Father's financial success, which I had but lately learned, was considered a background of some importance. My health and ardour of enjoyment, intense interest in their handling of the vessel, and my open desire to learn, resulted in willing teaching; exercises in the names of sails and ropes; explanations of the cries and songs of the sailors, and loud orders of Officers, when the white wings were furled or set. And there was always the fact of my youth and sex. It was a strange force that bore us on between sunrise and sunset over the great waters under that brooding sky, under full sail day after day. It was a won- derful voyage of smooth swift sailing, no suggestion of cloud or storm, and they named me "The Mascot, the Sunshine of the Ship". Everyone was kind — even my Uncle unbent occasionally under the charm of such superb weather; but they all seemed to scorn my fellow passenger. He had retired those first days, conquered completely by the evil of sea-sickness, and his open expressions that "There was always peril out of sight of land, no Page 107 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood matter how pleasant it looked," and "that nothing but water was awfully mono- tonous", repeated frequently, had stirred the contempt of Seamen. It was a daily round that cultivated intimacy with each one of the small circle, and when young Illsley recovered, I talked long and freely, on several occasions openly welcoming his appearance. Once, when the miracle of light and shadow seemed to transfigure the wonderful waste to mysterious and spiritual loveliness, I turned to my pale companion. "Oh! don't you love it? Isn't it heavenly?" "It might be smoother, I'd be better pleased with considerably less motion, and would find the scenery much finer with land in view," was the dry response. "You must be a born sailor to stand it the way you do, and then rave over it. It's all very well to talk about the majesty of ocean when one's looking at it, but it's another thing when one's on it." I gazed at him amazed, and for the first time studied those small features, retreating chin, dulled eyes and curved lips, wondering what was behind the narrow brow and underneath the curly light hair? It was not long after, that from the door of the Cabin came the Stewardess. "The Captain wishes you, Miss." — And the lecture that followed was as surprising as undeserved. "Why on earth do you spend so much time with that young idiot? Seems to me you might know better than spending time with that shallow-pated, empty conceited boy!" "Why! Uncle William, I must talk to somebody, I can't be shut away, and I can't keep still." "I want you to understand that my ship is not a drawing room for social interchanges," was the cutting rejoiner. "No danger of that mistake," I instantly countered, "nor is it a dungeon! Whatever it is I am not going to be gagged into silence" — and half-frightened at the look he gave me, I continued in a more respectful tone — "It can't hurt the ship for me to be agreeable; I love your ship, Uncle William; Why can't I enjoy myself on it? I've just got to talk." "Well then, take someone beside that callow fool. If you've got to have somebody, take a man," was his withering comment. "Nobody left but Mr. Patten; your Mr. White is afraid to say his soul is his own in your presence, and out of it seems to transfer his awe to me," — but with a laugh and side glance — "Thanks for permission, I'll bestow my attentions on your First Officer" — and with a return of flippancy — "Please don't forget I am obeying commands." "No speaking to an Officer on Watch, remember that; let Patten alone when he's on duty," was the closing order, as I gaily tripped on deck to look out for the intended victim! It is easy to yield oneself unreservedly to moods of young exhilaration, and the light-hearted resolve to let myself laugh and talk with freedom gave me tre- mendous satisfaction. It was strangely new and stimulating to be constantly observed, and seem the centre of attraction or entertainment to three men. For Mr. Illsley, the moment he saw Mr. Patten absorbing my attention, showed open annoyance. Later he became quite excited over a tew slight rebuffs, while Mr. White grew less diffident; more approachable and responsive, and on a lew oc- casions off Watch, opened out, ami spent the time telling me of weird experiences t hal were enl hralling. So looking neither before nor after, I delighted in golden hours whenever 1 could seize ami taste one to the full. It was amazing flattery to receive so much notice, .md I did mil know what trouble could spring from the most harmless seeming friendships under given conditions. It is at sea that people are thrown thei a nowhere else. The) come under the benign or angry influence ol the and enter upon relationships, and frequently make friendships, often with those whom one would nevei come into contaci with, or ^■^c for on land. I found 'II caughl up .1 nd swept along with greai Bwiftness, quite unresisi ing at I Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Mr. Patten made plans for our meetings when off duty, and I came under the action of forces which I did not even suspect; but that crowded new ideas into my mind. My Aunt Kate was so miserably ill, that she took no care or thought of me, and, as ample reason for assenting to whatever was proposed, I recalled my Uncle's permission, who seemed to wholly forget me. I often sat out late. Moonlight at sea brought thrills to the imagination that gave to the silvery expanse its con- summation of grandeur. It was transfiguring, and seemed to transfer one to another planet. And all the myriad harmonies of sunsets and dawns, the dazzling light and sparkling heat of noon, the cool illumination or heavy shadows of evening, united to cultivate a warmth of interchange and understanding. The wild tales of sea life, of vast spaces and wide horizons, and the mystery of unfathomed ex- periences, allured me, until often as he talked, standing very near, a certain soft pleading in voice and manner became a pleasure to my musical ear. Standing only on the threshold of knowledge in regard to affairs of the heart, I felt only awakened curiosity and aroused interests in the flattering sense of unrealized power that his looks began to challenge. No cry of the heart, and yet a drinking deep of the cup of enjoyment. The still small voice of common sense did not warn me; I loved the sense of approval, of admiration, of manifest desire for my presence; the novelty of the sensation of yielding to his daily summons by look or word, grew into a habit without startling me. He was respectful to the point of deference; he was gentle, but growingly masterful. Impulse is rooted in the basic elements of certain characters. I did not once set him at arms length, but instead answered readily to demands that I did not try to interpret. It was openly an unjustifiable acceptance of all his overtures to friendship, that had slowly developed into a sort of special relation, which he had hitherto never taken advantage of, nor once made me feel awkward or ashamed. It was heartiness, cheer, and comradeship to me, and at the end of two or more weeks of this good fellowship, and more or less constant intercourse, I had admitted a stranger into a Sanctuary of thought and feeling, hitherto sacred and closed. And yet we were always on legitimate ground. He had not trespassed or appropri- ated a single privilege, only to indicate the best trysting place when he was to be off duty, which seemed an open demand, but was not noticed or commented upon, except by some unpleasant remarks of Illsley's. There was a rare element of persuasiveness difficult to resist, an assured manliness not easily withstood. He made me feel and delight in his marked preference, while a certain reticence had kept it in check and proved a sure means of dispelling reserve. They speak of a child's Divine lack of worldly wisdom — I do not know — only that I had not outgrown the thrills of high resolve and of romantic longings. At seventeen, sheltered and loved, I had never visited the cave of that stern Egeria, Worldly Wisdom. I had a transparent faith in others and I was very easily deceived. It is pathetic to believe implicitly all assertions emphasized by personal look or touch. Mine was an importunate heart and will that made unconscious response to his ardour, and felt only as a compliment his constant yearning for my companionship. I was strong, only in the strength of my own self-confidence, and could never realize that I had not attained self knowledge. Men were not known to me, the complex social unit remained an uncharted country, and in a sense I saw all men, as it were, vaguely through a golden mist. Nothing had occurred to daunt me or hamper my straight-forward actions, and so far I had received neither directions, warnings, nor reproofs, but sailed on the emo- tional sea recklessly, with the same confidence I felt in the vessel that was rapidly bearing us to foreign shores. I thought I was simply attuning myself to the key- note of the whole — natural instincts asserted themselves, a love of praise developed into a necessity for it; there was a growing attraction that made me succumb to his homage, and unconsciously surrender without open terms. It was inde- fensible, but I did not know that I was slowly capitulating to his call; I never once reeled back, because there was never a single affront offered. The in-dwelling loveliness of sea and sky was always about us and stirred me Page ioq Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood to emotional depths. They pronounced it a wonderful crossing — not a cloud; sunshine of dripping gold, and softest wind blew us on our way. My Uncle said once — "that I had a quicksilver temperament and kept the Barometer high." That I became pliant to the point of non-resistance undoubtedly appealed, and urged him to seize chances for intimacy. Barricades were coming down and the way forward into the unknown opening before me. He had said and done nothing unusual when there came a night and an hour that broke down reserve. It was my fault and my stupidity that precipitated the scene. The night was very dark and he stood leaning on the rail beside me, while I gazed down into the black depths, not even star-lighted, as he described a fright- ful gale — and at my light remark — "If one could only be washed up on a fruitful Island like those we read of in the South Seas, in good company, to be wrecked might be good fun." "I would like to be there alone with you," was the swift response — "Would you care for me then?" he fatuously concluded. I was never cautious of spending enthusiasm when imagination was at the maximum, and he had never said or done before anything unusual. My mind seemed impossible to escape, but some sudden emotion bordering on fear gave me curious thrills. "Would you like it?" he persisted, and before I could get composure to speak, his arms were about me. I seemed to be taken up, lifted up, and for one paralyzing second I could not deal with feeling by any common process. He held me unrelentingly. It felt like some smothering hold and the sense of outrage revolted me. I lost grasp of the situation, because I could not deal with it, quivering with a passion of anger. Inarticulate — finding I was not instantly released — I struck at him madly, whisper- ing incoherently — "I hate you — Let me go or I shall scream" — and his arms dropped. Instinctively I knew the slightest sound of distress that meant discovery would disgrace and ruin him, for if presumption were even surmised the result would be awful trouble for us both. It was out of a desperate recoil that I repeated — "I hate you, — I hate you — Don't dare to speak to me again." It was my total lack of sophistication that brought things to that climax, my foolish blindness to palpable facts, my utter belief in the spontaneity and chivalrous devotion unknown and unmeasured that I had no right to accept or encourage. And out of a depth of revolt, he became instantly like a total stranger — an object of aversion. I was frightened and breathless, and turning to escape he caught me as I staggered, and whispered humbly — "You must forgive me; You must have known how I felt; Don't be angry because I couldn't help it, — This voyage is the greatest of my life; You make everything different; Let me tell you, I wouldn't hurt you for the world. Don't change to me, I'll do anything to please you," and he seized my hand and kissed it. That act of gallantry relieved in a measure the strain of the situation. "If you will promise never to do it again," I said in smothered accents, trying vainly to recover dignity — All my cherished illusions gone, for I could not create him Hero enough to warm to his appeal. He had made me shrink physically, and mine was an utter inability to conform to the rules (if the game called flirtation. It had afforded me no amusement to feel his embrace — It doubtless had to him, and I was becoming amazingly aware, as I listened id declaration and pro- testation, that perhaps the experience was not one (if the wonders of the world; Only a commonplace event to stir and to jingle in the brain when one was working lip or off the effects of emotion. M' Was still talking "Just the si^'ht of you on i his ship means a lot to me I just have to Watch you; I want you near; I want to hear JTOU talk S.n il s.iv von understand me that you know I wasn't to blame that you know 1 couldn't help ii." Il< was very primitive in plain speech, ven common in expression, had lost romance in m) sight, but omehow held me b) hi-- inexhaustible energy. He Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood was elemental, almost savagely so, but before that hour of revelation, had seemed invariably grateful and gentle, filling me with a sense of pride and responsibility that was a part of my own idealism and ignorance. His hitherto restrained love- making had been a delightful deference and devotion, that I had welcomed as a sort of miracle. Wholly unaware that he could not be gifted with imagination, and would naturally take all kindness as permission to break bounds. No — No he was not to blame, as he had just openly declared, and there was no excuse for me. Yet from that definite experience I shrank away. It was inevitable that he could not understand my recoil; he had no complexities; to my unsophisticated eyes he had before been as open as running water, — Now all suddenly he became an unexplored bomb, and I began reproaching myself absurdly, believing he was a poor agonized human being that would never recover from the wrong I had been guilty of inflicting! I began to explain him to myself, and the hushed sounds and unplumbed emotions that had been so far off and unknown, began to clamor like invisible things, unawakened emotions that surround us all either as visions of happiness or nightmares of horror! A lawless energy of feeling threatened to close down on me, and yet distaste still shook me; rebellion, all the more stabbing, because of the sudden quenching of confidence and self-mastery. The girl's dream of conquest and pleasure had fled, the gifts I had bestowed willingly now lacked the stimulating touch that had led me on and given me some inspiring moments. It was all romantic nonsense from start to finish that could readily fade into nothing — but I did not know it. I was too mysteriously excited, and felt somehow vaguely as if I had crossed the threshold, and established a new order of life, almost a new tradition. The foundations of a character laid in early youth hold the future in solution. There had been tense moments of reality, and I believe that, "Verily! the life of the soul is as to intensify rather than duration!" The next day I avoided the decks at stated hours. I encouraged Mr. Illsley, when Mr. White was on duty, to such an extent that he never left my side, and flaunted most conspicuously his gratification. Visions of home, and what they would think, swept over me; and far off and indistinguishable, I felt the strangely familiar call of my own Lake. Its waves had voices, and a new sense of loneliness and fear and dread crept near. Youth does not formulate its thoughts very clearly, fancies swing hither and thither, and often one is spell-bound, an absurd dreamer dwelling in unrealities; striving to colour everything with something fervent and frantic in its power to stir and stimulate. Until we made port there was a continued effort to work upon my vanity, to awaken faith and compassion by an utter sadness of glance and appeal. Any hour that we passed each other, and across the table at meals, as if I were a unique being, I was keenly aware of the man's constant observation. There was no laughter left in his brown eyes, but about him hung the glamour of mystery; his dark good looks, his daring and earnestness constantly in exercise. It only blurted into words in farewell exchanges as we docked in harbour. "You're coming back with us? — Fate is kind — we can't escape our destiny." To get back usual avocations had been like awakening from some feverish dream, but nothing gave me full release or forgetfulness. There was a charm which I could not escape in his audacity — for he seemed to defy the very elements and scorn all dividing barriers. The whole Ocean, as a great Shield, seemed held in suspense to await a further signal. It was my daily habit to read aloud mornings to my Uncle's wife. The first fortnight she had been always in bed or on the couch. Now, the nineteenth day out, it was the morning after my upheaval, she sat in a low easy chair with sewing or embroidery, and had seemed, the last two days, unusually restless and disturbed. I attributed it to illness, but this time she was distinctly nervous, and throwing down her work said excitedly — "My nerves are on edge — I am in such trouble, Nina, I want you to help me." And at my startled look — "There is something everyone else knows on the Page in Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood ship, and if you don't, you must be very unobserving. That Stewardess has deceived us. She was eager to get to England and cross with her husband. William likes the Steward, he has been with him for several voyages, and as he urged the engagement of his wife, and both of them deliberately lied as to dates, we never suspected the danger. I have watched lately, and she is no longer equal to any service, she fainted yesterday, and lied about that." "What is it!" I asked, in an awed whisper, "not that you think she will be sick on board — Mercy! how dreadful!" "Exactly, that's what I fear. It's an awful risk — We won't get a Pilot until tomorrow. Every hour is a menace, and we are nearly two days from Havre. What shall I do? It is dangerous. I've been reading those awful medicine books until I am frightened." Then she laughed at my appalled gaze, "You are as pale as a ghost — It's no use to tremble and be miserable in advance, but I couldn't wait any longer to tell you." And now the clouds of fear of the unknown almost destroyed the fears en- gendered by the known, in the experience of the night and day before, — the re- collection of which gave me a growingly acute distaste. It was instantly mini- mized and dispelled by absorbed attention all that day, in dread of a climax of woe for the poor Stewardess. I had retired early, that night of danger, but hardly had terrors been hushed in slumber, when a hand fell heavily on my shoulder, and in a chill of fright, I heard the unmistakable words. "Dress quickly — she's desperately ill — they have brought her into the Saloon." She lay on a pile of mattresses — left there to my Aunt's services and mine. That marble pallor, those eyes of agony and the loose hair floating like a mist — that hair which I cannot forget, thick, blacker than jet, and as if never again could brush or comb tame its wildness. It touched every spring of sympathy in me, and made me revolt against the cagings and cruelties of life. I thought of all the people that live on this great earth, and for the first time it swept over me to ask — What does the soul or body of one woman count? Life! Did the secrets of its power lie in suffering? Who was there to champion or save us? And how could I ever feel quickened or sweetened by Sun, or Wind, or Rain, or any vision of natural beauty, if fellowship with such forms of suffering was demanded for truest vision? There was something drawn across the trail of our worth to the world, and Oh! how hard to learn the gift of God or feel the smile of his angels! I shivered with terror, trying to get a grip on myself, to force re- solution to stay and keep watch, to do my full share to help my distracted Aunt. But how could I keep my heart from bursting seeing unrelieved distress? Hours later, she said to me so kindly, "Do go on deck awhile, Nina, you must get courage before coming back. Stay in the air until I call you." I breathed deeply again while something choked in my throat. I suppose out of my great pity, my hatred at sight of unrelieved pain, it came over me how main- shadows there were on earth and how many dwelt in them. I looked up so hungrily into the dark Heaven of the mysterious night, and how dreadful, 1 thought, to walk in darkness, to keep pace with the midnight in its swift unceasing silent march around the Globe. Forever and forever, meridian by meridian sweeps the midnight, from Orient to Occident in dark procession, and its utmost brightness is t he lighl of stars! I could U01 definize nor understand my own sensations, but out ol that in- finite whirl of pain there had come knowledge, that only Lighl is strong and pure and char and joyous, anil that there was nothing new under millions OJ Suns. It is BO with millions of Mothers, and yet they rejoice? \)^ we then cost such uffering lining the winds of Life and Death'.' The twin Angels, both asking tribute, both symbolizing yearning and anguish! To face death in resignation as price for the attainment of that joy to seek a happiness th-it Nature gives her children bj making of every man an Adam and everj woman an I Tin i .1 \r,\ simple narrative of what h daily, hourly, everj moment i / Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood somewhere in God's world, but to my ignorance it had taken on terror as well as mystery, and could not be transmuted into what is beautiful, until I remembered my Mother's face when I was taken into that darkened chamber and saw her radiant smile. Only four years old — I looked down at the little bundle in the hollow of her arm. My brother Horace — My little brother! Verily! I saw love Divine and love Human, both alike made manifest. The ship was forging ahead under full sail eagerly and anxiously awaiting the Pilot, and the whole Crew knew that if the day brought no help, the Steward's wife must die. Desperate means were to be tried and numbers of the Sailors volunteered to row towards Port while we anchored and hung outside. There is an unquenchable kindness in mankind, their eagerness, shared by the Captain, won consent. To save the sacred life interwoven with hers had challenged the noblest and strongest feelings of all. That picture, when in the dead of night, the Life-boat was lowered! The Steward in the bows, the sailors bending to their oars that sent the frail skiff far from sight, while we still caught the cheerful cry sent back that made Hope leap and grow strong, is a recollection never to be dimmed. The duty to be helpful came upon me like the suggestion of Divine beauty and perfection of Divine promise. When I came back again to the deck, hours later, in a strange fashion the colours of morning were changing before my eyes! the air was fresh and fragrant in a sort of unconquerable sweetness. The sight of the wind swept spaces of Ocean made large appeal to higher frames of feeling. All my wild, joyous frolicksome spirit had been solemnized. I had received for all time a new vision, that vision of the toll of human life that every generation must give. It was a new sense of pitiable finiteness that had come to me as I bent over the sufferer in that midnight hour. It had made the whole earth change; an earth made up only of the dust of people who must fight and toil and agonize. They had stalked for a time like Spectres to frighten one, who had before only enjoyed and loved and dreamed. But another day was with us again. It dawned in splendour, the colours of gold and purple and scarlet and blue, and before noon-time beyond the calm and luminous distance the boat was sighted. The Look-out's cry gladdened every heart. The whole Ocean that had been so bleak became ecstatic, it sparkled and welcomed them. It was Life, not Death. Then came from our decks an uproar of delight as they drew ever nearer. Oh! that quick ascent over the side of the ship as the rope ladder was lowered; the smile and greeting of the courteous Frenchman as he was met and piloted to his failing patient. And later the relief and happiness shared alike by Sailors and Officers, and the Doctor's congratulations to my Aunt, and smiling bow to me were character- istic of his race. Everyone, rejoiced, for the pain which had seemed eternal, was over; uncon- querable will, and skill secured in time had availed. Monstrous fears subsided and gaiety ensued, for now it was High Festival. At the Feast, my Uncle spread, charming Toasts were offered in turn to us all, for a Son was born and joyfully named for the Captain of the Ship. THE VAIN EXPECTATION Someone has said that you extract from life a double enjoyment if yours is the creative mind; and from the moment I thought of Paris it loomed to my imagin- ation; I picked up all the first hand information I could; I read books of travel; and I tried to make it familiar to fancy. I could not build any fairy-stories round myself, there were no marble palaces to sit in, or any coloured tapestries to em- broider! It was a far off world where all the songs were in a strange language that no one could help me to understand. I had expected that visit to be far and away the greatest adventure of my life, and it was a curious failure. There was nothing exhilarating to it. I suffered much less from the whole experience Page 113 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood of disappointment than one would suppose. I was a high strung soul, happily rich in actual possessions; the treasures of home and family, love and protection, friends and praise; and could, I found, bear things alone, — I mean being lonely at heart, and in strange surroundings but not consciously conquered, and not for long knowing the full meaning of failure or mortification. To a certain extent I felt isolated from the first moment. It was a double sort of family — two sets — the widower had married a widow, each having two grown children, and, while I participated or was present, I made pictures of them all, and said, now they will do this — now they're going to do that! Perhaps some- thing a little dramatic in me might explain my entertaining myself, even while feeling an alien; knowing myself in a sense not understood, I mean, not sympathized with or as a welcome addition. It was like entering a cool room after being accus- tomed to warm and glowing ones. My life had always been so free and interesting, — now for an unknown reason the first greeting, as I entered that pretty home, way up near the Arc, out of the Champs Elysee, made me feel cramped. My own simplicity and expectation made matters worse. I was disarmingly frank and unwisely open as to my own likes and dislikes; and alas! I knew absolutely nothing of foreign life, of the etiquette of visiting, or the demands upon a visitor. And on this first visit, anywhere or to anyone, I made my way through unchartered space with no sub-conscious direction. In trying now to understand why I was such a dead failure, so ineffectual and completely frustrated by circumstances as never to make one lucky stroke or profit at all by the experience which had been anticipated as "good fortune", I think the miscarriage was due to my never comprehending the necessity to sur- mount, by personal service and deference, what chained me to my own common- place little car of individual tastes and wishes. I never tried to stem a torrent. I did not recognize the current, that like a tide, bore us apart; I kept my head above water, swimming alone — and I did not name my own discomfiture or call it a break-down when I tripped or stumbled, or was brought to naught in that close circle. I was too uncomprehending of the necessity of learning to be adapt- able, and of slipping into a back seat gently. I never had, I suppose, their view- point, and was perhaps too dazed to know wherein I blundered. I very certainly made a bad impression, and in some way we were at cross purposes. Doubtless my perceptions were too clouded, and I too short-sighted and confident of myself to realize my own vacancy of mind, and general incompetence to suit my lively volatile nature to uncommunicativeness that spelled discomfort, and something unanalyzable. I had thought it was all going to be wonderful, and the things that might happen had appealed to an exaggerated fancy. They were all so polite when I arrived; but from that first hour mine was an unadmitted uneasiness; my mind registered a vague disturbance. I did not float in pleasurable emotions — quite the contrary. The taste of what was new and foreign was strangely spoiled. Those first interchanges or experiences pushed me out of myself into some subtle apprehensivencss, or awareness of dissatis- faction. After the head of the house had asked for my Father, any news of home, about my voyage, and perfunctory hopes that I would enjoy Paris, he hardly over again seemed aware of my exist once, and I felt a sort of commonplaceness in or about rue that did not please; and I could not conform to rules or habits unknown, or rub off corners, or chime in with daily observances. 1 was out of my own orbit. 1 was like a fly for insignificance. The Lady of the house had a half-smile and the usual greetings each day or at meals, and a perfect relapse into silence. They were all clover. They talked of matters interesting, general or personal, but the brilliant globe of light under thai roof did nol touch or roach trie. When 1 tried to be agreeable, 1 awkwardly eemed to tramp against things, and whirl sidewise instead ol ahead. It was ai it no one was aware of m<- or sometimes remembered I was there; certainly they were nol aware "l the strange impressions I received. It was as il Life had becom< something thai penned me in. It was 1101 thai I measured tnysell ^^\\- Pagi 1 1 1 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood sciously, but that in their circle I felt diminished; I was small, and it was my first lesson in unimportance. Gussie had outgrown me; her tall distinctive figure, her grace and dignity, her deep, dark eyes always luminous and always kind kindled admiration afresh. I had always liked her seriousness and poise, to me it seemed the repose of true breeding; manners clothed her like a garment. And now her long black hair was piled in coils and knots so that she looked much older. Her beauty was not strik- ing, but her high-held head, and straight erect body would always arrest attention, and when interest or sympathy was aroused warmth and kindliness added to her charm. When I sat beside her at Van Norman's I was fascinated by her personality, and the thick black lashes shadowing those deep eyes, and the masses of black hair made her individual. Now I realized a curious blending of the pride of an intellectual aristocracy and the unquenchable spirit within. I noticed she seemed to run the establishment, the bills were referred to her for settlement; that she gave the orders, and that her sway in all household matters was acknowledged; while the titular Mistress of the house sat idly in her easy chair and gazed upon the world about her, and me in particular, with a steady stare that was somehow disconcerting. Soon after arrival Gussie said to me with the low laughter that was character- istic, "What do you think? Father had a personal letter from Mr. Lincoln, asking if he would consider accepting the post of American Minister to France. Oh my! Fancy Ma in a low-necked gown at the Tuilleries!" "Did he refuse?" I burst out, incredulous of declining such an honour. "Oh of course we don't ignore the honour, but we are not up to such responsibilities and representations, and expenses. Poor Ma! She nearly had a fit while we all listened to that letter, and the boys eagerly discussed the offered "appointment". Her timidity made her lose all sense of the compliment to Father — who only laughed and reassured her" — "Never fear, Mother dear — You won't have to dress up for Court Balls and Functions! We'll be satisfied with Churches, and Sermons and Prayer-Meetings — more in our line!" and he cast a look at the boys, who had been for the moment elated, that fully settled his decision. It lifted them as a family higher in my fancy, all but the inefficient ineffective unequal wife and Mother, without ambition or any unselfish spur in her. In- stinctively I knew all the others would have adorned the position. They were brilliant and clever, and yet after my own introduction into that circle everything had begun to lack interest. I felt a flare of delight at the first view of Maria Emery, graceful, slim and pliant; complexion of softest rose and white, pure and pearly, the exquisite colour coming and going in her cheeks, and those curly strands of hair were a shimmer of pale gold. She was fully aware of her blonde beauty, and not over-sensitive, for it was plain she coveted and enjoyed notice. She was never hurt or retiring under the scrutiny of other eyes. Sleek, smooth and placidly satisfied, she turned drab and cold, and I felt claws somehow, under the velvety softness, that could scratch. It was only once that we really met, and I did not emerge unbruised or un- shaken. Her prettiness was an outward visible symbol of, what? She meant no riches to heart and mind, and at the very first I had no wish to come closer. The two girls were so unlike, and the McClintocks and the Emerys demonstrated friction, at times apparent even to my inexperienced eye. There was a sort of graciousness in Gussie wholly lacking in Maria, and, I think, an unacknowledged antagonism existed between the two. As for the brothers! immaculate young men, attired perfectly, they struck me as automatoms — conventional, cold and polite. I think, in a sense, while not unaware, I was yet not made especially uncomfortable by their dignified aloofness. After the first glance and bow whenever we met they seldom appeared to see me. I pos- sessed no feminine weapons with which to move those marvelous males to at- tention. The Heir of the House of McClintock was somewhat lordly in appearance as well as manner — really a handsome youth, clothed in indefinable armour; Page 1 15 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood a sure assumption of unapproachableness that gave him immeasurable distance, and to my view, distinction. The younger one, the son of the Emerys, was extraordinarily fair looking, straw coloured hair and small features, and small statured; he had his sister's air of heightened fastidiousness, advertising the utter uselessness of comparison with any other member of his sex. He incarnated majesty in the male universe. He showed his aloofness in the very way he walked, as if the ground were hardly good enough! in the very way he leaned back in his chair, the way he looked at inanimate objects, or at me, he made it all rather ludicrous in the last analysis, only then it gave one an amazing conviction of lost ascendancy. That I had always over-valued myself in the scheme of things was a lesson very slow to learn. Even the shining superiority of the family I was visiting, was obscured by my being primed with memories that at first I could never believe were illusions; although in that environment it was growingly difficult to feel full assurance, as I looked at them from such an immeasurable distance. Yet my eyes were set like wide doors for memory to enter in and comfort me. There was no grand adventure in anything. Instead of a fine show where I was welcome and could play in it, it was all a mixed up private game, nothing in it mine, nothing shared. The people I saw there, the few things I could do or did pleased no one — much less myself. And often when we were all together, everything became a bleak emptiness into which imagination stared. It was almost night-mare darkness some hours, even when I sat with the girls, silence closing in on us like prisoners behind immovable walls. Gussie's eyes of glowing life flashed inquiringly, and I have often wondered since if she did not ask herself how she ever supposed me desirable as guest or friend? It was all strain, and increasingly sure that I had nothing to give anyone. They were broken-up days, and yet very unbroken, merely dull; and after a while I almost prided myself that I didn't care. Poor little Minnow among the Tritons! The more carefully I ponder over the odd condition that worked to shut me in, and feed a certain antipathetic attitude in some of them, the more I find in myself some reason for critical comment and corresponding mis-interpretation. A few occasions continue to seem to furnish evidence against my being an agree- able guest. For all one knows, an invitation sent across so many leagues of di- viding distance may have been hasty and ill considered. Possibly, when Gussie wrote, the family had not been consulted, or even made aware of its immediate acceptance. Gussie herself may not have imagined so prompt and warm a re- sponse. It was inevitable that if not desired my immediate appearance would, in itself, be cause for something more active than surprise. Let that account in some measure for lack of welcome, however well concealed by conventions and the amenities. And first my strangeness, my futile efforts to be at ease; my ignorance of the language, my recoil from wines, especially the Vin Ordinaire in daily use, which made the poor and always tepid water of the Seine necessary, and to me, undrink- able. I hated that sour beverage, I hated the river water; I longed for the lacking luxury of clear cold water. The absence of ice, that hot season, was painfully apparent; never in Bight, never in use, never, it would seem, missed; while my whole physical being cried out for it. Alas and Alas! I had no savoir-faire, no savoir-vivre where the simplest hardships wen- concerned, and an incident ol one afternoon almost disgraced me. I sat on the side of the bed, in the little room where 1 slept, and clenched my hands and teeth, and felt a perfect baby, BtrUggling with a mad thirst. My I'tmn- tenance Undoubtedly indicated rebellious distress, for as (iiissie entered, to call me to Tea which gave me an access of perspiring frenzy she inquired sohci- tOUSly "Anything Wrong What is it Aren't you well'.'" My misery bursl forth with ill considered impetuosity "Oh. will you let me bu) some ice, it's so hot, and I'm just dying for ice-water?" "Win certainly, we'll send oui at once" and never i" my dying day can 1 forget the sound of the ( rai 1. 1 1 Hi' ice in that i' 1. 1 , .1 she hi "iir hi il up l<» mel lake one famished, I drank /'. Il'l Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood in great gulps, and as it slipped down my parched throat, before I even said thank you, I had only the physical sense of supreme satisfaction. I feel the blush now of sophistication over that outbreak; Gussie was fastidious, suave, and good- tempered, and the pink of politeness as I held out my glass for more. But when I got my breath, and was cooled by those deep delicious draughts, I knew I had lost out in manners, urbanity, and presumably, good breeding. Life has to teach one caution or discretion enough to feel the ground well in advance, and I was never wary or guarded; and to this day I do not wait always to see how the cat jumps, or to keep at a sufficiently respectable distance when warned to step out of harm's way. Had I felt my ground then, I'd never have asked relief; but there were no after absurdities of that order at least; and I can recall nothing else during my stay openly vehement in demand. If I had only known enough — known people — known life, some hours I would have realized I was being played upon by the Emerys, and defended mildly by the McClintocks; as if jets of hot or cold water were sprayed around at intervals; but it was all in a language I did not understand, as foreign as the French tongue itself in which many of the remarks were made, that I was no more outside of than in some of the English sentences. Many times the young men and Maria would burst into a flood of fluent French accompanied by gesticulation, and the whole stream of heavily accentuated verbiage used to pour out and never for an instant conveyed the least shadow of intelligible meaning. It was plain that I was not liked some way, never in any sense one of them — and never once knowing why. And yet with all my might I continued to resist conviction of being actively disliked. But the feeling grew of being one person like a Watcher — detached, not included; and I longed vainly for something to bolster up confidence. True the temperature varied, but the sprays were more or less continuous, not that I recognized them as being openly directed to me, although so vaguely uncom- fortable. It was a family life entirely unlike anything familiar, or warm even among themselves; and, without being able to interpret, I felt the whole world could not contain a duller or more unattractive person than I. There were no precious things came my way, as day succeeded day, but the hidden something in me never let anyone guess how the blood ran riot with longing to get away; for, before the second week of my stay, they had no more reality for me — the people I met or even the household itself — than the shadows of trees, or vines across the street, or vines upon a window-sill. And then such an unfortunate occurrence, all due to my hasty spirit that stands so poorly open irritation or covert challenge. There were a number of visitors that evening, several elderly men discussing Church matters with Dr. McClintock, and two callers for the young ladies. One was an American who had long lived abroad, of striking presence and fascinating manners. He had paid me the compliment of brief notice on a former occasion and as well as it being so exceptional, I had wondered that a man who seemed old could be so courteous and entertaining. I was growing accustomed to being ignored in that bright circle, and had accepted it, so far, as part of the foreign surroundings. He had been spoken of in my presence as a "Boulevardier," in- terpreted to my inquiry as a "Club Man", a "Man about Town"; which in my ignorance, made him seem only more splendidly desirable. The other caller that night was a florid looking, well-set-up Englishman equipped for conquest. He was evidently a lately returned traveler, and they hung upon his wondrous tales. The monocle, which frequently dropped as he talked, and was speedily and nonchalantly screwed into place, amused and inter- ested me as a novelty. He had a drawling voice, and judging from the laughter evoked was unusually entertaining. In a pause of general conversation as one hears his own name, and it arrests attention, so his last sentence reached my ears and caught sharply — "Nobody has any polish there, they don't know it even when seen. Crude! — You can't fancy the crudeness and commonness of Chicago." Page 117 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood In a second's flash, I remembered something derogatory in tone and sug- gestion that I had heard as a child in Newburyport; and later, when first in school in New York, certain inuendoes and shafts of satire at the West and Westerners, that I had neither understood nor resented. But now — Commonness — Crudities — the meaning was clear, and I rushed into speech. "Chicago is where I live — My Father is proud of it. He says it will be great and splendid some day; that it is wonderful now for so young a City. When it's old like Europe you'll see! — Why do you expect the young to be like the old? I suppose Americans do need polish badly, perhaps most of them are 'common and crude'; that must be why they come to Paris to live," which was certainly an impertinent and personal fling, unpardonable as was my fine fury and raised voice. For a breath after that outburst, and crass disregard of convention, no one spoke; and then the silence was broken by Dr. Johnston's pleasant voice — "A valiant defender! I congratulate Chicago" — and I felt as if I'd like to marry that man on the spot! He did marry, next year as it chanced, a Chicago girl whom I knew well and succeeded in making her miserable for twenty-two years. Someone has said that part of the richness of life is that, whether History re- peats itself or not, no single human experience does! There is certainly always a peculiarity to any separate happening which, I suppose, is what precludes the same sensation twice. Who can say that because a girl behaves herself in certain ways, or because she doesn't behave herself, she is either strong or weak? or has either high standards or no self-control? If no situation ever developed which made it natural or entirely worth while to misbehave sometimes, wouldn't it be a world without thrills? I was like a fighter. There was a subtle change in my whole attitude toward one and all, and I had for the first time a momentary sensation of ascendency. It was only momentary. Everything seemed to become insufferably hot, and I felt the approach of a torrent just tearing me. I had nothing to say — What could I say to that courtesy that had breached the gulf? I was not at all penitent. How could I show them regret for rudeness, for I meant every word. In scorning Chicago they had attacked us all. The whole experience stuck long in conscious- ness, and it was an insoluble enigma why they should seem contemptuous of my native City and of its Citizens in particular. It is a strain not doing every day something you are aching to do; and that I could not go forth at will, but must await another's pleasure or convenience, and feel a weight and burden on someone's time, had me by the throat long before that interminable visit was over. And yet one hour outside in the sunshine was like a draught of the concentrated essence of the Meny-gO-round life of Paris, and helped me to bear the monotony of many intervening days. The slightest experience added to the wave of general excitement of being alive, it all appealed and tempted and thrilled me with conviction that if only allowed freedom of Opportunity, I could see and share and be myself. 1 may have been a creature of extremes, but I didn't carry hidden weapons about with me. The streets outside were so gay Paris was like a string ol jewels, the crowds a river of Life. Its heart was youth. Its sidewalks themselves, the laughing people here, everywhere; everything one could see, touch, smell or hear gave keenest pleasure; and whenever I caught glimpses, they were like blossoming flowers I could not touch. \\ 1 1 ' 1 1 I went out, Beemingh seldom, as I recall it, 1 was astonished beyond any celling, and yei in a way it was familiar astonishment. It was like dreams thai I could identif) myself in. Oh! those wonderful pavements, with all that ebb and How of human traffic, with such bewildering variety and interests. The Boulevards and Streets always seemed to stream with people; talking, laughing and seizing happiness on the wing I The Champs Elysee was a moving p. mora ma ol vhere pleasure was infectious everyone enjoying the gifts thai were l.i v ish< d. I l< mged t" live wd h t hem. The ihops and theati Mv eums and Churches, all that I saw From the Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood outside, when taken to and from the American Chapel, or on short strolls week- days, fulfilled an anticipation that neither words not thoughts could quite inter- pret. And yet always things looked larger, the Place de la Concord was huge, the great buildings towered, the monuments and fountains and statues, the pillars, the gardens, the Towers of Notre Dame, the facade of the Madeleine, the frontage of great Palaces and Galleries, the perspective of the Champs Elysee, the Arches, colonades, entrances everywhere bewildered me with unfulfilled enchantment; that golden dome of the Invalides, the magnificent Arc de Triomphe, the idea of France itself! — that I was in Paris, the wonderful, the beautiful, always changing and yet always unchangeable, made me at one, for exultant moments, with those vivid evanescent human beings who gave to the thoroughfares such brilliant life and character. It was an instinctive climax of appreciation and longing, that told me the normal and natural development of the human race was implicit in the countenance of young and old — that those waves of sudden colour that swept up and down the streets, more fascinating than one could give voice to, seemed to show that the world there was a wonderful place to live in, and that gaiety was the note to strike. What moved me chiefly in Paris, beauty apart, was the calm certainty of well-being and joy that appeared common to all. It was a very oppressive August, and one hot afternoon, when the summer sky brooded over us, and the displays of fashion, the great vistas, the world of wonders, only dreamed of from behind closed doors and windows, almost intoxi- cated me, I stood on one of the little balconies and thought how beauty was every- where outside the house; Art everywhere, of which I knew nothing, and History so great that had lately begun its appeal and was drawing my impetuous happy- hearted nature as irresistibly as steel to a magnet. Some help had come in measure from the books I was reading. It was the library of a scholar, and Gussie had selected from her Father's collection several works on Art and History that fas- cinated me and held me captive. There came hours when I forgot small depriva- tions, inexplicable frictions, the unconscious misunderstandings, and tried hard to grasp some of the meanings, the hidden truths, the great deeds of heroes and the noble heritage from Artists. Nothing put my vision right or gave me exact notions, yet the life was so intense that I felt it according to certain affinities in me. I was no miracle of patience; but people get so bored if you ask questions and show less and less interest in you, and I was learning slowly not to enjoy airing my own ignorance. We had walked in the Bois once or twice, and figures and light dresses, the nurses wheeling perambulators, the uniformed horse-men and the brilliant equipages, and smiling beautiful women all wonderfully arrayed, gave the sense of discovery as of a social or artistic Fete. The delicate perfume of those ripened woods was all about us. It was like hearing the songs of birds, breathing the fragrance of living flowers, with plenty of air and space, which for the moment communicated itself, and warmed one by currents of sympathy that somehow made one acquainted with the passers-by — a wave of joyful emotion was produced in me, and I wanted to exchange smiles and words, or join them at little iron tables set here and there on the ground under the trees. I never entered any of the gay restaurants where more fortunate people gathered; and I was never once taken in to the dazzling shops, whose windows I stared at in passing, as one would into Fairyland. One blaze of glory crowned the visit. It was my awesome introduction to the endless Salons, the indescribable wonders of that great Treasure-House of Europe — The Louvre — and I afterward realized that I owed the vision to a kind inquiry of Dr.McClintock's,who spoke quite out of a clear sky and really startled me. "What are you going to tell them in Chicago about our Louvre, and other great Galleries?" I hesitated — and then with a quiet humour I hardly understood — "Well! Yesterday at a book-stall I bought "Views of Paris" and pictured treasures of The Louvre, and that will show them all I've seen." It was that very afternoon Gussie gave me the unforgettable experience. It was in an atmosphere of tense excitement I looked, while she pointed out great master-pieces that preserve the Sacred Fire of Art. Page IIQ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood As we wandered from one great room to another through that wonderful ac- cumulation of treasures, I was amazed at Gussie's descriptions, by her understand- ing which seemed to endow her with surpassing knowledge, and filled me with increased astonishment and admiration. No one has a greater reverence for brains than I, and my unqualified delight and docility seemed to move her as if she devined an unconscious affinity and unsuspected response in me which made us more at one. One can enlarge the mental horizon by drawing out thoughts and opinions, and I felt renewed the charm of Gussie's cleverness, her beauty, her voice and her perfect manners. "Oh, I do thank you, you are lovely," I said with fervor, "and I shall never forget it," and I extended my hand impulsively which she pressed quite feelingly, and thereafter watched the consequences of her words and my replies as if we had come together at last. Some seeds were dropped that day, which would per- haps germinate and bear fruit in years to come; certainly I found myself for days after more in my element whenever Gussie was present; not thoroughly happy, but with a sort of sensation of release. The unfailing spirit of humour will break up the monotony of dull days, "as a prism breaks white light into bands of brilliant colours." The ideas which influence our lives come largely from outside, and I prepared for Church that last Sunday in Paris — the remembrance of which now suffices to reproduce the whole experience — in a curious mood of arrogance. The impression of Dr. McClintock's eloquent sermon has never been effaced. It is true, that apart from the noble oratory, there was left little, but certain directions what to avoid, what to steer clear of; and I vaguely felt, even then at seventeen, that the eminent Divine, her Father, and all preachers and philosophers knew only just about enough to strive to offer courage and guidance; for however childish my own speculations, or absurd my ventures, I realized that Sermons were only seed sowing; and that it was the great Brotherhood of our indefinable world that, once felt and acknowledged, would put a new quality into life and enlarge our outlooks by leaps and bounds. This I could not, did not define to myself but I came away from that particular discourse moved by earnestness of presentation, and tenderness of appeal, for he had painted Divine Love and Divine Pity as inspiration and benediction alike. I walked with the others in a state of appreciation that seemed like a growing knowledge of beauty, that made me feel I did not need indulgence, nor was it worth while to make further efforts at participation. I was a bit uplifted, radiant for the hour without any trace of embarrassment. I had had my share of happiness that day, it had affected me like beneficial electricity. I made promises to myself, and that very evening I received a stab that almost drew blood. Maria scratched, and scratched deep, and I paid my debt with a sort of furious breaking loose of forces. I forgot all sweetness, only the sensations of illness and anger. I am persuaded that in the state I was in, I was getting choked up and blinded, for I used, figuratively, every weapon I had in mc to slash back. I felt powerful, and she found me an enemy worthy of her steel. I had often watched Maria for sheer delight in her prettiness, and never wondered at the sort of proud proprietorship that pervaded the Emery atmosphere. Her Mother had naturally concluded her the most beautiful of created beings, and the daughter certainly liked her own looks, and perhaps went as far as her doting parent in approving herself, all of which was satisfactory as far as 1 was concerned. 1 never called her charmfl in question, BO why should she have it in for me? Sixty-two years, more or less, are wiped out bet ween that da\ an d this. Memory queer thing and plays queer tricks; hut it etches that scene with perleet sharp- What I said about sermons, 1 do not know, but her answer, referring to Mr. LongBCre, rather than Dr. McClinlock, of whom 1 was speaking, called forth sudden protesl and exclamations. "Oh there's no comparison! Win! the Rev. Andrew is about in the pulpil what he is in the parlour, vtr) commonplace! and I've never thought him clever." "Well," and her VOice bit into me "He's Pagt /-•" Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood clever enough to size you up and read you pretty well. He says you'd never be interesting to a clever man; that you will never be popular, that men will never in the world like you on account of your sharpness or smartness — they seem both about the same thing." It was a paralyzing second and I looked at her, feeling a little dazed. The young assistant clergyman from Philadelphia was really impressive looking, tall and of slender build, delicate clear cut features, of very blonde colouring; he had pleasant manners and a distinctly intellectual cast of countenance. He was classed in my mind merely as uninteresting like other men — lack of notice on his part would account for much of course— and now catching my breath in a rush of irreverence and indignation, I addressed her flippantly to hide my chagrin. "Much obliged at his rating me so dangerously smart; you don't suppose he's really afraid of me?" "Afraid! Andrew afraid of you! He only spoke of tongue-lashings that he hates, and that no man would stand." "Tongue-lashings!" — I repeated it stupidly. "Why of course — sharp-tongued, quick answering back as you do; men would never stand for it, he said, and they hate pertness, too." Suddenly the sunshine dazzled my eyes and her face swam in a blur; I opened and shut them very quickly, and fixed gaze on the glass doors opening on the little garden where everything for the moment wore a mist of green. I felt hot all over but I turned trembling, I forced a smile, and looked straight into those light blue glassy eyes fixed on me triumphantly. It aroused defiance. I was not a bit chastened; I was enclosed in fury. "Do tell that Reverend Gentlemen he's safe — I won't eat him — I don't care for him — he's too tasteless. It's no news that I'll never be popular in a set like yours. You are all uninteresting to me." My mind shut out everything but the desire to hit hard, if I could only find a break in her armour of complete self-satisfaction, and I wondered how I'd ever have the chance to answer him back, as the wave of fury which swept away all decorum, left me staring defiantly. Maria was speechless, she even looked frightened and without another word left me alone. For hours the pressure in the atmosphere was on the increase; I suppose I had hitherto been impervious to their snubs, and decidedly too con- versational or forward to please, but I had neither felt nor dreamed of enmity. Everything before I came had prepared me for intimacy in exchanges and attitudes, and I had never found it. Openly and innocently had been expressed all sorts of views and opinions that had elicited no interesting nor interested replies, and producing no effect it had been impossible not to shift my enquiring glances and smiles, and make some futile remarks — for, accustomed all my life long to an unrestricted freedom of expression and invariably to kind response, I was bewildered, and hardly knew how to retire from the field. Now I remembered elaborate scenes in the dining room that would have explained themselves to any but a free-lance. There had been often a cold steady light directed toward me, and in fact cast over everyone at the table, revelatory undoubtedly to all the others, but until that moment of Maria's unqualified speech, I had never understood, had never supposed myself an object of both criticism and dislike. I'd never have believed that I was one who showed such distasteful sharpness, but as hour after hour passed, I felt quite capable of "Tongue-lashings", or what- ever he called it, for the August air could not make me hotter than his words. "Men could never like me? — I'd never be popular?" Well that was worse than not being good-looking. A short tempest of wrath shook me afresh. "If ever I can, he shall feel my tongue," I thought, all the time hating myself, hating myself fiercely. Tremors began shaking me, and all at once the tears were running down my face, the whole world bleak and blurred and shadowy! Why! that contemp- tuous young Clerical had seemed rather ideal to me, a sort of medieval young Page 121 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood saint, young and consecrated. He was undeniably attractive to the eye, cruelty in judging would have seemed impossible; his personal inattention to me had never counted against him. That was no fault; in fact it was rather in his favour. Romantic nonsense fails when there is no mutual attraction and the difference in the sexes fades into nothing. That the whole affair was amusing did not once strike me, or that it might have no depth or lasting verity of meaning. How could I measure anything at that age, when vanity had been struck in its most sensitive spot? It is easy to be self-controlled, to be brave and fairly just when all is sunshine, and praise is warm, but something had stung my heart. The barb had stayed in it. I had been despised and plunged into a rubbish heap; miasma was all about me, and no Sanctuary anywhere. Impressions and sentiments had cut deep, and I was curiously keen for any approaching contest. The torrent had broken loose and it rushed on. It was a contest I knew I must fight alone, unaided, and on my own ground, and instinctively, breathlessly, desperately I longed for the encounter. All my past was like a lost Paradise. It rose up but could not lessen the anger which hypnotized me with ever renewed desire to strike back. I had been laid low, horribly hurt, what could I do? "I'll show him," was the stubborn inner cry — "No matter if I do deserve it — it was mean to say that to Maria who is both pretty and popular." There is a certain head-long impetuosity that needs strong controlling force to keep one calm or from running madly on the rocks. Those impulses of the will for happiness or unhappiness, peace or war, create certain currents and disperse or attract certain forces. My Puritan conscience, which was in my fore-bears so highly developed, stirred feebly to make me think there must be some measure of justice in such contemptuous summing up, but it could not cool me then or turn me from my purpose. I only coveted a chance to use what he gave me credit for, with all the sharpness I could command, and the opportunity was at hand. The incident when I did not hesitate or care to count the cost, or try to keep out of harm's way, rises before me now as an illustration of audacity and defiance, the partial recognition of which at the time did not for a second serve to bridle my tongue. There was something inside of me that kept calling to get out. I had a bursting sort of feeling, physical partly, and it was overpowering as I met his glance. I had been sitting snuggled up to the tall window opening on its balcony, trying to quiet myself in that fast gathering twilight. The young clergyman looked in, and what had seemed slowly cooling, instantly blazed into living fire. The torrent of flame came up against a boulder or some sensory obstruction, but leaped forth breathlessly — "Oh do come in," I called with tremulous efforts to smile, which I flattered myself was alluring, "I want to tell you how I enjoyed yesterday afternoon." He had conducted the late Service as usual, and had given one of his brief addresses. The fish I was angling for, feeling I must speak or explode, caught at the bait ! "1 am glad of course — it only means one thing to enjoy a Sacred Service. Did you like the Sermon?" "Sermon! Oh no Sermons are old stories 1 was brought up on them; have heard thousands! Very much the same, don't you think? And usually so tiresome! 1 could never see any reason why a man in the Pulpil liould think he knew so much more than the people in the Pews! Oh no, it's never tin' Sermon, it's you that entertain me; jrour appearance 1 mean; How fortunate you 'took orders', those Vestments are so awfully becoming, pity you ( an'l wear I hem all the time!" "What! What do you mean'.'" in horrified accents, but 1 gave him no time lor further interruption, rushing on and lifting the key to higher impertinence. "You ar< o impn fascinating in those robes, ami you'll always be so popular uiih the ladiei ' Ministers don 1 need to be clever-tongued; women believe them kind .md charitable, and, until i<>unut 'tongue-thrashings' won't be visited on them." Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood He stared in dumb incredulity, his face had flushed darkly and he actually looked black, blonde as he was. I saw he understood that he had not robbed me of my rights, that he realized the promptings, however harsh, of natural indignation and retaliation. He looked almost blankly, and my voice trembled a little as I added with a struggling sense of lightness — "The Bible warns us when all men like us that it is dangerous. My Father always read the Bible every day, so we learned about 'Garments of Righteousness', and that the true Priests were clothed with Sal- vation. Father said it was only the Scribes who loved to wear long robes — but now-a-days everything seems very different." He rallied to the attack, regained his poise — cool and self-controlled, with a slow cynical smile and hardening of the eyes he spoke — a natural born master of satire. His words cut like wire and all the best in me knew it for defeat. "Certainly talk does not flag in your neighborhood — "A Daniel come to judg- ment!" You should be counted among the most eloquent of the clergy. Glibness is a gift. You are quite marvellous. You have waked me up. I bow to superiority — but curb vindictiveness — it interferes with apologies. Thanks for the Bible lesson!" His tone had more than mockery. He had scored a victory. The report of my outrageous attack must have become general property and fed to flame all feelings of disapproval in that family, although as my visit only lasted two days longer there was no time for its active expression and every reason for repression and outward control. In me to the very end was the ice of an unnatural impenetrable reserve. I encased myself in it. I was embedded — I floated in it — not resentful only remorse- fully miserable. Until that episode, notwithstanding the chill of former impressions, my heart and brain had been susceptible and largely unsuspicious, and I had tried to hold and harbour only pleasant sensations. There had been in me after all little reflected beyond my own image, my own young desires of flesh and spirit, and my frequently quenched enthusiasm grown vivid again at times, had never before been effectually and entirely dimmed. I had disliked actively no one and never dreamed of such spiritual rupture and burning wounds. Now I wanted but one thing — to hide — to escape — to get away. Today vague memories of passing through endless periods those last days of mortifica- tion and suffering, oppress me more than any definite recollections. But one single incident impressed itself as an act of defiant independence. I was so hurt I could not bear to remain under the roof one unnecessary or un- occupied hour. And the last afternoon I deliberately dressed — said nothing of plan or purpose— spoke to no one — met no one, and passed quietly from the house in a little buzz of unqualified and swelling excitement. I only followed in the wake of the crowds, on the pavements thronged with bright colours and happy movement in that dazzling August sunlight. All those little tables full under the striped awnings; Waiters darting to and fro; Such busy, smiling people! I kept winking away the onrush of hot tears. Oh! that shifting panorama — Oh! to attain my desire — to be one of them — Paris so gay, so attractive — life so rich, so throbbing with joy — and I outside — so lonely, so unloved, so alien. My plentiful share of hope and pride had been lessened. My secret purpose to become intellectual, attractive and popular was entirely crushed. The un- approachable Heavens of shining superiority had faded from view, had become Astronomical — and I had been swept into dark distance with no light to encourage or lead me on. They had succeeded, all unconsciously doubtless, in making me feel I could never belong to a distinguished circle. I seemed instead to have been taught to jeer at myself, to admonish with proper scorn the intense longing in me that was so wholly unsupported by gifts or talents. Later years have taught me that in everyone's life certain days definitive, mark progress or failure, victory or defeat. The sure pressure of time reduces the idealistic tendency to exaggerate or to fence off from the common terms of every- Page 123 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood day life. The air castles fade as slowly one begins to learn how largely the secret of power lies in self control. The calm dignity of Gussie's face was unruffled as she wished me "Bon Voyage", and we said good-bye. I have never seen her since. I suppose there was really no antagonism ever existing between us, only a great castle of reticence lifting its walls so high that neither ever perceived the other's point of view. Yet I perceive vaguely through the haze of my mind that the blame could not be entirely theirs. To allow myself to think that would be to misjudge them. All this now flashes on the screen of recollection and explains how or why, with dawning self-knowledge, there developed in me the obligation of silence; how the mental reactions, re- tractions, and reservations made me resolve to speak of it to no one. In a sense the friction and misunderstandings and dissatisfaction became an unshared secret, the existence of which no one guessed. The key to infinite reaches of pleasure and sovereignty that I anticipated, the facts had proved I held but slackly. The sensation of diminished importance and of reduced possessions had aroused questions as to existing possibilities, that before so glowed and towered in magic before the wide-eyed hopes and fancies. But it had given me a widening of horizons; a new vision, although the secret of entire deliverance from my own convictions of worth and gain was still afar off. But at least and at last I had learned that the whole world was not my oyster. It was with no elation I took my seat in the train with Captain Erskine and wife, who had kindly offered to take charge of me to Havre, as they were to meet their steamer there for America. They must have thought me wholly lacking in animation, as we steamed out of Paris and on through the lovely country in its late summer fruitage. Something had happened to me, the result of that stay in Paris, which might or not have unforeseen consequences, either dire or happy. My barriers were being slowly withdrawn, the suggestion of a brooding spirit was warning me not to cheat myself further regarding the value of my own ideas, opinions or senti- ments. One result of that visit had been a rapid extraordinary transmission of thought, which had given to me an entirely new income of treasure in the here- tofore lacking virtue of humility. Certainly I could not for long be wholly cast down. There was a warm human fluttering alive in me, and it became a sudden tense excitement as the train pulled into Havre. It was still light — a gorgeous August evening, the air so soft and delicious. I leaned out to get more of it, and caught a glimpse of my Uncle, so debonair and delightful. How distinguished he looked and how effusive I felt as he handed me from the train-carriage. "Glad to see you. Hope the gaieties of Paris did not make you unwilling to come back?" There was a peculiar elegance of bearing and genial charm of manner that clothed him like a garment on land. He had shed some garment of concealment that he always wore at sea. I had thought him a bear on his ship, never knowing until in his age how he had hated his profession, and yet believed he could succeed in no other; how he had rebelled at being driven over the waste places of the earth, shrinking under the weight of tremendous responsibilities, and encasing himself in silence and solitude. It was the Gray spirit of pride and endurance that prevented all complaints, and shut off all confidence or exchange of sympathy anywhere. They were al- ways a reserved and haughty family. He was a thoroughbred, and Btood out as one possessed of social graces; courtesy seemed .is natural as air to him, and 1 was very proud to compare him with the oilier Captains. ^ out h is resilient, and while youth and buoyanc) fast e\ ery day is a step toward Ome unknown or desired goal. Swift as a flash 01 light I had fell again my own table bat I. ground, loi I for a little in a sharp sense of faults and failings, an acute ense of inequalities and inferiorities, bul melting rapidly into pleasure as some of t he lonelini v. .1 ,i uaged. They had found comfort in a quiet Hotel frequented bj the English and a half-dozen Americans including ourselves. There were two Sea Captains brusque /■. ui Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and boisterous; gusts and explosions of merriment, and occasional violent verbal encounters, made what appealed to me as a hub-bub without meaning or end. I did not take in their jokes, intimations, inuendoes or compliments. My Uncle's silence by comparison evidenced a fineness and finish that I was eager to emulate. I could not realize my own youth then, or what it all meant, finding myself after all so little changed; finding myself on good terms with everyone; and the people about me appealing as real people not just shadows. It was looking back that became a fantastic dream. Our time was filled with drives and visits to objects or places of interest in the Gity or outlying country. The green and peace of surrounding regions I was seeing through rose-coloured glasses once more. The days were respite periods of happy release and comforting companionship. My Aunt's airy manner and my Uncle's humourous attentions, gave me back my perspective. "Show me your pretty things" said my Aunt one morning. I looked at her dubiously, perplexed almost to the point of embarrassment. "Why! Your dresses and your presents — What did you get for your Mother?" she added. Everything grew dim and blurred as though a mist had crept in and covered my eyes. "Oh! Aunt Kate, I haven't anything." "What! No new gowns, and no presents for anyone?" in a tone of bewildered surprise that cut like a knife. I was going home with no gifts, with nothing for those dearest on earth to me! It all rose up before me, my own inefficiency and forgetfulness. It piled up and was upon me in great gasping sobs — that I had nothing — nothing, and I might have asked or insisted, and surmounted those barriers; but the wretched burden of fresh knowledge of my own failures and utter defeat, sapped the last vestige of self-control. My weeping was so wild and passionate that she was almost frightened, and astounded, when she caught the choking words — "I didn't shop at all! I was never inside one; I wasn't taken to the shops." "Oh! What of it," she inter- rupted hastily — "Stop crying so, you're silly; I suppose you were too gay; I was only taken aback that you had forgotten; we've nearly a week before sailing." "Oh Aunt Kate, do, do help me to find presents — for you and Uncle William and for them on board ship — and for everyone at home — I want to give something, I don't forget anyone," and startled at my vehemence, whatever she suspected was admirably concealed. She quieted my outburst by promising down-town trips at once, and remarked pertinently, "You are funny, you are acting like a duck in a thunder-storm, making me agog and amazed — and then quack — quack, you sail off without a word! Open your mouth and say nothing — that 'nothing is the matter,' and up- turn your wet eyes with frantic entreaties to buy presents! Who would have thought that you would cry for nothing? I can hardly believe my senses. — Why! you were never unreasonable and mysterious before. Of course we can buy lots of things, whatever you take a fancy to and whenever you like, we don't go on board till Sunday." But a faint criterion of my state of mind had reached her, and with kind, merry quips she changed the subject, and rushed off several questions. "What about the men you met? Like anyone better than our Officers?" "Oh yes, one," I replied, composure fully regained, "Dr. Johnson, the resident American Phy- sician was very handsome and distinguished, and I liked him ever so much." The magnetic current between me and familiarly affectionate surroundings gave me back a measure of former light-heartedness, but the joyous effervescence had decreased. It was as if one had been turned upside-down by alarming ebulli- tions; like a whirl-wind, tempests had been created in mind and heart, and I had recognized in myself something of which I was by no means proud. But it is easy to forget one's lapses, and underneath an idealistic and intuitive soul there is usually a refined and relatively generous nature that asserts itself. I found myself prompt to respond to fresh impressions of those comforting days in Havre. Severity of criticism was over, the air was filled from morning to night with a busy hum and its sounds meant satisfaction, interest and pleasure. Page 125 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Life is greater, more magnificent than we imagine, and its secret and unconscious agents of meeting and action are mysterious, and communicate to us often, when least anticipated, something penetrating and uplifting. A thought, a word, an action charges and changes the whole atmosphere, and there was for us all unexpected proof of precious matter in one of the Captain's, where before Ave had only seen mud or clay. We may have only drawn common things from a human being hitherto, and then the day comes when we arrive at true treasure of example and action, and it all happens independent of our will — and what better proof can we have that we are led by the higher power that men call Providence, in all the immensity about us? There are effects, sensations, gestures, which fix themselves in one's brain without our knowing it, and what happened the last morning of our stay in Havre is as luminous and clear in re- collection as the dawn of that day that gave us excitement at fever heat, and a panic of fear. Very early that Saturday morning the noisiest of our two Captains had set sail for his long voyage round The Horn. We were at breakfast, in the pretty Salon of our little Suite, when such profanity as I had never dreamed of cut the air, and reached us in tremendous oaths as Captain Brown staggered in — "Gray! Gray! By God! there's mutiny!" and he swore in frantic expletives — "It's Caxton! It's Caxton! Those Hell-hounds of Dagoes — damned scum of the earth — they're fighting, — I tell you I saw it — we must get there." The words, Mutiny and Mutinying conveyed little of danger or tragedy, until my Uncle dashed out with his half frantic companion and I heard my Aunt's cry — "Don't go, William — Oh! don't go — you'll be killed." My Aunt trembled like an aspen leaf and I quivered in sympathy; but appeals were too late, nothing could have held or hindered them from an attempt at rescue. How they got the boat manned with half-a-dozen husky sailors, and started so quickly, who can tell? There were volunteers ready when plenty of money was offered. Haste might mean the saving of human life. It seems there was a Cupola topping our Hotel. The Captains were old friends and the one left behind had secretly and half-shamedly ascended for a parting glimpse. The large telescope that belonged to some Astronomical Association, left on that summit for their regular use, he had trained on the rapidly retreating vessel. They were hardly out of Port, the Pilot had hardly left, but it was plain to his experienced eye that the drunken crew, led by some desperado, were opposing discipline, refusing orders, and that a scrimmage had already started. It meant but one thing to those keen eyes. The sailors taken on at many of the ports are in many instances the most violent and dreadful of characters, and mad with drink trouble is often to be ap- prehended, although easily mastered and very seldom immediately started. A reign of terror and rebellion had begun and without delay disaster might have ensued. The two Captains racing to the rescue with boat-men and fire-arms arrived just in time to play the role of saviours. They reduced the violence to order with- out much trouble. They helped place the leaders in irons and thoroughly frightened every rebel. They counselled the Captain in vain to return for a new sel ol men, bul he answered grimly — "That he could give them the punishment they deserved, and terrorize the others to prompt obedience." They drank together to a success- ful voyage, and out of sight sailed the vessel after renewed farewells and hearty t hanks. When the large-hearted Knights-Erram returned Hushed and exultant, they found U8 'till frightened nearly out of OUr witS. My teeth I). id chattered and blood run old ai my Aunt's repeated cry "They will be killed they will be killed.*' "They are noi afraid", I said, trying to control the reign of terror. "Uncle Wil- liam won't like it if wc art like cow .1 id.." .ind just to speak of his fearlessness M.i ill ill',- .1 ;■' I0d ' •liicll. Thej came back to us wearied but amused, openly satisfied with the "days woii. " declaring it was the merest scrap aftei all. "Considerable sordid ness !.•'< Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood in it", laughed My Uncle, "but no tragedy — it was nothing — a little scrimmage right here in the Harbour — a few drunken brawlers resisting the mate's orders — Why the Pilot had not left — Brown's imagination traveled out into the Atlantic! He just caught sight of the fracas and saw red. It loomed large, broad off on the Starboard beam, but it was well we went — we frightened them, didn't we?" The short military figure of the Captain turned away to hide embarrassment. He felt for the moment obliterated, but realized it was the heartiness that spoke as of the ocean wind laughing at our fears. His face surrendered soon all its harsh lines — something flashed from his eyes which softened them as he showed his relief, and acknowledged my Uncle's willingness and quick service. "He's the soul. of a ship-mate — I knew he was — You're husband, ma'am, is a great seaman," bowing to my Aunt as he left us. It was like a challenge and we were buoyed up, striving to be self-reliant and to emulate the cool collectness that would not admit danger but wore the aspect of undoubted courage and triumph. Oh! the admiration I felt, the joy of breathing in something that filled the lungs with freshness and dimmed the eyes with thankfulness. Something new had distilled itself into the atmosphere — something noble had uplifted the soul. We had been taken out of the grooves of an every-day existence, and had come in contact with Divine forces of helpfulness and sympathy. It is the sign of in- dividual power, of courage, of self-forgetfulness,of unmeasured service that gives to one sudden aspirations toward a wider life. I was ashamed of the surroundings of modernism I had left; that had nearly subjugated me, mind and heart; and created disturbing images to tarnish the bloom of generous emotion. Now there had come into the whole landscape something penetrating and enveloping that filled me with a sense of adventure and delight. Life shone again with rare bril- liancy. Absolute knowledge of an experience or its results is not possible, and much has gone beyond recall; stored up and seemingly lost in some secret chamber of the brain; but as one wanders backward and re-lives the Past there is an ever moving film of the mind that carries the mist away. Clear-cut mind pictures are not always with us; but a series of visions that project and re-project themselves on the screen of memory. Alas! in all beautiful things there is something exquisite that lacks duration. Yet never has that incident grown unreal nor is its lesson wholly lost. THE OCEAN SYMPHONY The ship drew out of the harbour, and we raced away under full sail "with a free sheet" as I heard one of the sailors say, leaning over the rail, squinting at the sky. Our Boat seemed to Queen it among the shipping in that lovely harbour, and, as we boarded her that Sunday morning, I appreciated as never before, the shapeliness of the vessel's lines; the shining cleanliness; the dazzle of her brass work, and the exquisite order of everything on her decks. The mysteries of ropes and coils and knots and rigging again appealed to in- terest and enjoyment. It was an indescribable feeling of freedom, as of the gulls themselves that swooped above the tall masts. The sun-drenched air was fresh and cool and the sea an unbroken sheet of blue. That perfect view brought back ease to brain and warmth to heart. The waves of loneliness that always invade one in a strange or arid atmosphere no longer swept over me. I began to forget that I had felt so utterly alone and lost. The Sea held the sunlight in a gigantic bowl. It seemed nothing could ever break its beauty and peace. It vitalized a healthy renewal of delight, and gave an uprush of spirit, an overcharge of gaiety to my ordinary demeanor. It was an atmosphere of excitement, of tense and ec- static joy as we sailed towards the beckoning horizon — homeward bound. The spell of the vast and lovely sea! its clear jade depths beneath the ship's side; its shining surface — blue and green, amethyst and grey, silver and rose under the play of shifting sun and shade. Those great waters beneath and all about us; that wide world of delicate translucent coloring,that flowing fantastic wonderful world, Page 127 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood the changeful, evanescent, untamable force of ocean. All discordant noises and irritations and discomforts left behind and we emerging into a still cool eternal morning. Always the rose and mauve in heavenly vestments, .and I felt I knew what it was to live — that I was getting the most out of life — that I was adventuring again. Yet when I entered the little Salon and saw our quarters, they seemed altered as backgrounds do alter with changes in ourselves, but when I thought of dis- appointments in Paris or experiences in Havre it was as one thinks of persons and things infinitely removed, with only a veiled interest, as if there was no longer logical connection with actual life. Following sun flooded days, the very water washing our bows translucent sapphire, and we going west in a glory of crimson and pale green and vivid golds; and evenings with a great pearl of a waning moon that rose in state to enthrone itself and disperse all other lights; so dark the blue beneath, so silvery the shine above those liquid depths. And later nights, what pictures over the purple waters! pictures no mortal man could ever paint. The stars melting into the sea, the waters ruffling and flashing, pointed and crested with tremulous light. Outward manifestations of infinitesimal sea-life guarding itself in sinuous lines, in mar- velous curves, in ribbons like streaming flags; flowing and sparkling and quivering as we broke and plunged onward. The strange phosphorescent light flung upward from unfathomed depths, flashing and going out and constantly renewed; bands and crests of silver to quiver and glitter, to glow and shift and cast weird lights on sails and spars and human faces. As on the return trip I was familiar with the etiquette of life on ship-board I strove at first to practice more self-restraint in speech. It continued oppressive at the table, as most of them preserved a dead silence that did not however deter the chatterer, Illsley. He announced at the very first meal that "sea-life gave one the appetite of a wolf," and proceeded, notwithstanding the absence of re- sponse, to regale us with unsolicited accounts of what sounded like imaginary adventures; and turned sometimes to inquire in casual assumption "If I, too, had not found the gaieties of Paris rather exhausting?" It always called a halt in my eloquent evasions and concocted tales to see my Uncle's face of scorn, and to note uncomfortably his undue severity over trifling errors of service and discipline. There was a peculiar dignity in the way he spoke, while we seemed gay and light and seldom serious. Later in life when I understood that educated as a Mariner, in the Marine Service all his youth, so fine and skillful, so courageous and consistent, he yet always hated his work but gave his best service to it; I understood better the mystery in his cold reserve, chilling silence, and apparent absence of sympathy. But then at times, realizing even mine as an undesircd presence, his manner roused me to decided lack of deference when we were alone. "Why do you want to tie me down, Uncle William?" I asked once coaxingly — "You know I can't be still very long — I was made to wag my tongue, I can't copy your model of silence." "White is a fine sea-man, worthier of your respect than that reckless Patten — He never spills over like a mad-man, or acts like a callow boy. What the deuce do you find in cither of those two, anyway? For the Lord's sake, do learn judg- ment." I never heard him utter a single oath, and this was as near to profanity as he probably adventured, nor would he ever countenance swearing in his presence, which marked him as singular as he was silent. Now, delighted at his emphasis, I prang up dancing, in the same mood when I heard hini utter almost the same thing before "Oh, Uncle William, I thank you for your compliments. Sorry I'm not more like you. They used tosav ai ( rl .1 ndl'a t her's 1 had very little Cii.ix in me, for ever telling me I was all Sumner; but, .is l.u as I can find out, those unknown Suinners were all talkers and the lamls, you'll have to admit, are nice and genial." I I houghl I saw a I winkle in his eve, but I could not hear .uiv allinna- tive rei pon i si he turned his back and lit thai eternal cigai Pat* i-' s Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood To dread a thing and then find it easy gives one a very pleasant sense of dif- ficulties overcome, and accounts for spirits rising unexpectedly and brightly. When Mr. Patten came forward naturally and said, "We've all been waiting to see you on the decks again," my eyes held laughter as the merry greetings followed. Something wiped conflicts and wooing from my memory for the first hours. He had strength but not subtlety, and once seeing clearly I thought my real attitude was definitely apparent, that there could be no possibility of imagina- tion running riot again. There was no longer any glamour thrown over my judg- ment, I declared to myself grandly, but there was still in me the shadow of futile childish things, only the immensity around seemed for the time to smother their voices. And as, at first, when together he talked only of sea-trips, of favouring winds, of the September sky, of his plans for the near future, an easy talker that it required no effort to entertain, with some faculty of observation, he made slow approach to form a comradeship without alarming me again. There was about him a rest- less energy. He gave the impression of strength and will and also an ability to do things with speed. Energetic with no inhibitions his daring seemed to have no outlet save driving a boat into the teeth of a gale. He began as before to have a sort of effect that was disturbing. The sailors I saw feared and disliked him but he bore always his defiant air of mastery. "Aren't you afraid of anything?" I once asked — "Of nothing except the end of this trip and of losing you," and I could hold no anger against his eager look and disarming smile. The wide and jeweled sea over which the soft winds carried us seemed to take all into their embrace, and for the first ten days out at every possible interval when off duty Mr. Patten watched with me our path through the waters. No wonder that I sought amusement under the blazing stars or in the pale splendour of moonlight, or in full sunlight; and was easily found, apparently studying the horizon; the sea dashing its waves, guarding the ship and lulling us gently. And with that illimitable immensity, those immeasurable spaces, Sun, Sky and Sea, how could I imagine or fear the might or fury of ocean, or the waves of emotion within? I knew nothing then of the frantic madness of the elements, or of the ravages of violent sensation; of gales that were to hurl us out of our course, or of words that could shake or thrill or frighten — all unknowing that we were to be shown that neither rest nor peace nor any safety could be counted on in that reeling watery world. And so we sped on and on, by day the sun, by night the stars, and always the sea compelling closer intimacy with waves and clouds, while no sadness or threats wrought change in the power and terrible quiet of Ocean. That First Officer of our ship was determined, when once his deliberate mind had reached decision and fostered resolution to have his say, but my own silence if he passed a barrier suggested an aloofness that laid its prohibition on him. The nearer he drew the further I retreated from any deeper intimacy, and in some ways he became slightly repugnant to me. He had no workable sense of humour. It was growingly plain that he had no quick instincts for social values, that he wouldn't even know what they meant. He was totally without glamour, and yet curiously in me grew a sense of helplessness that drugged like leaden weights upon tongue and spirits; and sometimes I regarded him in dismay, his confidence and persistence was strange and incomprehensible. I knew what he did not, that we were out of harmony, that the degree of separateness grew daily, that it was a complete separation of personalities, that he did not fit into my scheme of things, and why couldn't he feel it without further scenes? All men that in my few years of observation and limited experience of the sex I had watched, or who had ever drawn near to me, seemed without what the heart of youth ached for — all but my "Dream Prince," that faint shadowy figure that never lost magic for me, whose ever receding dower of magnificence still held an entranced fancy. There were indeed yawning gaps in my knowledge of men and the things that Page 129 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood have to do with men. — And here I was in a new emotional world. It became fascination that embraced everything and everyone. The sun poured colours magical; combinations of unearthly and ethereal loveliness and I was hypnotized those first days and nights. Something out of the phosphorescent dark worked enchantment; and I listened often without protest, just as I listened to the sailors singing when sails were sent aloft; just as I listened to ringing orders and watched our white wings go up or down, and stood to look and look and look at the sky- line over leagues of dancing waves. The one thing I could never frown upon at that age was the romantic nonsense which could not, in me, accustom itself to ordinary relationships with men at a minimum of imagination and a maximum of reality. I continued for long to feel that some day a super-being of the male sex would surely and tactfully pick me out of the whole World — and I'd rush into his embrace. He was a gigantic shape in my sky. He never descended to earth. That ideal shape of appealing majesty and might, Alas! never materialized. And such as Mr. Patten certainly could not hold me satisfied. He, however, excited my fancy one evening as he drew near, for something exhilirating and optimistic seemed to have given his thoughts a happy and sanguine twist. It was a moment when I stood erect against the rail, hair blowing, lips parted and exultation stirring me; sensing something heroic in me who had no tested heroism. I felt as if I could cheer the sailors and conquer the deep; brave enough against all possible disaster who had never met one. Vastness of space, vagueness yet translucence in the darkness! What new revelations waited in that night at sea? My background, my unproved courage, my undaunted confidence and lack of fear was no preparation for storms that bear the menace of death on their wings. He drew near speaking gently at first, and I thought there was no need of further strain or disturbing guise in our relations. I thought all men, so far, were intrepid, valorous, and chivalrous, and that I had made it clear we were only friends and I returned his look for the briefest of seconds without hesitation. "I'm not fit for anything but the sea — and that's the truth. What can I do if you don't care for it enough to care for me?" In a sense I met him in his passion for the sea, but as he proceeded I felt sus- pended in space with that man becoming a stranger, and silence was ominous on my part. He appeared to be proving his superiority, for a slow smile had bright- ened his face — "I have dreamed it, something is going to happen; you'll see." My appalling ignorance of life gave to his twelve years seniority some imagined quality of stability, of sincerity, of knowing what he was about, and of meaning what he said. "You won't find anyone that can ever care more than I do — I'm internally in earnest. There's nobody else I've the least use for, I know I'm handicapped, but I'm damnably in love." "Don't," I said sharply, "don't talk like that— I hate it." But he talked on— "When you just look at me your eyes knock me galley-west. Why the devil can't you like me? I know I made a mess of it that night coming over. 1 was an awful beast to frighten you, but I haven't since, and you said you'd forgive me. For God's sake, don't say No, right off — don't say now you won't ever care for me. Why can't I, if I get a fine ship, go to Chicago ami Bee your Father and Mother?" A moment of inexplicable panic seized me at thought of Father ami Mother hearing the way he talked! It was not unalloyed impertinence. He was so un- shakably sure of himself, but what would the)- think of a man who swore like a pirate all the time he was making love? "Don't," I cried again, flinging my glance Upward where my Uncle walked. II'- never damned things rfghl and left I knew, and I didn'l believe he swore a I'll « hen he asked Kate lo marry him ! Perhaps I was maddeningly silent; words left me before I could speak them, and I discovered ■> Midden difficult} in fixing mj ej es on anything. II'- had made me feel ridiculous, and pitj i"i him was flying. i <" Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "Why the devil can't I say the right thing," he continued, and caught my arm in the glowing intensity of the moment. I shrank instantly, almost fiercely — "I'll report you to the Captain", I said haughtily, not too frightened to speak, for I saw I had regained my advantage. The reaction was too great and suddenly I laughed aloud. I was born with laughter on my lips, and having once given way I could not call a halt to my merriment. "What in thunder is so funny?" Just at that juncture his manners were not strikingly in evidence, and I felt as if his words might become sulphurous at any moment. "I'm not laughing at you — something came over me — I never can help laugh- ing," I cried in suffocating accents. The thoughts of him as a son-in-law to my Father nearly convulsed me, but his words of violent protest brought back some measure of self-control. "Look here — Why am I so funny?" and he seemed to writhe as he burst forth with a furious expletive. "It hurts like Hell for you to laugh at me." "I'm not laughing at you." "You are, you are — you're making fun of me, and it's damnable," which brought me up with a sharp turn, and between gasps I insisted, "I'm not, I'm not laughing at you; it's myself — I'm funny to myself, and I never want to hear you speak again." There had flashed upon me as I laughed uncontrollably the appalling picture of Mr. Patten as a life companion. The quick response in me to whims or fancies, to the ridiculous or incongruous, has helped me through many a hurt moment to see the obverse side of things; to see myself objectively; and sometimes — not often perhaps, I have enjoyed my own absurdities. All my early upbringing had come upon me with such cumulated force that it made his suggestion of coming to Chicago grotesque. I could not see him in our house. There was a funny shock of contrast, a sort of exaggerated burlesque of his looks and manners. I wondered how he'd conduct himself; and if he'd ever heard of family prayers? It was all a farce. He was out of any picture of my home life; too comical, too absurd, too impossible to be real. I ceased to feel any weighings or misgivings but he had robbed my very thoughts of expression. I could not wholly control my risibles. He saw it and his mood completely changed, all assurance went out of him. He cast a quick glance around as if he feared oversight or being overheard. New elements of the situation seemed to flash through his mind. His flushed face became almost purple and he muttered something, which happily I could not hear — a curse perhaps — who knows? and with one black look he rushed out of sight and finis was set to that chapter. Ridicule is a much stronger factor in our daily lives than we are willing to admit. A great many are susceptible to ridicule who are immune to fear. The man was neither self contained, nor wise nor even kind; his lack of balance and of any spiritual generosity made it out of the question to consider him even as a fairly good friend. And now I strangely felt that that relatively intimate contact was somehow destroying the illusion of my Prince Charming. I mean scattering dust to hide his luminous countenance, and whisking far away my highly coloured land of dreams. I felt a faintly fluttering fear of having lost something precious, and a growing conviction that I had been a trifler, that I was to blame. At that period it was not unnatural to reproach oneself with leading on to issues of feeling where corresponding returns or affirmative responses had not been intended. There were ideals then of a certain nobility and sincerity, the direct deviation from which gave a chilling fear of having been consciously ignoble and merely vain. You see my dear young family how pricelessly Mid-Victorian your Great- Grand-Aunt was! And as you, sophisticated young ladies of today, are the best modern authorities, undoubtedly the opinion that prevails among you is that the Victorians were utterly lacking in humour? I confess you amuse me. The irony of your wordly knowledge, and rich experience with the masculine nature, makes mine at seventeen more than a unique ignorance of life. Its absurd blind- Page 131 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood ness, its lack of suspicion, incredible trustfulness, in fact unworldliness and in- experience in the blazing light of your social standards must necessarily challenge merriment. But thank Heaven! The never hearing your opinions and judgment will save me from severe wounds to vanity! The whole panorama still hangs in the air. It lifts to me its vivid memory of those scenes and I remember my mood then as sharply now as if I had experienced it this very hour. In early dreams there is such intensity, and in our efforts and expressions the same energy shows our inner tendencies and aspirations. And although in later life they still dominate, have become part of character the original exuberant force, that fiery energy of feeling is no longer with us. Here and there as I have written I see the pictures — Here and there I remember the words — Here and there I re-hear voices — Here and there re-live silences, and realize the illusions that have faded utterly, for as some one has happily said, "As there is no rigid sequence in nature so there is none in our thoughts." It is the background against which they dance and vanish I am trying to show. Much of the individual has been elaborated, the whole story detailed, perhaps unduly emphasized with the idea of making myself understood. An impossibility with any of us. Apologies for the rather too constant personal pronoun are here made once and for all. And the honesty I have striven for and thought attainable is what I considered essential to give the Sketches their value. It is strong feeling that preserved and now presents what happened to memory. That was the last lovely night for many weeks. A star strewn sky and a luminous sea shining with phosphorescence. New thoughts had come and swept me far from the old. They encroached, the new emotions and sensations, and everything was dramatic and uplifted me with wonder. Why couldn't the strength in me become solidity? It was the next morning that whole Armadas of white clouds sailed by and the warning of the ship's bells was like music. Nothing threatened me. Ship- wrecks and storm were unlikely visitors. They still called me a "Mascot", and little I dreamed how soon that would be disproved, and I be routed from my throne of sovereignty or any fancied coign of vantage. My Uncle was always walking his upper deck, spying the heavens, watching the Chart and the men at the wheel — both of them machines, forever and ever staring and staring at the empty sea or up into the changing skies. The clouds told of wind somewhere. There was still a golden path of sunlight from the ship's side to the far horizon — yet the sun had lost some of its glowing intensity. It was all singularly still, the tang of the sea heavy on the air, and every now and then a breath stirred in the rigging which was almost bare. Something hardly to be called wind, and yet bringing with it a curious cold. It was dimming, dimming, and to experienced eyes, there was an onrush of clouds that threatened to wipe out light, tier, upon tier of far away clouds massing. Yet there seemed to be a fair wind before which we ought to be running, and 1 marvelled that sails were furled. What if the sky was full of little clouds? Clear breezes played overhead, aiul beneath us was the shimmer of sparkling loam, as we plunged on lazily, sails all reefed instead of set to catch the gentle wind and bear us swift ly on. Mr. Patten, ]U81 oil watch, made to pass me without word or look. As he approached gloomily, I asked pleasantly, How mam knots do we make an hour. and why so slow this morning?" Mis gloom merely deepened as with a son 01 I contemptuous and dynamic force in the answer, he halted as it un- willing to rej The dark fare had a eurii mis expression as if sneering to himsell "Two or I hive I. n- its, I Lipp08( ," and his eyes snapped. " It Beem like a free wind before which we mighl be running," I said in a friendlj tone. "The wind'', going to shifi a bit bul we mighl rip along awhile," he added sullenly "Gel an advantage while il I I bul the Captain won'1 yield a wave's /■ i 1 ■■ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood length; he's main cautious, he is. Ask your Uncle why we're lagging — ask him why," and his lips curled. That awful restless energy about him, dominating, giving the impression of power that radiated action but ignored laws — and wished to make me forget them! The story of the falling barometer, of clouds moving continuously swept on by currents of the upper air, had been plain to Officers and Seamen alike, but in his mad humour at me to hit at his superior in command was a temptation irresistible. Stunned by the innuendo, to his impertinent suggestion I instantly made response that appalled the speaker, and produced startling effects. As I turned, suddenly cool assumption and a threat of active bravado conveyed itself to Mr. White on duty, who looked after me in evident fright as I rushed up the steps to where the Captain strode to and fro. "Uncle William, Why don't you set more sailV Such unparalleled audacity was for an instant as incomprehensible as unexpected. He transfixed me with a glance — that stern countenance bent, the heavy eyebrows lowered, the mouth shut thin, and then he thundered out with terrifying emphasis. "Because I don't choose. — Do you hear? — Because I don't choose," and I actually sprang back as if buffeted by some crashing wave. The one piece of canvas toward which I had melo-dramatically pointed, as if disgracefully lacking and needing company, grew tight as a drum head before my eyes! Daunted and shocked I caught at the rail and flung myself down, but not before I heard the formidably severe order '"Don't dare to come up here again!" His features so sharp, his voice so angry, his eyes blazing, all the strength in him pitted against nature herself. All the elements of the situation intimidating and immoderate, as I stumbled down, and met the stupified stare in his First Officer's eyes. What could it mean? I think I had given the impression always of being fearless and impulsive, and it had made me popular at first, but no one manoeuvered for my society now. His own share in this leveling catastrophe must have flashed upon the Officer as I tore by, on into the Cabin, startling its occupant, who little knew as I laughed tremulously how hard it was to compose countenance or control voice. It had been clear to all in the vicinity on deck that my brazen, unabashed, hoidenish impertinence had earned its proper punishment. I was well chastened for the moment, but with my usual defiant spirit I proposed to make light of that extraordinary and displeasing transgression. "The wind must be whipping up, I just heard orders to furl the last rag," said my Aunt; "is anything wrong?" "Oh Kate! Do you think my tongue is an unruly member?" "I certainly do," was the unhesitating rejoinder — "What's the matter? Have you broken out again?" "Matter enough! I put my foot in it as well as my tongue. Uncle Wil- liam is in an awful rage, he told me never to go up there again. I think he wants me out of his sight!" — and I gave all the details with poor pretense of jocularity. "Patten is the biggest fool to dare to hit at your Uncle; he's a reckless, jealous, and impudent man; and you are as saucy and silly as they make them! You must have lost your senses. Didn't you know better than to offer advice to the Master of the Ship? You were crazy, but do keep out of sight awhile; perhaps it will blow over." "I only asked a simple question — and why do you suppose, he didn't set more sail?" was my instant response. "Try not to be so foolish again," she repeated — "and do keep out of sight." "Oh Kate! You tell Uncle William I didn't really mean to be impertinent; do tell him I told you I was apt to get in trouble with my poor tongue, an 'unruly member', ask him to excuse it; promise for me that I'll reform, and get mild and gentle in future, like his model, Mr. White, who looked as if he was going to faint as I tore past him." "How dark it is," she answered, "and only two o'clock; four bells just struck." And as I looked up at the sky-light to see — what like a heavy shade, a sort of curtain was shutting out the light, a curious jolting swaying motion startled me. Page 133 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood It had grown very dark as we talked, and it was with an apprehensive sensa- tion, but no comments to my timid Aunt, that I turned and rushed through the little dining saloon to the door of the small companion-way that opened on the deck. It was a paralyzing second, a charge of electricity through the nerves. No sound — No stir of wind — an extraordinary steel-blue blackness where our vessel waited; — a phenomenon surrounded by a strange vibrating atmosphere — something violent in that awful calm; an awful spectacle of a curling mountain-high wall of rushing black water; violent, sure, stealthy and terrible in its swift approach; a tremendous black sheet electrical in danger. Motionless for a second the distance between us, and those lifted tons, that wall of curling rushing, engulfing black! It reared itself. It rolled up mightily, and the ocean seemed to draw deep shuddering breaths and then became a boiling cauldron. I shook with terror, I had never realized what terrors life could hold. I had never imagined anything so majestically awe-inspiring, so subtly terrible as that sky-high crested sheet of rolled up ocean, speeding to destroy us. Something like a knife thrust at me, went into my heart, and I knew fear — fear physical, at the approach of that death-dealing squall. The plunging, the splashing, the crashing, the appalling uproar as it struck — and the ship heeled over into the boiling abyss! Our yard-arms touching water, the bow-sprit cracking, the sky and sea beating on us like blasts from a locomotive! so furious it came, from every point of the compass, laying on us the primal curse of the sea. I had grabbed the door-knob, reached just before, and it was as if I hung from the ceiling — as if the sea crashed in on me — as if I went tumbling over and over, suffocating with salt water — the air in my lungs on fire — arms being jerked out — the plunging, splashing uproar beating down all resistance. I was burning and choking, gasping and shuddering as if going far down below depths; Sun, Sky, Earth, Sea, all things were being wiped out, all a welter of foam and mountain walls of water; waves striking and burying us; spitting squirts of lightning; ominous thunder, terrible menacing suffocating sights and sounds. Death it seemed blowing into aching lungs as I clung to that door handle, as, after the terrific squall had struck us and with a receding roar the ship pitched on her beam ends, it was as if a hideous catastrophe came upon the world and it had the face of instantaneous perfidious death. As the ship righted, shuddering, staggering, rolling, pitching and plunging through mountainous tons of water, it strained and shook and creaked as if itself suffocated and dying, and we were flung upwards and backwards, lifted to the tumbling black sky and drenched in the dreadful black depths. I clung and clung, sick, weak, abject, and heard cries above the blasts as we lifted and rushed like a toy-balloon against the strain, the awful strain tearing at the fore-masts; those great masts and yards thrashing as if about to be uprooted! It seemed like fighting a way through Hell, the ship trembling in every rivit, the violent pitching, the blinding spray, the broken bow-sprit, the snapped jiboon; shouts and cries shrilling through the storm — "Hell's broke loose", came to me above the din — as I still clung to that door-knob, which seemed again suspended from the ceiling. Fear looses imagination and had its way with me, yet in a sense it was selfless — a film of chaotic impressions, but in the second of terrific impact only one thought —Mother — Mother— Mother I shall never sec Mother, as over ami over we went, and I knew we would never have come up again if there had been one thread of canvas; enough to hold a cap-full of wind and we would never have righted. I saw through my own drenched hair and staring eves, lungs hot, head aching and sick I" diz/iness wit 1 1 fright, thai the Squall was lessening in power. We had been snatched oul oi a vortex, and then out of the path of tin- Tornado. The ihip Still .hook and yawed in ;uul fro as if life were going out ol her, but the ir- re tstible Forcei between Infinity and Infinity, thai had shaken, bruised, twisted and scarred us, had answered to Divine Mandate and b> God's Grace we were I'd and saved. / /u ■ '.'" "Once and for all. Btop thinking a I tout danger. Sit easy and brace /our feet. /■ . t»6 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Cool, confident and reassuring that look of resolution never altered, with strength in reserve he remained calm and collected; no shadow of alarm crossed his coun- tenance; always his was the expression of the Sea Fighter, and he surrounded himself with an extraordinary dignity. Oh! the comfort of such serenity and watchfulness, and having him look as if there was nothing to fear. It was the year of the "Great Eastern" half-wreck, the largest steamer afloat; havoc and destruction reigned for days and weeks, while helplessly the craft of every sort labored in those terrifically threatening seas. No one who experienced those amazing September gales can ever forget them. One gale succeeded another and each gale let up none of its fury — night after night and no stars came up. That was a September Seamen or Shipping men, or passengers crossing, will al- ways remember. Wrecks multiplied themselves — wrecks everywhere — coasts littered — Liners and Vessels that escaped staggering into Port — everything battered; terrific ordeals, and Ships the wonder and admiration of all meeting disaster or utter destruction. I do not think it was that we ever really lost direction in that howling waste, that roaring tempest-tossed tractlessness, but we were unable to hold our course, were driven repeatedly out of it, and for three full weeks beat about in storm after storm which in its endless and terrible succession froze something in brain and heart. My minimum of sea experience made the sight of sailors going aloft always dizzying, the soaring mast-heads, the bare ropes and swaying yards, the inextricable ringing orders when waves hoisted us high and then hurled us giddily into the trough of mighty seas, made the ocean haunt one with its deafening roars. And when the monstrous tumult lessened, or a little lull allowed, I crept to the Com- panion-way, to the door where a seat had been made and clamped to the wall. It was Mr. White whom my Uncle had directed to fix the place of safety, and he kindly watched opportunities to fasten me in, passing ropes through the hasps or staples and buckling me into a sort of harness, so that terrific motion could not shake me from that coign of vantage. He would make me safe with sailor-like finality and promptitude. He was entirely and absolutely the seaman, shutting out everything that could interfere with duty and yet taking thought for my com- fort and freedom. He never lacked the sailor instinct but had a fund of feeling to spend in kindness. Our relations with each other are a strange and subtle matter, and they change and shift as if by a Magician's touch. Without any will of ours something draws us nearer, matters are different, the distance is bridged, and rationally we have changed — changed in each other's sight. And slowly, with that Second Officer, I felt friendship was being established. He was the first to give me hope and point out the abatement of trouble. It was as if someone had lifted a heavy weight from the top of my head as well as heart when he said, "You're a brave sailor". As that sounded in my ears I choked with a sudden sensation that made answers impossible. He pointed to the detached, and wind-driven, grey and coppery clouds, that rose like marching legions and charged like horses up the sky — to the ocean still leaden, that scowling spread its endless spaces towards the far horizon. "It may not look so, but we think the Line-storms are about over." The wild willful winds which had so long sounded the anger of the Gods, the menace of man's minuteness against the power of the Universe, ceased to twist in me and wrench away hope. Could it be that we were coming back to warm bright life? To walk with beauty once more, to become a part of it? "Overhead a star or two shone last night," he added, and Oh! that very evening the young moon hung, wistful, sweet and piercingly lovely as the veiling clouds parted at intervals to let in that Heavenly promise. Boiling cauldrons of water and white- capped waves were forever rising, but there was faint moonshine lightening the black yet glittering tumult of waters as we ripped along — the wind whipping up behind us at last with great and long-needed advantage to our speed. And when I could emerge with surety from my shelter, with extra ropes I was fastened, above and outside, against the Bulk-head of the Cabin; where up and down in view walked my Uncle, his eyes, his ears, his limbs, every ounce and atom Page 137 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood of him watching and at work. Always at work, against driving winds — reefing topsails, furling mainsail, speeding us along when possible, or with bare poles reeling in the deep. He was one with the ship, he had no fear. There would be moments when pandemonium raged to unitiated eyes and ears, with all the ar- tillery of the sky massed above, all the cavalry of the Universe ready to charge through air and water. Would the fury of the waves never cease, threatening to settle again into a steady roaring forty mile gale? The sea growing heavier day after day, and we steadily blown out of our course. It seemed what it was not, that we were being driven beyond possibility of return. Often as I sat roped in against that Cabin bulk-head, the tossing waves hurling those angry white crests sky-high, gathering and retreating with roaring hisses for another attack, often I felt breathless, so high they were as we sank down. The report of each impact like a death warrant, yet the booming guns of those mighty walls, walls of water curling, advancing, lifting and breaking, stirred in the blood strangely, and strangely no longer like the wrath of the God's; but as if we were gallantly adventuring; no longer in dread or defiance but with renewed spurts of returning energy. And when the sun slowly struggled out of hiding, the blaze of its light enveloped and warmed, sufficient, benefecent; with indescrib- able sweetness however momentary, as if the exquisiteness of unbroken sunshine would sometime return, and would last forever. When the light of the sky had gone out the tiny light of our ship winked aloft, and though not definitely recognized, it was like childhood's clinging fears of dwarfs and giants, of monsters and mysteries clearing away, when new warmth in the air, the odors of rain and salt, and an echoing silence above waves and winds called again to cheer and uplift; to dream again in answer to the instinctive urge within; dreams of home that winged and sent their happy cry into the high Heavens. Beauty tantalized, and lured and challenged, and smiled and sped further out toward the horizon. Tomorrow and tomorrow and many October tomorrows were bearing us onward — and it seemed miraculous that once more we could eat and sleep, smile and talk, and almost forget there were vastnesses beyond and difficulties and dangers yet piling up. I tried, between times on deck or from my solidly hasped chair in the com- panionway, to visit Illsley after the regular hours with my Aunt. Illsley, with steady sensations in the pit of his stomach, had yet a vein of frankness in him that made for description and confidence when I was in sight. His frankness was startling and not conventional. "What's the matter with Patten lately? Surly dog! He's a damn bad-tempered man — jealous of his superiors on sea and land. Jealous of the Captain, jealous of me. He glowers at everybody— heard him yell at that nice fellow White — "What in thunder are you doing?" — Impudent fellow! he ought to have been knocked down. White has decency. He looks in and inquires after a fellow once in a while. He's brave and bronzed and weather-beaten, better looking than that idiot Patten forever hanging about you. He has no manners anyway; I wonder you can stand him!" Which brought a smile and sudden recollection of Patten's own remarks, redolent of contempt of the "Land Lubber". "He's taken to his berth and good riddance — the wall-eyed lubber." Which was a comment I overheard, and the bo'suns answer, as he spat tobacco juice into the atmosphere. "If that fo'castle fool hadn't grabbed him, only let him wash overboard, we'd been better off. Lord help him! — he's a rum 'un — poor bloke." But poor Illsley was sometimes almost unconscious during spells when we had so little light, and, when I tried to relieve in small ways or spoke, it was an elTort for him to open his eyes. His condition puzzled and distressed me. He had lost every bit of natural colour and looked someway shrunken as he lay with half- closed eyes in a sort of pitiful isolation. There was something in his look ot misery thai stirred sympathy and desire to help, and I used to try repeatedly to arouse and entertain him. Pagt i f8 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "I'm sick — I don't think I'll live to get home — Don't go yet — sit there a little longer," he would add, although he found everything I suggested utterly distaste- ful. "Sea-sickness — fools that never have it — telling me that most of sea-sickness is just nervous — just a damned lie — and this Cabin's ghastly — lying here eternally — wish some of them had it, or were at the bottom of the sea." He had neither method nor reticence in speech, and declared that no human soul could tell how long the days were or how miserable the nights — helpless in his berth, desperately sick with no one to care whether he lived or died. Some- times indeed he seemed too feeble to feel anything mattered. Sometimes indeed he seemed too feeble to care himself; as if everything had left him, all courage heaved up; and when I tried to call some back out of the depths within, the dazed, weakened, and disgusted passenger would seldom answer reasonably. He wasn't sane. He had neither endurance nor patience. It seemed terrible to suffer so from such a simple cause, incomprehensible to me who never had a single qualm. And he was a man too — had collapsed altogether — thrown into such strange dis- order — but my Aunt sympathetic, and my Uncle scornful, assured me he'd come out all right. "Nothing killing in his sea-sickness," which reduced my alarm, though Kate maintained stoutly from profound experience, "It was killing; a deadly, nasty enemy, and serious enough Heaven knew!" One day with the whole world tilting, rising in the air, dropping into depths — a plane soaring and then sinking, even resentment left him, as I strove to amuse by telling how they all looked in heavy oil-skins and sou'west'rs, and repeating their words — profanity was becoming easy — at least to quote it! There was one wheelsman whose beady black eyes always held anger, and I could never feel comfortable when he looked in my direction, for his lips seemed to snarl curses. I felt a tingling run over my body once as his rat-like eyes glared at me. I heard muttered words — "Evil-Eye on this damned ship". The wheelsman was being relieved and the two talked rapidly and huskily for a second, puncturing their sentences with expectorations. They had black deep-set eyes under low- drawn black brows; heavy-set men with hunched shoulders, swarthy, like some desert dwellers, cruelly wide-jawed like prize fighters; indomitable they looked and dangerous. And now Illsley frightened me. He smiled at my vivid recital, opened wide his eyes. "Who do they think is the Jonah? You or me? They hate us both, that's plain — especially that Portugee with hooped earrings and dirty red scarf — he'd murder anybody." I felt as if a change had taken place in every fibre of my being, the suggestion so startled and shocked me. "Who was the Jonah?" It felt like some weird night- mare conflict — and then — "Ease up ahoy! — Sit tight — The wind's up, we're weathering fine," came to my ears, and I turned to notice Illsley's chin in the air, and to know he was better because there was again appealing to him the un- questioned fact that he was a superior being endowed with charm. Yes, he was recovering normal balance in his own high opinion of his own gifts, and his satis- faction in them. In me there was instantly a subtraction of sympathy, and all attraction of any sort lessened. Yet he was to be pitied, he had no support of faith or any respect and appreciation for his superiors, while the other invalid had the comfort of belief whenever her husband assured her all was going well. Even my Aunt however, sank at times into fathomless depths. The wind day after day seemed to achieve the impossible and redouble its insane strength, but at last it was carrying us forward. There were feverish moments when the ship "Tore through those seas like a tramping stallion", the blasts tearing off the tops of the waves and hurling them upon the ship in solid sheets. "Oh to set eyes on a smear of smoke, to get a message there!" said White to Patten; I had learned to get about with the whole sea whipped into white lather and as they lunged by, heard the curt response — "They'll think us in Davy Jones' Locker if they get no word; Lucky if we don't end there!" Sails come and go along well traveled routes but the immense field of waters Page 130 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood had not been parted for us by the passage of ship or steamer for all those weeks we had been driven out of our course. The young Third-Mate stood at the main mast-head one morning, he and the bo'sun had been a few minutes before climb- ing over the lofty spars looking for weaknesses. Sharply the cry from the Look-out— "A sail, A sail!" brought all hands on deck, all eyes straining for sign or signal as the colours were hoisted. How ex- citedly we watched the flapping little flags that exchanged names and ports and assurance of safety. It was the fine steamer "City of Boston" of the Inman Line, that was now to carry longed for news of our well being and exact where- abouts to eager owners and anxious friends. That day the murmur of the running seas along the hull was music to my ears. I saw the clouds go by in flocks; waves marching down upon the ship, rushing our bulwarks and even thundering across the decks, but light was in my heart, and light seemed springing up from the horizon's edge above the clouds, above the yard-arms of the fore-mast — a promise of radiance. The steamer had passed without halting or holding for a moment, the steady thrust of screws bearing her swiftly beyond sight. But we had "spoken her", and my heart seemed sailing with her toward the longed for shore. But there were colourless days dawning one after another, and then stealthily, unremittingly the Fog — Fog smothering the sea, dull, cold, obstinate, blurring everything. It crept back going down low in the West, down in a huge gulf that blended the grey waters and air and sea, and then back in stifling mists. All enveloped in fog — the vessel making slow uncertain progress surrounded by that impenetrable density, everywhere making for unconcealed anxiety. I believe they feared the fog more than any of the preceding storms, unknown dangers always lurking unperceived and ready. Fate at the Helm — it must have been a blind feeling that only Fate had charge — that they were working auto- matically against atmospheric conditions — Fate — not skill at the Helm — lurking disaster on every side — and a steady moaning of the fog-horn, depressing and ghast- ly. The haze shut down so thick some hours, that everyone looked ghostly, or like disembodied spirits wavering to and fro. Nothing could really be discerned ahead or around us, everything unearthly and deceptive in that fog. "Why strike me blue!" shrieked the Bo'sun, "it's a Hell of a night," as the whole Watch came tumbling up with scared faces, staggering and sprawling through the forecastle hatch, and cursing at the Officer who had called "All hands on deck". Such vivid sounds and sights now return in imagination even as I knew them then. Even now the cries come back — "Lower away smartly" — and sailors springing and tumbling and climbing, all noise and seeming confusion; shouts, shrieks, yells, as orders were given or obeyed. The wail of the wind through the bare rigging, the continuous untiring volley of the waves; waters scurrying aft our hatches and deckhouses; the plunge of the bows into smothering seas, ir- resistible and enormous, and when the Watches changed — when the ship's bell rang eight times the sailors looked like ghosts in that unconquerable fog. Always the Captain sounding through the sea-fog wall, and Officers passing forward his commands to the crew as sails slapped against the mast, and the blasts from that fog-horn belched out mournfully. I often shuddered inwardly over the hollow warning and clanging of the horn at the bows, like a brazen gong or like a wail muffled and distant. The mental vision of something alarming, of events and accidents out of the common appealed incessantly. 1 had more panic then than in the days of seeing catastrophe from hurricane winds and waves. It was always now suspense, sensations that made the heaving of the vessel like dropping into some abyss. No defense From that heavy encroaching mist; thick, clammy, cold it felt, ami ruthless it seemed in power to increase misery and danger. Sometimes cries and greal banging wild cries they sounded as they all worked o madly furling and binding the sail Sails thai threatened to break loose when the weather allowed Borne canvas reefing and floundering up and down the Pagi i-i Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood masts — sometimes something seemed to go wrong — orders rising to shrieks, and that man bracing himself against the wheel almost losing hold, I thought, while other sailors were reinforcing here and there; binding the boom it looked like, catching at ropes to gather the flapping canvas — the wind on the quarter! One had to shout to make himself heard. I caught sight of the Captain once when they had been long busy and confusion seemed rife, and he looked dark and worried. He stood like some Statue near to the Wheel — and I watched long after to intercept his descent. "Isn't it going to calm down Uncle William?" For the first time impatient — "I don't know, I wish to God I had Kate and you out of it." And again and again the wail of that fog-horn — The Captain turned instantly as a breath of sharper wind touched us. "All hands on deck to shorten sail", and, ascending to his solitary post, tall and cool and steady he walked to and from the Compass — "Keep a sharp look out", and to the man at the Wheel, "Hard down the Helm" — and some aloft and some on deck shouted back and forth. Often hearing the orders I would hear one or more deliver himself of such a flow of explosive as only seamen could evoke. Once I caught a cry again from Mr. Patten, "My God, Sir, we can't stand it," and at the unheard response — "Aye, Aye, Sir," he answered huskily. It seemed as we sank into the trough of the seas that those mountain high masses of water would break over and swallow us. Seas lifting to engulf us when- ever we swung broadside to them. I have never lost the sensation of looking up, up, up. We were continuously tossed like a toy on Alpine waves, and it seemed a hullabaloo of winds, of winds forever shrieking and scudding across the fog- veiled indigo sky. I was far oftener fastened outside than during the earlier gales, and I heard sinister mutterings sometimes that I could not understand. One hour came when I overheard what made me think of a snake ready to strike. That Portugese with the swinging gold hoops in his ears spoke savagely as he stepped up to steer — "To the devil with the Jonahs." — I heard not only that guttural intonation but a sybillant hiss as his companion resigning the Wheel said — "What you mean you furrin' devil?" But the man still blazed, and hung his head and hands in looks and movement that seemed to come from the recesses of a dark soul. There was a dark marlevolence in their whispers. A fluttering fear seized me and I de- sired to escape. My own personality was inarticulate, helpless, without volition as I listened in paralyzing dread and yet with an illusion of unreality. Rat-like eyes ready to glare — venomous glances — and the repetition, "One's aboard with the Evil Eye," in surly tones that made me shiver! Could they — could they — could anyone really think that I brought bad luck? My mind reeled as we rocked so violently and I could not think in terms of nights and days. I could not remember that my Uncle had called me a "good sailor", that I must not brood over possibilities or be afraid, for those evil looks and threatening words created chaos in me. I had over estimated my powers of endurance. After all there was little of the heroic in me. My so-called "sporting nature" was giving way; the unexpected, the never imagined, the personal attacks of super- stition got on my nerves. Something happened to my sight — I could not see the decks — I could not see the men themselves — but the last words of the Steersman, who had given up the wheel, rang for a long time in my ears — "A man may expect anything that carries his women to sea." As I descended and held by rails and the companionway doors and tables and whatever was solid, on entering the Cabin I waylaid my Uncle to ask humbly the meaning of erratic uncertain winds, and of the fog that still lay like a blanket? It was stagnation to make no progress, with no visibility in the furious thickness; always running dead against the wind or wind seemingly dead against us; motion- less — with scarcely any sail — it tore at my courage — I looked appealingly — "We seem not to move, Uncle William, forever flapping about with squalls in the offing." "Nautically correct!" he answered — amused at my language — and "Oh, Uncle William," I added, "the sailors say such dreadful things." Page 141 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "My ship is under control," he replied gravely, "and my niece has nothing to do with the sailors;" — seeing the hurt expression I was trying to hide he con- tinued gently, "The storm is driving to leeward — The fog is lifting — We are coming over to even keel." The Cabin lamps suddenly winked like beacons. The word had been spoken, and whether hard to see a few yards ahead or not we were moving toward the prayed-for Port. It was only the illusion of quiescence. The Captain's instinct and experience gave him full understanding, and I realized that I too must believe trouble temporary — like a nebulous shadow soon to be dispelled. Shortly after that, a tearing rain-squall roared down, the waves driving in long diagonal ranks. The ship seemed to leap — climbing, rearing herself, sinking to unbelievable depths, rising to insecure heights, shaking tons of water from her decks as if conscious of the battle and reveling in it — and steadily, surely plunging due West. W T ater ran in streams from the Captain's clothing, when he had discarded his dripping Slickers to join us for a moment. And then the regular call — "Ho! there Steward! a cup of coffee!" which was speedily offered and invariably divided between cup and saucer! In our Cabins we had to minimize the risk of breaking arms and legs, but the Sea Fighter walked with ease even when night, with its blackness woven of dread- ful clouds, made all movements dangerous for us. In his own Cabin the Captain may be a fallible human being, the prey even of hopes and fears, but at the head of the table, in the Saloon, in storm or shine, he is Master of the Ship; — a creature rarely to be spoken to — someway in a sense dehumanized and lonely. Seafaring at close quarters makes some sailors communicative, the asperities and angles of others it never seems to rub off. But that lonely Arbiter, unques- tioned Ruler of the Ship and our destinies, had to settle all questions, all opinions, all differences, all enmities, and knew the virtue of aloofness, of coldness, of dis- tance and of silence. He never exaggerated in private the formalities of his po- sition, but the maintenance of that relation had become second nature to him. He was the true Sea Fighter. Often over the hollow warning and clanging of the Horn at the bows like a brazen gong, or like a wail muffled and distant, I shuddered inwardly. In a kind of terror, remembering the sailors words, I wondered how the presence of women could endanger any more than they could make difference in the handling or discipline of the ship? And that very night out of the wind's fury and breaker's crash, after what seemed seasons of oblivion, in a rush of rain and howling wind, I fell asleep to awake to sunshine and the wonder of clear weather. The noises of the ship had become like some rhythmic lullaby, no more bleak or chilling airs, no more indescribable whisperings of mysterious dangers, no more ominous cries of the churning sea, no more breakers coming like wild horses toss- ing white manes against the fierce darkness of sky, no rush of mighty waves like perpendicular walls — instead a blessed respite to find all movement easy, the use of feet and legs free and natural, and the glow of the Sun over all — the sunshine which, God be thanked, had not been blotted out forever. And so came the time when the immense placidity of the sea, on which at last that sun lay in thick unwavering light, let us under full sail speed over the vast desert of water and dare to count the voyage nearly over. And again and again in its intricate in- escapable enormous beauty, extraordinary, harmonious, mysterious the Ocean gripped and held. Its complex calls in countless shades of sound; voices near, voices far, singing, Bhouting, murmuring; became steadily, audibly magical. Its vast power, its unnatural brilliancy caught at my breath. Its sheer loveliness laid its hold upon me. One greal event of that period when I was saved from breaking, bat tcring, terrible disaster, stands out sharply. Coming down from the upper deck, " Hear away on your course helmsman bring the wind to beam," meant little or nothing I Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood as we flung around gaining speed, and picking my way casually by the lee-rail I stepped idly upon a great coil of rope. My feet rested for that moment on the coil of the Main-sheet — "Ready about — Hard-a-lee — Hold" — the latter in sharp accents tinged with a horror I had no understanding of — The great rope called Main-sheet was ready to uncoil and rush aloft, but men seemed to shriek and spring as the ship coming about brought confusion and struggle. The great sails sprang from their holdings. The ropes squeaked like live snakes as they slipped back through the blocks, and those aloft swooped down the back-stays, and the signal bell rang in violent jerks, the slapping for'sail, the sudden veering and changing or tacking at the behest of the Officer, the reflex power of the sailors' resentment, and the common instinct of danger all combined to communicate itself in part. That great rope like a live snake from its coil would have wrapped, strangled and carried me aloft, flung me headlong maimed or mangled against the masts and yard-arms, but for that one saving cry "i/o/i" — and it had made a snapping like whips of the spars and rigging. Something had shivered and broke. It was like whipping fragments all about us. |The main-sail, the royals, top-gallents, jib-sheet, sky-sails, stay-sails all sounded fluttering up between and against the lofty masts. Sails ripped loose by the wind, shivering, shredded, flapping infuriat- ing in noise and disturbance. Noises louder than the storm; a confusion of noises, clanging after each other; only slack canvas could make a noise like that, with the sudden scurry of footsteps and voices. I had stepped down quietly from my horrible danger-post eyes and ears simply amazed, for I could never separate or comprehend their intricate handling, and now "Hard down the helm — Lively men — Lively" was all I heard. Like a snap-shot as I write repeats itself the decisive fraction of that second when Mr. White looked back pale and rigid on the rack of horrible fear. I had been startled, but did not comprehend from what his swift countermanding of first orders, and that tight hold of the coil, instead of loosening and releasing it, had saved me. I could not vision the wrapping crushing winding grip of that unrolling rope, the awful physical risk, the mangling and mutilation — it could not picture itself to me— it seemed only that something had ripped loose, but when I saw apprehension and rage chase each other across the bo'sun's face as I calmly passed on — when I beheld the looks of incredulity and alarm the scene spoke — the moment imprinted itself on unfailing memory. It was strangely with blurred vision that I suddenly felt as if in some cold, deadly swirl, and again knew fear; the fear of battling with death that had so haunted me since the tornado had pictured it in frenzy. Death is such an impalpable figure of shadow, yet relentless — ruthless — symbolic and icy-cold. "Oh Kate!" as I sank down almost voiceless and full of misgivings, "I am always getting into trouble — I don't think I know how to keep out of harm's way." "I should think not," was the characteristic quick retort, "you choose to get in it, I should say," and for the moment something prevented her questioning me further, and I was too excited and unwilling to give details. It was an hour later that emerging from the Cabin I saw the Captain seated in the Saloon, the Mate standing before him, and something in the former's stern and the latter's worried look conveyed the idea that an explanation was being demanded, and that it was an ordeal for the Mate. Unqualified displeasure I sensed at once and that discipline was imminent. Instinctively drawing near I caught a sentence that cleared the situation. The danger of my Uncle's wrathful judgment ousted fear for myself; a partial and stammering explanation ensued, and it called a sudden halt to further words between them. With a curious rugged loyalty that is inborn in the bravest Mr. White was shielding me; giving no real or adequate reason for the state of things resulting from what had appeared as lack of seamanship, lack of proper attention to orders, or unpardonable carelessness in maintaining usual and regular discipline. Before reproof could be administered my straining ears had unravelled the puzzle — like a flash it all cleared — I realized that the Second Mate's quick reversal of Page 143 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood action had saved me from some battering disaster, and that my excited half- coherent interruption had silenced both Master and Mate. I — I alone had been the cause of all that entangling turmoil and disturbance. Thoughts almost ousted words, thoughts fearful, terrifying as I partially visualized what I had escaped. My Uncle grew rigidly pale — his whole countenance altered — without a word he held out his hand to the embarrassed Officer, and at his hurried departure looked long at me in mingled reproof and affection. I saw the one — I felt the other — and something struggled in his voice, some horror that moved me more than the words, "God in Heaven! you ought to know how to avoid danger instead of courting it; White has saved your life — He has saved your life — How can we ever pay the debt?" I was not calm enough to answer; I could only look pitifully — and rush from his sight. And soon after I met my Aunt's reproachful glance, and my own tears fell like rain over my Aunt's account of what occurred when my Uncle strode into their Cabin. "You have upset your Uncle dreadfully. I never saw him so excited; 'God! what an escape!' He kept repeating it and I heard exclamations — 'Killed on my ship — My God! such a death! Orrington — Cornelia — What could we do? Escaped by the fraction of a second! Thank God for White!' He said Mr. White's swiftness of action was wonderful, that he possessed every physical attribute, including courage, that goes to make a fine seaman. He said he had the head to command, and that if he made another voyage White should be Chief Officer. William was so shaken — I just cried when I heard your Mother's name, and William thanking God for White! How could you be so reckless?" In swift moments of stress or danger defenses between human beings are flung down. We are robbed of all make-believes. Any terrific realizations leave no subterfuges of word or look. "God! what an escape!" I stood appalled — at the echo of those words I seemed looking into black menacing awfulness, as if caught and submerged into the deadly dreadful swirl of the whole Ocean — "Father — and Mother" — -I whispered in shaking terror. Then indeed I knew Death had come close — and passed me by. One evening the breeze had fallen light — "Bear away on your course helmsman, bring the wind to beam" rang out in the Second Mate's voice, and staysail after staysail fluttering up the stays between the lofty masts, we flung around gaining speed. As he gave up his watch to Mr. Patten I signified openly my desire for a talk. I did not thank him, his shyness was too apparent, but I told him my Uncle had said that he had every quality of a first-class seaman and that he ought to attain command of a ship. His flushed face became actually radiant and soon his tongue was unloosed. "Of all Sea Captains that I ever met your Uncle is the finest — he's a perfect gentleman and a splendid seaman. If I ever thought I could be like him I'd work like a slave." Always Mr. White rang true like a clear bell and not the least of the qualities I admired was his loyalty to the Captain. His mind and heart had opened at last. He spoke of ships and the sea, and of those dreadful early times when he first sailed before the mast; of storms in the Indian Ocean, of fights between the Port and Starboard Watches," and of Islands and Mountains that seemed to rise like smoke from the waters. "It is very hard to stop talking," he said suddenly, "when you are talking of the sea." "Tell me more," I said — I had glimpses of ships sailing in and out; almost of the smell of spices and of more than the commonplaces of a voyage — for this man had felt the Sun of the Line, had journeyed in the South Seas, and he brought pictures as I listened; I have only to close my eyes to see again. I Eteemed to be sailing with him, sailing out and out in strange company. To him, now, what did it matter what was on land once it lay astern? And by the rail, his face turned towards the sails, the Speaker stood like some God of the Winds. The wind was veering and we were plunging on, while it began to have almost a pleasant somnolent sound as he told me how in early times in New England the men were always setting forth for tin- Seven Seas, the farthest bee of earth and ocean how everyone had sea-faring Ancestors, and all the Pa ,.n Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood boys dreamed of taking their own ship around the world, no one desiring any other career — all eager to start at any age to seek and see the Kingdoms of Cathay. He had run away from the home farm, and had begun, ignorant of suffering, at the lowest rung of the hard ladder. He had borne hardships and abuse, and having no influence in Shipping Circles there had seemed no chance for a fine berth. " I could only hope to be a petty Officer all my days — I persisted, — I en- dured — I secured text-books — I studied Navigation secretly, the Navigating In- struments — Sextants — Chronometers — and I worked with one view, in Port or on the vessel — to succeed — but until now in my Superior's eyes I never heard that I was thought fitted for great responsibilities. There is no kindness in a life at sea. On this ship I have known it for the first time." I realized as I listened that he had a man's heart and a man's courage, and the head of a thinker. He had been so quiet before, so ready to help me and never took offense at my ignoring or indifference. And he had saved my life — "How could we ever -pay the debt?'" Something trembled in my voice I know, and I tried to indicate friendship and feeling as I talked. I told him that I was the niece of two Captains, that the oldest, Captain Horace Gray, was a Master Mariner, bluff, hearty, brusque, yet genial and capable of adaptation in any circle; a man of repute in social as well as marine circles; that he had long commanded one of the largest ships afloat, that he was well known and highly regarded, and that his great vessel had the reputation of being a picture of clean efficiency. I wanted to seem confidential, I wanted to make him feel welcome and acquainted with us all. He listened, but only reiterated "Captain William Gray is my ideal, I care for no one else; no one could surpass him in skill and competence and justice." Mr. White's own cleverness and capacity, his discretion, management, judgment and self-control impressed us from that time on. We knew that he could be trusted in any emergency, that he was proficient as well as popular. And I am glad to record here with pride and satisfaction that my Uncle's influence finally secured him a ship, and that as Captain White he became noted and highly regarded in the Marine service. We were speeding along rhythmically. Weather in late October with no under- currents and no more threats. And sometimes in that curious suspension of life at sea it had been almost easy to believe that time was standing still. Dolphins, schools of creatures gamboling about the ship, playing the waves, and for days in succession our eyes opened on the same halcyon blue mirroring the sky in the sea. And it was a lovely night, the night that was to be our last on shipboard, when Mr. Patten drew near at last, with a word of greeting after his long period of sullenness, and that awful season of storms of which some way he would always be personally remindful. He came and stood quite still for a moment, all those three weeks of steady gales and silence between us. There had been no inter- changes, his ignoring of look or word had been complete and effective, with no single suggestion of what I had thought ended. Now, when he took up the sub- ject where it had been so sharply broken off, it came as an overwhelming surprise. "I shall have my own ship soon — and everyone will look up to me. I am certain that as Mate in any vessel this will be my last voyage. I have laid by a tidy little sum — Couldn't you give me a chance?" I raised my head to hear again his repeated arguments, the assurance of his ability to get the big ship, which apparently seemed all that was wanting, and I realized that his hope and interest was primarily that of the Skipper, ignoring all difficulties, certain of conquering opposition, and of grasping what he wanted. My own triumph of settlement was shattered at the warmth and urgency of his renewed appeal. There was a tone of rushing emotion that sounded pathetic, and made me feel a great pity and sharpened self-reproach. The situation was beyond me. I had neither enough coolness nor dignity to cope with it properly. I believed in his sincerity and stability. I believed him, and offered renewals of friendship and was touchingly sympathetic — little fool — I need not have suf- fered vicariously. His fancy for me had neither depth nor reality — nothing in Page 145 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood it. It was only an attitude of mind, and I — not he — was the object, inconceivable as it then seemed, for the shafts of ridicule, in supposing that such an experience would hurt him or affect his future course in the slightest degree. The very next year he got his ship, married a pretty girl from his native state of Maine, and they went down together on his first trip as Captain. It was a great gale we heard which must have found him unprepared. "His confidence was mere recklessness", said my Uncle long after, "He had not the qualities of the Commander, he defied instead of fighting the elements." And I shuddered and almost felt the ship going down without stopping or diminishing speed — only driving fiercely onward — no Sea Fighter walking on that upper deck — no Watcher at the Helm to hold him back from destruction — and his last words to me — "If the sea does look rough ahead as you've found out; if you and I only pulled to- gether we'd never come to grief." And the sea had opened and swallowed all on board — "Gone with all hands," was the only word we ever heard, and memory added the last touch of horror to that whole business. I used to be haunted when the Lake roared, and in the night hours when the winds and waves were making havoc against the Breakwater, and in fancy I looked everywhere, North, South, East and West, only to see that boiling ocean engulfing them. I am not looking at anything at hand now but far off in my memory to those last hours at sea. The delicate clouds changing from rose and lilac as evening drew near, to violet, to purple edged with gold; and Oh! the lovely waning moon, the feel of fresh cool wind, the delight of its touch on brow and cheek, the stars above, the reflected stars below, and a faint yellow line of light westward. I looked up to the masts that seemed to stab upward at the stars and my heart sang its paen of praise. The dip of the boat with every heart-beat made a sudden crawling up of eager waters, falling back and greeting us from the distant Coast. There were no men now shaking clenched fists to Heaven, and flinging ribald challenges. Evidently no youth or man can go before the Mast without hearing and assimilating a fine stock of profanity. And clever sailors invented new oaths seemingly, and some of those imperiled moments at sea had given me an enlarged knowledge of what words meant! Now all was peace and from mouth to mouth one caught only the hopeful cry, "With the Pilot we shall make it tomorrow," and I heard only the murmur of running seas along the hull, saw only clouds go by in flocks heralding the light that was to spring from the horizon's edge above the clouds, above the yard-arms of the fore-mast, and tomorrow spread its reach of radiance. I had not dreamed there could return the whole Etherial fabric of the sea's glamour and romance, that all its storm clouds or fan-like shadows could melt again into unearthly gold. Holding fast to the rails happy tears blurred for many moments as something from waves as well as winds swept over me. Even in my joy at leaving it seemed wonderful that the solitude of the open sea should still appeal. And in my glad good-bye to Ocean the ungovernable effects which uplitt or incapacitate, excite or depress, I then felt I could never escape. Oh! the crystal sunlight of that last morning, lilac and silver and pearl cool as spray, when there broke into my slumber-" We're taking up the Pilot, Captain," and I could hear from my Cabin the exclamations of welcome as the little craft steered close and the Pilot disdaining help caught the boarding ladder. And al- though I was told he clung a second with feet in water he swung himself swiftly upward, and on the deck the Captain with a sigh of relief resigned command. When he joined us later the most casual observer would note the vast difference. The terrible load had rolled off and he breathed freely. Never can I forget the dazzling brightness of that sunrise with the ship driving Straight into the dawn, the soft winds lifting the foam and dashing it like showers of spring rain. The spray beat againsl the port-holes and sprinkled the airy squadrons of white birds that accompanied us; the sea-gulls soaring rind diving, thai with invisible turns and tangles swooped from the blue, lestooning their flights in figures that eyes followed in vain. Ocean birds, always graceful, darting and plunging stormy Petrels wheeling about us in perpetual motion. The Pagt i yi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood little land birds coming to greet us, and schools of Porpoise along the surface jump- ing and rising in curves. Everything gliding and playing — joy in life — the ex- ultation of being alive. It gave again a sense of unity with winds and waves, with the great f,ree element of life which means exhilaration. It was a world of happy thoughts and feeling pursued by ideas and futile imaginings, but full of hope and shining with promise. That October sunshine going through and through one comfortingly, thankfulness had taken hold of me, the beloved ones were near — arms extended — voices — hands — smiles and em- braces waiting — just waiting — everything creating and sustaining the illusion of immutable peace. A fresh breeze rippled in that early dawn — we were making sail as we sped towards land — snowy sail after snowy sail billowing and stretching from our yards and stays in the creeping sunlight. The great top-sails were mast-headed with a song, and they were setting the sky-sails with cheerful home-bound chanteys. It certainly marked an epoch in life when we spread tier on tier of beautiful white wings and sped through the sparkling waters toward the distant harbour. The singing, pulsating rhythm of the sea beneath, the sun streaming down, the spray flashing back from the bows like crystal sunlight as we rose and dipped and plunged rapidly nearer. The ship, the far shores, the coveted anchorage all touched with the magic of the morning. "Land Ho!" is the cry forward. My eyes look and look and find only a pale outline like a dim cloud close down along the water. Slowly it begins to darken and take sharp outline against the sky — at last bands of green cut in between blue sky and deeper blue of the sea. The Land — The Land — growing stronger, lifting higher, appealing as an Earthly Paradise to the eager-hearted wanderer from home. All the land-marks were like scenery that stacked itself; one thing in dim distance more visible to their sea eyes than another, only to shift and dip and be lost below the horizon. Under plain sight now the land ahead — and the black breath of the Tug making its smoky feathers rise only a mile away. We are greeted with its whistle as it sheers over to us. On that blessed morning as in fulfilled splendour of noon we neared the Docks and there was sent out over the waters the Bells of Trinity. They seemed to rise and fall in tune with the heaving smooth slopes of waves still around us. The music of the Call to Worship from the land. Church Bells that rung their in- sistent warning and welcome — their Call to Praise and Prayer. Strange that we left New York on Sunday, reaching Havre on Sunday after twenty-one days; Leaving Havre Sunday, September the First — and reaching New York, Sunday October Twentieth. Four Sacred days had marked departure and return — and now the Land — the Blessed Land — and the Bells of Trinity! As to those who come off a moving ship after fifty days on a heaving sea, so everything seemed to sway and tilt. At last — at last — that song of the sea was outside and beyond me. Thank God my feet were on the land, the blessed land, so blissfully warm and solid. "My Child! — My Child!" — And Father's arms were about me. That splendid hour as a dream when he gathered me close, smiled and gave thanks, bewilders me with its intense joy even in recollection. He had haunted the Docks — no wireless then to tell them the hour of arrival. The one Steamer we had spoken to brought, to owners and all interested parties, their first and only message of assurance. The telegrams to and from Chicago had given news as received, and called the family to New York, after those terrible weeks of waiting. Yes, they had feared we might never come into sight, the stories of wrecks were so general, so heart-breaking. But my Father did not falter, his genuine unquestioned faith sustained them all, his consistent sincere belief in the efficacy of prayer had triumphed. When he held me in his arms, and when I heard how they had suffered those last twenty days, his assurance and wondrous peace seemed to surround and invade, and make me long for that same crown of unshakable belief. Wherever my Father dwelt or laboured he never felt doubts — "The Covenant was with him of Life and Page 147 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Peace," and to the very end of that noble successful and honoured life, he stood out as something beautiful and wonderful — A Rock of Strength. My Mother, my Aunt Margaret with my cousins, Joe Evans and Sunie Lowell, had paused on their way to the Academy at Wilbraham, Massachusetts, and they were all at the new "Hotel St. Nicholas," waiting to welcome me. I looked again into my Mother's face — I trembled violently as I saw that face. A pain that in its poignancy was physical swept over me — and I fell clasped to my Mother's breast in a paroxysm of uncontrolled weeping. My overcharged heart emptied itself of doubts, of fears, of longings — rest and joy stole over and possessed me, as if victorious warfare had brought answer to all petitions and prayers. Oh Mother! — Oh Mother! — and I clung and clung, enfolded in the warmest of all home-nests — A Mother's arms. My Sanctuary was reached. I quivered in every limb with gratitude, and made mute supplication to be better and more worthy. When, later, my Uncle found us together he was no longer the "Sea Fighter". On land he had the courteous self-possession of a man of the World, and while about him there was always a sort of impenetrability his smile was genial, and manner as warm as the words that crowned me with approval, and roused a throb of almost incredulous delight and pride. "We've brought her back to you, Cor- nelia. And we called her, l The Sunshine of the Ship'." THE STEPPING STONES It seems to me now as I lookback that from infancy to age I have had a vitality that vibrates with an irrepressible animation, that not only entered into my thoughts but extended to everything, and surrounded all persons that came near me. I have, at least, never been indifferent. Life has been always worth while, and with every nerve and muscle I have been told something or done some- thing, for how else was it of value? I mean, where was the use of living if I did not care mightily? There has always been a tremendous ardor of living which nothing could extinguish. In the protected cherished life breathed from birth, in a perhaps over priv- ileged, over indulged environment, I was saved from arrogance or assumption, while never hesitating to grasp the pleasure of the moment, by my sense of the sincerity and actual worth of those who had brought me into being. What one has always had one does not value as what one acquires or idealizes, and I well remember my Mother's words and warnings that people who make a fuss about family and wealth have usually very little else, if anything, to go on. Nothing could ever rob her — my Mother — or lessen her unique distinction, in appearance, in bearing, in dress. Her individualism of style was as artistic as distinctive. Her features and colouring were beautifully delicate, and her feminine charm obvious to all. Mother's spirit of uncommon sacrifice never touched weakness. She pos- sessed powers of mind and judgment that settled our movements and definitely decided many puzzling questions. She demonstrated ability and firmness, and surrounded herself with unassailable dignity. Hers was a gift of reticence. It was a Gray characteristic, an inheritance, and yet, in her case, softened by gentle- ness and generosity of soul. She asked no questions but always responded to confidence. She made us feel we were trusted to the full. There is a vast side to human relationships. It is immeasurable, sometimes dynamic, the influence for good or evil that permeates home and class-rooms. One cannot live under the same roof weeks and months, or years, in and out, and not have varying direction given without words, to our thoughts and actions, however unconscious we may be at the time <>f the imprint of our associations. BrOUghl up in an atmosphere of forms and prayer, I had never felt their need or reality until I was tossed to and fro in that awful crossing ol oeean. And when I met Father on landing it was an answering passion that made me teel, as never fully until then, the assurance of a Guiding llaiul that lor a time raised in nn Pagt 1 1 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood heart' a new Altar. Before it when I gave thanks I heard things; eternal things that became present; now stronger, now fainter in thought or allegiance, but as a part of the air one breathes. It made a sort of obligation while it challenged to do and be one's best. I had been so helpless when such terrific ominous sounds had seemed the triumphant trumpet of the destroyer. Those mighty demoniac roars had made life seem smothered and vanquished. And now I had sensation and understanding, and my precious ones all my own. I can pick myself to pieces and the scenes through which I have passed, and see what resembles truth or trash, and yet continue to believe myself an Immortal Soul! And I still, even in extreme age, sometimes fight awake or asleep with con- fused intense impressions of that and later periods; but my moods of introspection rarely produce gloomy results. My whole outlook and experience has shown me that after storms come calms; after storms or struggles a subtle understand- ing; and the purple horizon of night seems a sort of parthway strewn with jewels. The moon-kissed path of light shimmers softly across the placid surface of my Lake. And in my home by the shore it is like the spell of a passionless drowsy night — a nebulous shadow on the horizon's rim. Each day we make paths of motion — to those who look up, who fearless see the cloud already darkening on their eyes, knowing that the designs of Mighty Providence are worked in us," the light of Life's evening shuts out visions of terror. The vast power of life, its magnificent potential splendour is for the young, for those to whom I am writing; but as I write it lays again its hold on me. It is a world again of my own thoughts and feelings pursued by ideas, bright promises and futile imaginings. Life is such a joyous affair. It is the consummation to be alive, to feel the eager inquisitive friendly emotions that make for unity with the whole human race. One feels like a traveler in some exuberant surroundings, as if he had accomplished feats and was of supreme importance; loving beauty, eyes and ears are ravished with gratified senses. The whole surprised and happy system adjusting itself to new lessons of delight or illusion. Life so stretched to me, replete, happy, for the hour inimitable — for the time a vividly interesting and exciting panorama. I never knew anything, you see, about the hardship of human struggle, or the sadness of history, or the tragic happenings on all sides, but I began to have intuitions that I had never known before, and I was haunted not by fears but by desire and purpose. When school loomed again on my horizon it seemed indeed an anti-climax. After the sea — after Paris — I could not like the idea of restraints and rules. I suppose there is no girl that has not dreamed secretly of escape from every-day demands to some beautiful Isle far away, from lessons, meals, bed-time, and all the tedious tribe of "grown-ups", who have lost all memory of childhood or girl- hood and rejoice to impose trammels. They have forgotten all fancies of "Perilous Seas and Fairylands", of waters bluer than any Lake can show, of Paradise in- credibly remote from every-day life, and fairer far than any concrete aspects of life as known. The average girl's heart-desire, her darling secret playground is dear and mysterious with shadowy dreams, — and school? — school? — there was no taste in it for me. It seemed impossible that I had left Van Norman's only last mid-year, that there had been but ten months between that sudden break and this enforced return. Then I was of such apparent insignificance, and soon, either because of reputation as a traveler, or as the palpable owner of fine clothes, I found myself relatively popular, at least the centre of a group. The family, the teachers were the same, largely the scholars, and I was greeted as if nothing had happened, although to me, everything looked and felt entirely different. The interval had been crowded with eye-opening experiences. Those happy months at home after Aunt Elizabeth's beautiful wedding; those exciting months at sea; those disappointing weeks in Paris. My wise Mother in some sense measur- ing the difference and distance, had arranged for special privileges, a room unshared, and liberty to accept invitations from acknowledged friends. This she had ex- plained to me while we were all together, before Father started home to meet important demands and business engagements connected with his labour and Pa[e J4Q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood love for Evanston. His interests were numerous and his position and voluntary services of inestimable value to various causes; and lately, from its incipiency, my Father had devoted himself, his money and his time, to the building up of the University, the Institute, and the town for whose Site he was responsible. "Well indeed was he called "The Father" of Evanston, as but for his refusal to give his vote to the location selected which was far removed from the Lake we love, and but for his request for delaying decision, and his repeated trips to find a Site along its shore, "Northwestern" would never have had its incomparable situation nor would Evanston as it now is have ever existed. Before he left us we had great joy in driving and sightseeing, and especially in making further acquaintance with our cousins in Brooklyn. It was with a kind of open pride and eagerly affectionate recognition that they greeted their "Uncle Orrington", and I remember my Father's gratified smile and the alacrity with which he returned their embraces. My Aunt Sarah Comings, Father's sister, had a sort of distinguished courtesy of manner, her stately figure moved with vigorous upright grace. She was a woman destined to grace a home as well as manage one, and the aspects of her home-life showed cheerfulness as well as efficiency. I think that it was in the home, with its many duties and responsibilities, and in the handling of their chil- dren, that women of that generation were afforded their widest, truest and happiest development. The measure of accomplishment on the part of her husband one could only take who knew something of his special talent, or professional rank. Dr. Comings was a practicing physician, and of course contributed to the sum of human knowledge, but whether his was an avocation which grew into a real vo- cation I do not know. The physical evidence of wear and tear was suggested in my Aunt's delicate health. She had been at times threatened with serious invalidism. She had a brood of children, and it was invigorating, someway, to get in the midst of a large family of my own kindred; and the climax of my experience was in the careless confusion of their home life and its limitless or liveliest interchanges. There was nothing strange or strained about it. It had simplicity and sweetness. The two oldest daughters, Annie and Sadie, endeared themselves at once. My cousin Annie was like her refined gentle Mother in cast of countenance. She was blonde and of the distinctly delicate New England type. Annie must have learned early to judge for herself and think for herself. She was plainly a great dependance for the younger ones running all the way down to infancy. She showed no rebellion against the daily grind of house work, and there was no revolt apparent against rather restricted existing conditions. She seemed essentially domestic and had that prominence among them; but always, it appeared, thinking for others and acting in instinctive accord with the family circle. I thought my cousin Annie lovely, her face as sweet as her manner was charming, and her methods for calming her own spirits and controlling the younger ones were never open or aggressive. She made a strong impression upon me, and long after I thought it must be a technic of self control which she learned early, in conditions not highly favourable for personal indulgence, while there were so many little ones to be cared for. She was about four years my senior, and seemed then an adult with a maturity hard to explain and which must have been in a measure developed by her Mother's ill-health, and her own unselfish spirit. Sadie was of my years — with an obvious sort of beauty — golden brown hair growing low on brow and temples; clear cut features, all of them bespeaking qualities that indicated strength of purpose. One instinctively felt that she could not be daunted. She had an especially beautiful line ot eyebrow, large hazel eyes glowingly bright, a very determined mouth, lips a bit drawn down but red and well formed, and beneath her pure clear skin flowed and flamed blood thai COlouted her cheeks at the least excitement. 1 ler little figure, soniewli.it stout, as I remember it, looked to me rather graceful and finished. She was important in the circle, purposeful and entertaining. 1 liked her vivacity and sparkle and 1 faiM ) Bhe invariably had her way in most contests, or differences, big or little. Pa \t is" Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood but she was as attractive as she was determined, and friendship was cemented with both those cousins, and taken up gladly in later life whenever circumstances or vicinity permitted. There was a peculiar freshness about all the children. They were all so friendly and interested and showed such youthful enthusiasm. They made me welcome as a surprising sort of cousin from the far away West. We are all human, young and old, and like to be acceptable to each other. And in my state of relative in- nocence I considered and glibly called myself a traveler. The atmosphere was electric and I felt very important to find them all so curious and alert to learn of my recent experiences in Europe! It sounded so grand. At that time a trip to Europe was no commonplace event for a young American from the West, and everyone hung upon my words and accepted my descriptions for exultant enjoy- ment. I pointed out from my "Book of Views", palaces, galleries, and museums; churches, bridges and gardens; that I had never been allowed or given a chance to peep into, but I could talk — and I raved over the high white balconied buildings, the wide open spaces of Boulevards, the fringed Avenue of the Champs Elysee, the tall monuments and playing fountains, wonderful spires and towers that etched against the sky, colonades and arches, and such familiarity with far away wonders made my life abroad seem to my cousins a more magnificent experience than they could imagine. Those who are the most self-sufficing and independent draw others about them, and I, who did not possess a meek inch in my whole system, found myself sometimes confused at the repeated desire manifested to hear my descriptions, and I learned to speak very casually and easily, which often made my young hearers look awe- struck. More and more my pride was concerned to keep from everyone's knowledge the fiasco of that visit to Paris; its complete un-success, my bitter disappointment, and personal humiliation over unfulfilled longings and relative unhappiness as a guest. My Mother asked no questions, she made no comments on my lack of new possessions or souvenirs. I have since realized that she must have surmised a great deal, but she could not have dreamed of the hurts or humiliations I suffered, yet knowing my habits and tastes she felt that I must have met disappointments and somehow lacked freedom of opportunity, well aware that given a fair chance I would lavishly have spent all I could during that month in Paris. She smiled sometimes when I evaded queries as to purchases, possessions or souvenirs, and came to my assistance in the matter of my wardrobe, declaring that my practice of economy needed the encouragement of appreciation. It was the only time I ever remember being praised for economy, I was not born to save. My Mother later proceeded to shop generously for my advantage, and I recall several pretty frocks she purchased which seemed quite impressively grand for school; but I speedily realized the wisdom of such selections and additions, as life at the Sims shortly made call upon a wardrobe far beyond any style I had ever previously sported. My Mother remained two weeks to prolong the vacation and introduced new pleasures. And we had a memorable trip together to see my little brothers who were in Cazenovia at school. Impressions obliterate each other often like wave-marks on the sand, but the yellow light of that Autumn, misty and warm, the air full of colour and sound, the long stretches of fields and pastures, and the woods and hills and hollows as we reached Cazenovia, which lay like a gem beside its little lake, appealed to awakened fancy as a paradise of peace and sweetness. The stretches of open country were given over to dewy shadows and silences, sudden visions, sudden ascents and descents as the coach rumbled on. There were stage-coach rides from the end of the railroad, unforgettable drives, and I, seated beside the burly driver, holding and switching his long whip over the four horses and their jangling harness, was happy, happier than I had ever believed possible a few weeks before. The carnival colours were not dead, the symphony of red and gold and green Page 151 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood made a pageant to intoxicate vision; shades of scarlet rose and wine were only dimmed a little. The slight frosts had painted the leaves which as yet no chilling blasts had wholly destroyed. The maple branches still glowed against the tangled arms of oak, and every tone of pale yellow and russet red still splashed their fading tints. The remains of golden-rod and the purple of asters and the strange richness of low hill-sides, or woods or pastures, unrolled green and flame-tipped. It was an incomparable mosaic. Some things mist and blur in memory and have the unreality of a dream; but the gold of those birches, the fire of maples, the brown of oaks, and the background of evergreen made a picture that thrilled and uplifted. It was a background of colour for the thankful gladness over re-union with the boys ! The delight of their greeting lives with me yet, and my elation in belief, that my brothers were handsomer and more promising than all others, made fresh enchantment for me. That visit to the Head Master, Dr. Andrews, and our de- lightful days with Horace and George made for complete satisfaction, crowned to a Mother when her sons were praised — "They are fine boys, Mrs. Lunt, and are doing well," was the tribute of more than one of the teachers. Dr. Andrews was a noted Educator, sympathetic, skilled, scholarly and stable; like Mr. Abbott, one to whom safely could be entrusted the treasures of our household. My brothers had been but lately transplanted from Little Blue, Farmington, Main, to this more pretentious Academy in central New York. Oh! how proud they were to have Mother and sister for guests, and life shimmered in a golden haze. We were as joyous as the birds, as the leaves or the flowers that swayed gently in those mild soft airs. We had several excursions and were shown many lovely hidden places in that region of bloom and beauty. There was a happy picnic the last afternoon, and I can see now the smiling faces of those boys that Mother included in her plans of entertainment, and how they all waved to us and stood in groups as we drove away. I am caught back in the old charm. I am once more a girl seeking adventure. The Maternal instinct with its Eternal vigilance had given her children those days together. How close is a Mother to the heart of humanity — the Heart of God. As the weeks sped by I felt less and less interest in that almost absurd sentence of school life. My parents at repeated representations had consented to the re- quest and invitations, the generous considerations and attentions, of my special chum's family, and arranged, with the suave unctuous pretentious and snobbish principal, to let me off for week ends, and freedom and bright promises gave social privileges that henceforth shone on my horizon. My room was adjoining Carrie Sims, I had found her as winning, alert, imperious and enthusiastic over herself and her chances for pleasure and triumph, as before. She was, in a way, more captivating; in ways and words quite regal because naturally autocratic. Unaccustomed to be thwarted she had become more or less of an obtuse little despot, self-willed, self-deluded, self-assertive and withal too charming to oppose. She talked often in phrases decidedly assumptive, without realizing their meaning or their self-revelation. She was distinctly a pleasure lover; bright, defiant, independent, and allowed her own way one could hardly expect from her special consideration, sympathy or unselfishness. She was made to rule, which, as the wife of an English Diplomat, she did afterward in several Courts of Europe. Carrie's eyes were shaped for laughter, deep hazel eyes with dancing motes of gold under thick brown lashes. Slim, straight and sparkling there was something subtle in her physical charm, and I always admired her assurance as a girl, which panopled her right royally in after years, gave her control ofthosc about her, that now, even in her immaturity, bent people to her will. "Glad you're back in this old hole; 1 won't be here after Master," was her characteristic greeting. "Papa's Women's Hospital is absorbing him all his time now, hut lie takes us to lots of money-making functions," and in the warmth of her Southern nature she continued hospitably — "Come home tor next week- end and you can go to 'Old Gal AstorY with us." Pap 1 52 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "Oh! Carrie, that sounds awful!" "Oh well! I got it from sister Mary, she's in deep with all those stiff old stuck-ups; but they've no idea how she can mimic them, and their high and mighty airs and notions— and they have such stupid parties. Did you ever hear how sister Mary knocked down that fool of a Page? It went all round town — You see he'd been a few years in France, went over as John A. Page, and came home as J. Augustus Pa-ge. Mary saw him on the curb down Broadway and, when he swept off his hat and bowed low from his middle, she nodded, and swept by carelessly with a "Good-morning, Mr. Pa-ge — Are you waiting for a sta-ge?" "We just screamed over it, and from all I heard I guess everybody in town laughed" — Then, with a sudden change — "Papa says you have sparkle and are irresistibly youthful like your laughter; he says too, you have a lovely voice." Never can I forget my overwhelming delight that a man of such distinction and generosity should have remembered me. I am not looking at anything at hand now but far back to the time when I was admitted and welcomed as a veritable member 'of the Sims household. There was one nightly scene that is as clear as daylight, when the daughters said their regular Good-night to the head of the family; he retired, usually, very early to his room or study as he was at that time beginning to write his Memoirs. As the girls, one after another, bent to kiss him, he would often say wearily "Good- night, child," and frequently made what became a natural mistake, calling me "Daughter" and someone else "Child". It was all the same. And so I was in- cluded in affectionate expressions as well as in their entertainments. Life sat lightly on me— it was an indefinable sense of well being. I did not apply any intellectual or spiritual tests to my environment. It spelt oblivion to all that was trying, and swamped the dull routine of recitations. I lived for those week-ends. Those idylls of delight came regularly, and to this day the memories have not been relegated to any remote corner of the brain. The world seen at the Sims and in their circle presented many new signifi- cances not easily accountable to me. I did not always understand them. I was sometimes a bit worried when a good deal seemed contrary to my ideas. I grasped only vaguely the actual reality and importance of many things about other beings, who moved in and out before us, but the gay atmosphere of social excitement was the best of all possible worlds to live in. Youth and beauty carried every- thing before it, for both were irresistible, and what did I care about different beliefs, or astonishing differences of habit and outlook? To be brought in constant con- tact with those who look from widely varying view-points makes one feel his own affairs not of the most momentous, and it is difficult to retain one's belief in the importance of one's self or one's views, so it becomes of no use to waste much ponderous thought on them. Whatever seems real and present is what imperatively appeals, and one's own existence and possessions not so great a matter, at least not of the soaring importance hitherto attached to them. I did not see anything in that lively household with amazing clarity; but nothing dimmed its bright radiance and I enjoyed everything. The Puritan Shadow was never over me. I felt free as air, and demonstrated emotions without embarrassment, as I conveyed, in my most ingratiating manner to the amused circle, my preferences, purposes, and beliefs, especially emphasizing my own infatuation for Eliza, which had grown tremendously ever since she first dawned on my amazed vision as "Sappho" at the Fancy Dress school party of the year before. I did not hesitate to show- openly and plainly that my highest ambition now was to take a step up from intimacy with Carrie to a relation with the incarnated loveliness, that embodied prose, poetry, and music to me, in Eliza. She had made at first glance her triumphant entry into my heart, and the more I saw her the more she dazzled and captivated me. She accepted gracefully many timid offerings. I saved all my spending money for flowers and little gifts, and hers was always an air of charming cordiality — of gentle graciousness that contributed greatly to the whole effect. Mary, on the contrary, had an air of hauteur or indifference that seemed to belong to her distinct dark type of beauty. She was as straight as an Indian Page 153 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and as aloofly severe; and of late that older sister to whom they all deferred, all seemingly afraid of her sharp tongue, had acted rather strangely in not joining in with the family pleasures; in shutting herself up from usual approaches in a sort of sullen silence, challenging the notice of her Mother especially, who said in my presence and on several occasions, "that she couldn't imagine why Mary was getting so reserved or acting so depressed." Alary was undoubtedly and strikingly handsome; but she lacked the charm that distinguished Eliza, whose exquisitely expressive face, dark hair and eyes of intense blue, made her the object of admiration on all sides. There was never a glance toward me that took the joy of its beauty out or caused any unease of spirit. When she finally gave me her confidence, I was lifted to a height of satisfaction that made me often oblivious to all others. Sometimes her lovely face came between me and the book I was reading, or the piece practicing, or between me and the grey curtain that sleep rolls down. She was my first fountain-head of delight, and looking back to that dusky perspective — for I was always gazing ahead and planning — I could not suffer in such a new and stimulating circle from the complaisance that means self-inflation. And to this day Eliza, still walking the same earth, living with the ocean between us for over half a century, has not lost that established position of favourite and favoured. The standards at the Sims' were all socially glittering. I learned the live- liest, pleasantest side of social life. Everything was forming in me, not disin- tegrating. I felt no shortcomings in their set. They were not capricious. They were all gracious and responsive. I was never uneasy as the tide of gaiety ebbed and flowed. I was rather galvanized into efforts to match in interchange, for I never felt my own deficiencies or inexperience where all was so free and generous. And so, spontaneous myself, with an ever increasing familiarity, speech never seemed to stick in my throat as with the McClintock's. I was often astounded to learn of the many heart affairs in that romantic household, where the turn of events could never be prophesied, where something startling or new was always happening, where dances and dinners and parties and theatres and concerts startled me by swift succession, and made the accounts of said functions, each time I appeared, seem growingly humorous and picturesque. Horses and carriages seemed always at the door; there was an astonishing abundance of floral offerings that I had never realized existed in such plenty, and like the tales of lovers and engagements made for excitement and adventure. My purely imaginary pictures of romantic affairs and entertainments before had been small enough, and ex- clusive enough by comparison, but nothing could cut the dash or sovereignty of those beautiful sisters, whose canons of worldly success represented a sort of life hitherto unknown to me. But I was not called upon to grapple with vital issues. "Oh come! — come quick," said Carrie, grasping my arm as I was about to pass her in the hall, "Oh quick! I have something awful to tell you." I saw she was flushed and almost gasping as she rushed me into her room and slammed the door. She had just returned from home, and not even waiting to remove her wraps, turned her excited face which instantly made me aware of tremendous feeling, to which I responded with thrilled pulses. Her tight clasped hands and blazing eyes made me eager for the secret she was ready to pour out. It was unlikeness to any mood I had ever seen in her, and there was anger enough to fairly frighten me as she began. "It's awful, it's awful, disgraceful, dreadful. Sister Mary — Sister Mary — she ran away — No — she's home; but she did run off and weeks ago she got mar- ried over in New Jersey. Oh! he's a horrid man — we hate him. Why! she's destroyed herself. She's plunged a knife into Papa's heart, she was his pet. He never denied her anything, and now she has injured us all, and she doesn't can-. \\ liy! the only way wc found out was because one of Papa's patients asked how his daughter, Mrs. Carr, was. Poor Papa! he was so shocked and incredulous, and they told hini the marriage notice was in a two-penny sheet over there. \\ hen Sister Mary was taxed with her droit and ingratitude she said she "didn't care, she didn't care what happened she was so miserable she would rather die than Pa i X54 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood give him up". She just raved like that. Papa stopped speaking. He just looked at her. Mama just cried and cried, and sister Eliza got so pale and trembled so she nearly fainted away." Carrie's whole frame quivered with passion. Her eyes were luminous. She fixed those sorrowful orbs, and her voice quick and ringing made me shake with the sympathy allied to fear. I have now more than a vague remembrance of her exclamations and expletives, and just as if Carrie was oblivious of my presence and was not talking about secrets of her own family to a stranger, she continued in sharp vibrating tones. "Can you believe in such wickedness and in such a stupid choice? Why! that man Carr treated his first wife brutally; he was divorced and married again, that one died, and now he has hypnotized my sister. He's hideous, we all hate him, and he knew enough to keep away from the house. Mamma says it is as if she was bitten by a serpent — poisoned all through, never once thinking of all our pain and trouble. She trusted him and believed his hateful pack of lies. She said defiantly, 'They were married because she wanted to belong to him, and go with him to the ends of the earth'. No wonder she has been miserable and changed for weeks and weeks, for whenever he commanded, she met him anywhere. It made no difference about her family and good name. She was cold as marble and raved right on — Mad enough for him — saying, 'she couldn't rest and would go out of the house this minute to find him'. Poor Papa! He just looked at her. 'I never knew I had a daughter that could disgrace herself and me; you'll be married openly tomorrow, and every paper in New York will have the notice — send for him to meet you at the Church door,' and this very morning she left us without a "Good-bye", and we all stood at the window and saw Father hand her into the carriage. There were no words with Carr, who stood at the Church steps, nor any farewell to Mary. Papa stood just inside the Church door until the Ceremony was over, and then drove home alone." Grief, as Eliza afterward told me, only betrayed itself in her Father's rigidity of countenance, and hoarseness of voice when little Florrie asked innocently — "Where's Sister, Papa? and he said chokingly, "Your sister Mary is dead." They all maintained composure and a dignified silence in public, which was heroic, as curiosity was rife in high circles; but remained long unsatisfied. I threw my arms around Eliza at our first meeting after Carrie's amazing recital, but she seemed inert, mute, stiffening with sorrow and humiliation. She had lost the sister from whom she had never before been separated, and hers was no child-like lament. There were no accents of distress; pride and love had re- ceived a wound too deep for words. I really gazed at them all with a sort of terror. The lost Paradise of family peace seemed for a little to put me out of communion with them. The story had a strange effect; that ringing vibrating disclosure of such facts, of such delusions, of such defiance and despair, seemed to mix with all my thoughts, giving me indefinable feelings that made for wild wonder, for delirious fancies and superstitions, that prevented for a long time the escape or relief of forgetfulness. I so often pictured him, as Carrie described him: dark, very dark, she told me, with sombre eyes beneath over-hanging heavy brows, with personal char- acteristics I judged to be feared. "You'd hate Carr," she always added, "and to think my sister's beauty and brightness should catch his evil eye, and that she could become infatuated." It almost brought the supernatural near, to think any man could so dominate a girl as to destroy all fealty or devotion to her own. Even now I recall with a shiver things I heard of him. "Carr is a devil, desperate, sinister, treacherous. He loves to show his power, but her's will be the fate of others, he'll throw her over," and the after chapters of that sad history of Mary's darkened mind and gross delusions was tinged for me with fascination, as well as loathing. One other passion possessed me and lightened those days, the growing love of music that started its domination to last with life, even until its last breath. Certain feelings seem transmitted to me through music; suggestions insistent then Page 155 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood as now, that have never been expressible in words; that are only translated in heart-beats. That Divine language of sound and rythm became a net thrown over me, when I listened spell-bound at the Philharmonic rehearsals and Concerts, for at that time tickets could be purchased for the weekly rehearsals and monthly Concerts, and the Orchestral renditions of great Masters, the recitals of known Artists, vocal and instrumental, snared and enchanted me. And there and then, for me, listening became loving. It was sharp as the sun-shafts themselves, beat- ing in lovely tones and wonderful harmonies upon the spirit they captured. We cannot really write our own history without dwelling on particular lines of emotional activity, and the merest trifles show how or where one is tending. The least things teach how we live, and it is illuminating now how little I owed to the school or its schooling. I got on with them all without caring or trying to raise myself above the average level. The fact is simple that anyone might easily do so, if she had ambition or cared at all, but there was never anything striking in teaching or scholarship, and so no one seemed making any long step forward in any line. There was no open friction anywhere, but everything was limited and partial. Although I have a clear picture now of the Principal, Preceptress, the family of instructors and pupils, I was never roused to admiration or ambition, and felt as if I owed them no allegiance. I verily believe human or vivid records of daily life at Van Norman's are of no value in estimating my line of growth or success. The years that have slipped by in time's whirligig have not taken me from those thoughts, attachments, diversions, or my inexhaustible interest in spectacles of the moving world, as revealed to me in opportunities afforded, and kaleido- scopic changes in the vareties of my experience, early and late, in going to and fro, and up and down the earth. I can easily piece together the component parts of intimate personal things which helped to make me what I am. They are not at all complicated, and any one among you, beloved nieces and grand-nieces, can pick them up bit by bit and feel very intimate with me. I do pique myself at that comparatively early period in not being ridiculous, or a mere toy or trifler always in the serious interests of life. I made enough progress in a few essential things to believe it was of no secondary importance for me to keep wide awake, to cultivate my enthusiasms, and to strive for honesty and power to appropriate. To return to the school, good fortune gave me one teacher who commanded respect and aroused an eager desire to please. The great piano teacher of New York was William Mason who considered the fair daughter of the Van Norman house one of his best pupils. Louise, beautiful as ever and as statuesque, played wonderfully well for the time, and was fascinating as she sat at the instrument. She had become engaged during my trip over-seas and so to me there was about her an additional halo of romance. She always responded gently to my advances and many an hour in the evening, before her lover arrived, I was allowed to sit in the drawing room and listen to her practise. Finally, I asked for her efforts to get me under the tutelege of her distinguished teacher, with a faint idea, that I also, with such advantages, could play as she did. But she plainly informed me that until I was further advanced I would not be accepted by Mr. Mason in classes or as a special pupil. She was moved by my enthusiasm to suggest to her Father to secure George J. Huss as a preparatory stage to more respectable at- tainment on my part. Mr. Huss was a musician of recognized ability and grow- ing prominence, a man of marked character and vibrant with emotion. He im- pressed me from the first moment as vital and intensely serious. I fell enough released to begin to enjoy, and to believe that I was advancing into a wonderful realm under his teaching. It became something from which I could never go back even if I had tried. In a sense he was gleaming; hair of brown-gold, sandy coloured at the edges; eyes of strangely sparkling blue, intensely holding attention whenever he gazed a1 one. He was of middle size, a t rifle thick-set ami with slight ly stooping shoulders. lie had a long golden beard crinkly and soft, thick and a bit like golden tleeee. Ideas sparkled ami leaped v\ hen he tried to describe a composition, and all his I'ayr lf6 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood interpretations were poetical; indifference or carelessness in that study no longer fastened themselves upon me, I began to be honest and industrious. Music had closed about me with its mighty spell. I loved it as I loved the sun. I seemed to get to the sources of gladness when its charm fastened upon me. Something plastic was being moulded in me. I was being given new ideas and fresh purposes as I slowly studied the alphabet of the language, and tried, however stumbling or confused, to do properly whatever was asked — never embarrassed, for I think Mr. Huss was one of the teachers who make one venturesome. He was culti- vated in manner, an educated gentleman, and unlike other Masters, had a kind way of relieving constraint or discomfort. He was never familiar, never unduly stern, and made the effect of specially understanding one, which is always a per- sonal tribute. I do not think even a poor pupil if at all earnest could feel either dull or awk- ward, yet he did not waive formalities while observing all the social amenities. He sat carelessly at the piano when looking over compositions and represented Germany and the Germans, absolutely foreign and unknown to me. There was something of incalculable value in George Huss's ability and dignity. His in- fluence at that stage was invaluable to me; and soon any failure not to offer a carefully prepared lesson reflected on both my own character and attainment, and to my awakened fancy it indicated inexcusable stupidity. There was meaning in all his words. When he touched the keys he usually looked up with a smile, and one of his great expressions returns to me often. "First, Foremost," — when he was explaining meaning by his suggested texts; or "First Foremost," you do this— or try that — "First Foremost, you see, it means thus and so." And he even interpreted for me by stories and incidents some of the great works of the great Masters. And slowly and surely the Orchestra was a great voice. It was a voice that called me to its embrace. Just when I first visited in his charming little home I cannot remember. I had woven some romance over the items of gossip regarding his marriage to a beautiful pupil, years before. Miss Sophie Holden, it was told me, was the niece of a prominent man of means and social position who had persistently refused to consider such a union. Their mutual devotion could not overcome opposition, but at repeated entreaties the irate Uncle had finally consented to an interview with the unwelcome suitor. The appointed evening came. They lived either up the Hudson or somewhere at a distance from the City, such points are more or less vague and lost in my recollection of the story, only that as the hour arrived — the lover did not. They waited and waited — the weary hours passing and the lovely niece trembling with apprehension. The Uncle, bitingly ironic, half disgusted and wholly discouraging. She could only answer her Uncle's sarcasm on the tardy swain, by meeting with flashing eye and firm assurance his scorn of the man. She was immovable in faith. She knew her lover. She knew it was the turning point. She had counted on that chance, on the effect of his presence, on the magic of their mutual en- treaties. And now there was only her simple repeated vehement declaration — • "He will come — something has happened — he will surely come — don't close the house — wait a little, for I know he is coming." And as time rolled on, just as lights were about to be extinguished and doors locked, weary, worn, dust-covered and dishevelled but triumphant — the eager lover appeared. The train had met with a serious accident. He had walked miles, refusing to wait — with no trans- portation available — and the effect of that breathless entrance was instantaneous. The heroine was figuratively, and I doubt not, literally, in her lover's arms. The sight of such ardour was almost overpowering; but still, unwilling to give consent, I have understood there were serious tests and trying times before all obstacles to union were finally broken down. I had been thrilled to hear they were still reported to hold the ideal relation as precious and sacred, and that they had earned on all sides the respect and admiration due such high faith and loyalty. I was enthusiastic when, as an invited guest, they made me welcome in their happy little circle. Mrs. Huss, tall well-built and matronly, was the proud Mother Page 157 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood incarnate. Her fine shaped head had its crown of dark hair simply coiled in a knot at the nape of her neck. It was always satiny smooth and shining, and she personified neatness and efficiency. Her eyes of gleaming brightness, arched eye- brows and rose-fresh complexion, added to her genial grace and made her un- doubted personal attraction evident to all. Hers was a gentle, gracious charm of manner, a sort of satisfactory calm, yet sometimes humourous and with her family a bit critical. The children, Martin, Johanna, Mary and Heinrich were bubbling with gaiety and full of promise. Babetta, the last to flutter into that home nest, if she had then arrived, was too young for me to count. It was of great value to me to have the open door to two such lovely homes. The Sims' and the Huss' — in a sense antipodal, _, facing life on mountain top or in valley, yet sensible of values as they appeared, and in harmony with their own surroundings. My associations were indeed "Stepping Stones" that winter — and they acted upon my soul as surely as chemicals upon the negative of a photo- graph. It is a stepping stone to knowledge to be entirely familiar with different individuals, varying view-points, and widely different characters. There are searching tests of character in apparently small events, in seemingly unimportant decisions, even in superficial relations with our kind, and the results are, sooner or later, infallible in readjustment of the personal forces; in attitudes and poses so that artificial portions of the character are assumed or shed; and mind and body seem to grow quickly, the effects becoming speedily visible. I am filling pages here with small details of impressions received, registered in those associations and experiences, and as I write thoughts beat on my brain bright and persistent, bringing a sensation of activity, of vivid pictures of those people and times that make age slip off, that make energies alive, and thoughts pour through the mind to bring a fresh sense of exhilaration. I have dwelt at length on little things in the two families, so far removed from each other, be- cause in both circles I found things of real importance that had strong influence in directing and, I believe, in broadening and deepening future life for me. One other opportunity musically, was afforded me at that time which has proved of lasting interest and remembrance. I often accompanied Carrie Sims to her singing lessons at the Strackosch home, where Carlotta Patti taught a few chosen pupils. Adelina, the future Diva, was anticipating her debut in Opera with Brignoli as tenor. Often we had heard from her sister incidents of Patti's girlish career that captured imagination. And sometimes the carrolling of that bird of song would reach us at intervals in notes clear as crystal, notes wonderful and ravishing as she practised and warbled and trilled. She seemed to sing as one talks, and, on several occasions catching those heavenly tones from her distant Music room, I would ask timidly, "What is your sister studying?" and the care- less answer would leave me spell-bound — "Oh, she isn't studying now — she's only humming up there, possibly you'll hear her when she really practises if only the door is ajar. Today she seems running over some light Arias from "Travatore" or "Martha" — her real work at present is on "Lucia"; she makes her first ap- pearance in a week or two and the child is awfully frightened. Brignoli laughs at her. The other evening, after a duet together, he said, 'Don't mind anybody. Miss Patti, you have the voice of an angel, the world will be at your feet.' Adelina had told him several times she 'didn't mind singing, but the acting seemed so hard.' 'Nobody cares about the acting, you can learn that later, don't get fright- ened, I'm here to support you.'" That tenor with his marvellous voice always walked the stage like a stick and Adelina never became a dramatic artist, although she ascended a throne of sovereignty that she could never wholly lose, even when age robbed her voice oi perfection. It was said that her sister Carlotta but for her lameness, would have made a splendid success as she had a dramatic sense with all her other gilts. It is amazing to recall tales I heard of the Strackosch Family; Madam Strackosch also a wonderful musician, and tin- two younger sisters, Carlotta and Adelina, bom to sini- away the hearts of men. I heard much in that circle, ol Blignoli's Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood colossal conceit, his nonchalance, indifference and egotistical assurance; spoiled, as are so many Matinee idols by the adulation of mixed audiences, and especially of excitable women, young and old. He was indeed a great tenor; but not com- parable to Mario, who was the next king in the realm of sound that I listened to in awe and delight. The natural endowments in vocalization of that Queen of Song, Adelina Patti, in her youth and beauty, left everyone far behind. Gifted beyond measure she wore her crown unchallanged for many years. I often saw that little figure at the time of which I write, slim, small, straight and graceful, flash in and out of the house. But she did not look in or smile at us. She was too busy, too ab- sorbed, too much praised and sought for to spend any time or thought over out- siders. But well I remember the morning after her triumphant appearance at the academy of Music when I, sitting near the door as it chanced happily to be Carrie's hour for instruction, saw the excited, jubilant and victorious young God- dess trip joyously down the stairs, humming lightly as she descended, to pass rapidly with a toss of her dark head, into the carriage in waiting. She was a vision of loveliness — those luminous dark eyes, that adorable bloom on her cheek; creamy-coloured she was, and exultantly flashing. And when next I saw her, six years after, at the summit of glorious achieve- ment, she was singing in Turin before the King and Queen and the ovation of a multitude. High honours were hers in Italy, as in all countries in Europe. At that time I saw her more than once and she deigned to make me welcome. When I was invited to her rooms in Turin where she brought out her Albums and treas- ures, and talked with me of her triumphs, but simply, as one girl to another, it gave hours that even now I am thrilled to remember. The last time I had an opportunity to visit or talk with that imperial young autocrat, was in Genoa. We were at the same Hotel, and she summoned me to her room to listen to a tale of curious adventure — but that is another story which does not belong here. Somewhere I have read that it is always Spring-time, somewhere in the world, and well I understand now that youth knows and remembers as age forgets, that always there is a place somewhere for love and laughter, and for bird-songs and colourful flowers. I never thought much or deeply at that time. I only loved and delighted in those days, greeting the Summer, and feeling the joyous full- sapped Spring. THE DISTANT DRUM Always on leaving home, or returning, it was the Lake to which I said fare- well last, or, in an eagerly watched for glimpse from the train, it was the Lake which welcomed me first. The treasures of beauty which are our inheritance seemed to lie for me in the Lake which had always such intense charm, as if the soul in it caressed by the winds was ever ready to speak. Its radiance, its sparkle, its fury, its tumult all alike was distinctly a force that I came in contact with constantly. It attracted my eyes every day, and between it and me a sort of current of life and joy revealed something far beyond words to express. I can never measure the result of my intimate acquaintanceship with my Lake. Coming and going its proximity, its presence dawned upon or departed as something given to or torn from me, for my eyes called upon my heart and powerfully in- tensified emotion. I am penetrated by something peculiar to great bodies of water which all my life has aroused images and sentiments curiously keen. Sunset and sunrise, moonrise and moonset, mystery and brightness and all shades of imperial light in early dawns; noon splendours, or twilight tints in completion and harmony of colour; in storm or calm or fog or mist, such beauty of colour as I have never seen elsewhere is in its amazing variety and rapid changes. So has it been for me a supreme note that nature has sounded — exhilaration flashing and disappearing in those changing surfaces and sounding waves — for- ever and forever it is music, dreamy music that moves in cadences and chords. Page 159 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Coming home for Easter and my Birthday, exultation in the free air, under the blue sky, on the smiling prairies and at last by the shore, it was as if liquid light was flung sky-ward from some unplumbed subterranean fountain, riches and heralds of joy heaping surplus upon abundance! After all we do not know the forces of nature — we consider life at a certain stage in too ideal or too practical a way. It is simply according to our own temperament and experience. So it is all, here, only the thought and feeling of a single individual; not bound or hampered, thus far in life neither saddened nor troubled, but freed by the circumstances and conditions of birth and surroundings. Love, true family love has its ebb and flow for love is of the spirit. At first I was too elate, too buoyant, too sanguine, too confident. It was like a dream that return home for the Easter vacation and my Birthday. The day was marvellously fine for March. The Lake, enormous in loveliness of dazzling sapphire blue, sang and sang a triumphant welcome. Mellow golden light that morning suffused everything, the very air was liquid gold. It was more than tonic. It had a quality of intoxication, a promise of plenty and a prophecy of victory. Spring so slow sometimes, so coy, had made great headway that year and was already in forecast. At home — at home — on my own upper balcony overlooking the Avenue and the Lake. All peace and fulfilment of hope. Father and Mother — Could it be only last July that I left them for Overseas with no misgivings? I had not hes- itated to leave the safe land for stormy ocean and an unknown shore, turning gaily from the home harbour to the heaving ship. And now I asked myself, in a sudden access of terror, how I could have ventured so far? It seemed years since that parting — that was July — this was March. Was it all only eight months ago to this glad morning of the nineteenth? I remember what clamoured in my heart as Mother piloted me up the broad winding stairway into the fourth story front room, all freshened and furnished for my pleasure. As I was about to step through the glass door on to the balcony I loved, she called, and pointed to a long box on the bed which I rushed to open. Lo! between its tissue sheets was an evening gown of shining silk; pale blue silk shot through and through with silver, shimmering, changeable blue and silver, that made one think of moonlight. "Oh Mother! it's like moonlight" I cried, as she lifted and shook it out for my entranced gaze. The skirt was all narrow flounced, each one edged and fringed from the silk itself, drawn out so that light itself seemed to mingle softly and melt and deepen its silvery effects. The pointed bodice, the elbow sleeves, low neck and long train, was, to my foolish fancy, a departure, a step upward in social life. Never before had I possessed such a frock — I must put it on without delay — turning and twisting I surveyed the effect in the glass and revelled in the novelty of sweeping or lifting that train. It was a very harmless but very thrilling amuse- ment. It was wonderful that Mother had sent to the New York dressmaker, who had my measures, to order a full evening dress! The mirror reflected a flushed and complacent face, as I surveyed its counterfeit in the glass, and while I thought that toilette extravagantly beautiful, I was secretly a bit uncertain and self- conscious, and doubted whether I could live up to its splendour, slipping out and reverently gathering up its foam of blue and silver I felt as if I had been garbed in moonshine. "It's the finest I ever had and fit for the Inauguration Ball in Washington" was my tribute. Things of unimportance with me had not fallen into their proper places and the frock almost threatened me with mental indigestion. Before I had ceased exclamations and acknowledgments, my Father joined us. There was in store for me a surprise that dwarfed all else. Opening the door into a hall bedroom, adjoining my larger one, he beckoned, and 1 stood on its threshold in speechless amazement. The room had been metamorphosed into a little study all done in green and rose, walls and carpets ami curtains all in those I'nyr !<>(> Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood chosen colours. The tempting lounge and easy chair, pretty desk-chair and Otto- man, upholstered to match. The bright fire in the little grate sent a glow over walls and furniture, and standing out above all to challenge admiration, was a carved rose-wood Secretary. Oh! that little Secretary! Unapproachable I thought, and more artistically beautiful than anything in that line seen before or since. Certainly, as I recall the throb of delight with which I looked, I know beyond all doubt never but once since have I gazed upon any gift that so moved me. The Birthday twenty years later when my Father handed me, with his blessing, the Deeds of my " Anchor- fast" gave me a greater degree of joy than any ever known before or since. His words ring now, as then, and will, while I have any sense of blessedness left me. He looked up at me smiling — "He will give thee the desires of thine heart." It was the same smile now as he pointed to the little Secretary, with its quaint carving, its shining surface, its fine Inlay, its secret drawers, its shelves, and its partitions large and small, all making that perfectly fitted beautiful rose-wood desk my greatest pride. There behind locked doors were my choicest books, and there I hid away later, my prized letters and private Journals. It was a treasure-trove. Alas! the Great Fire, ten years later that destroyed our home, reduced that and all other pos- sessions to ashes. Mine only for a decade, and I have mourned for it ever since. The many desks bestowed or purchased, have never equalled my flooding joy in that first one. As I looked at it that morning satisfied pride could find no words. "Oh Father! Oh Father! How good you are — How I love you — What a Father I have." And his answer at that moment crowns me now after sixty years, as it uplifted me then, when he drew me into his arms saying, "And I have the dearest daughter in the world." We entered the lovely little room which I boastfully called my "Penetralia" — and I — I was inoculated with delight. My feet were shod with a sense of the value of possessions, the day had become rapturous! Who could dream in the midst of exuberant satisfaction of partings and perils, of things catastrophic and dreadful? How was it possible with everything smilingly gracious and amply satisfying, all warmed and enveloped with love, to fear disaster or change, or hear a single beat of the distant drum? Death could not whisper then of its approaching harvest. So much comes back now as the memory of summer days come back in winter time. The memory of those times preceding the War when no one seemed burdened with stern anxiety, and life itself partook of the brightness and glory of sea and sky. They had planned for a "Surprise Party" to celebrate my so-called "Coming of Age". It was twelve years after the first entertainment when, with ambition stirred and nascent hospitality excited, I had fared forth proudly with permission to ask six, the number of my years, and egged on by a little companion, we had invited forty. It was a "real party" I wanted then, and this evening was to be the culmination of any such desires. It proved indeed a thorough success from every point of view. Comfort and cordiality was happily combined. To my partial eyes the table with its eighteen candles on the ornate Birthday cake, and all accompanying decorations, had a peculiarly brilliant effect. As the guests arrived, Elysabeth after expressing warm pleasure over the reunion, looked me over with a little twinkle, and remarked with her air of amused cynicism, "Plainly you have on your war-paint, as if for conquest." And Jessie Bross who joined us added, "I don't know which I love best, Nina or her clothes." Everyone appeared glad to see me, to think me all right, to be pleased with the feast. We all seemed to be talking, laughing, and eating in the midst of flowers. On all sides it was an ebullition of youth and its forces. A revelation of physical force, immaterial, invisible but sustaining, exciting and communicating itself in exchange of compliments, and sensations of pleasure so keen as to be almost novel in effect. Mr. Chandler had sent me beautiful flowers with a most generously worded note "hoping I was to stay longer at home this time, declaring I was missed, not only by family and outside friends, but especially by one who hoped to claim Page 161 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood eventually special privileges, a little more than friendship, if he might," and after that delicate flattery he "wished me all good" and signed himself my admiring friend. I can never forget those words of warmth and encouragement and kind prophecy that dreadful hour after Aunt Elisabeth's wedding, when I had over- heard such crushing comments. George Chandler was a man of unusual charm and courtesy, of nobility and undoubted standing — the ideal gentleman. His attitude toward me and kind attentions had always been a source of thankfulness and pride. When he ap- proached that evening, with smiling and conventional compliments, I felt suddenly as if I would like to give him that assurance of affectionate confidence which makes the real joy of friendship — which is its crown. But when earlier, I had been handed a finely bound copy in the original of Madame de Sevigne's Letters, and read on its title page in French, and in the donor's handwriting, "that the book really belonged to me as to one of her legiti- mate daughters," such a compliment from Dr. Bevan was overcoming! I was going from one surprise to another, and becoming rapidly and confusedly a sort of phenomenon to myself. It was a sensation of warm joy that went through me to feel communication re-established again between me and our distinguished phy- sician and friend. Often, someway, with him, insufficient as was the result of my studies under his guidance, I had always been made to reflect deeply in spite of myself, or my apparent lightness of nature. I had realized something wonderful with him, the transmission of thoughts without words, the intuitions, the power that another can acquire over us. He had seemed to set vision right by new currents of thought, by ideas in the air, by startling flashes of revelation that had made of me an adoring pupil. And how could he, so learned as to be wonderful, pay me a compliment of that order? Nature puts upon us all the sacred badge of birth, breeding, personality and bearing, but intellectual gain is something we acquire. Certainly I had achieved by worthy or serious work, very little indeed in that line. I was no scholar — and I hated to admit the truth — I was no honest student. I felt and knew that slight surface gifts of expression, a fair vocabulary and ease of speech, did not argue any real accomplishment or depth of knowledge; yet something visible distinguishes while it separates us from each other, or divides us from other classes or groups, and certain individuals radiate something that attracts and impresses whether they really have or not the gifts or endowments we credit them with. When I could secure a word of praise from that high source it had been worth effort because it appealed as highest good. So when Dr. Bevan asked kindly, after offering usual congratulations, "if I cared to read again under his guidance?" I felt the blood rush from heart to face — "Oh! when the school year is over, if only you would let us come? Why! I never learned half as much from any school or books before." "You have learned more than books can teach," he said kindly, and flushed and happy I felt confused with conviction of his interest and regard, and quickly added, "Oh you don't know — you can't know how I shall love to begin again — and Elysabeth too, will be overjoyed. I always wondered at your patience with me, she is so clever, I never can reach up to that height." "The Stars differ in magnitude," was his smiling reply as he gave way to other guests. Everyone so beautiful in kindness, so unstinted in jubilant expression! All was jollity and festivity but the consummation of delight was the appear- ance among late comers of my "Prince Charming". Heavens! What an honour! All the others dropped plumb into insignificance before this interesting and ex- traordinary youth, who alone could produce effects and sensations communicated from the peculiar magnetism that set him apart, and could arouse (.-motions of inward excitement that made me answer volubly all his courteous inquiries, and fancy him a little less impersonal than usual. Always before even if he looked at mc at all, it was as if he was looking beyond and not really at me. I suppose any girl is half in love with some sort of a Fairy Prince — and the tremendous impression of his distinction and unique charm of mind had never Page t6s Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood been effaced. If he had not really achieved what set him high and apart from all created men, the reins of my imagination gave him that preeminence and supremacy so that he held, still unknowing and uncaring, my whole fealty and emotional subserviency. He was nineteen when I first swung incense before that shrine and I — fourteen. Four years had not levelled him to the stature of the rest of mankind. He was the Super-man incarnating all the virtues. What would have been the effect if I had ever really known him? If he had really existed near at hand, and the ceremonials of every-day life occasionally lifted his crown to allow of hair-brushing and face-washing? But upon my mettle that night I wanted to assume him as a Tutelary Genius; in sanguine expectation — arrayed in my blue and silver splendour — I looked for his regarding me with an eye of favour. I was now of age legally. I was now a traveler. I was now a woman of the world — but alas! the art of attracting men I had yet to learnl argely, for a novice's effort could make but little headway with that high-minded, high-spirited, God-like youth, whose reserve and pride defeated itself as far as I was concerned! Mentality creates its particular at- mosphere that is immediately felt, and his wandering gaze and slight inattention stabbed me with keen disappointment. Yet I was ready to open out as never before to any other soul — I had never wished to share intimate experiences before. Now I wanted to tell the truth of that experience in Paris — I wanted to put him in complete possession of my deficiencies and the facts of my defeat. At bottom, I was comfortably sure I could imprecate myself without great fear of his full credence — for I had just heard him, in answer to my feverish remark on being delighted to see my friends again after such long absence — "Wonderful to have had a whole month in Paris under fortunate circumstances, but you were born fortunate, and you'll always be adorably young." Could I have heard aright? — but he covered it with a slight ironical smile and continued in a tone slightly chilled — "Much water has gone under the Bridge in these last years. No wonder you are changed and are slipping out of reach. Life's a queer mix-up, the more people we meet, the more places we visit, the more things we do improve us if they can be made profitable as well as pleasant." This to me was the height of wisdom. Solomon himself could not have said it so well. All the Ancient and Modern Philosophies were condensed in those platitudes — to me those wonderful and eloquent words! "Oh!" I said, inter- rupting that crystal flow of speech, unable to hide the eagerness with which I coveted a word of praise, "Oh! do you think I'm improved?" I had been caught up as in a whirlwind and did not distinguish those commonplace expressions from the higher feelings, the profound sympathy and ardent interest that draws into closer union — that transmutes everything into gladness and fruition — I was catching at straws, and trying to lean on broken reeds. Meantime with a half quizzical smile, he was answering — "Why you've gained, certainly you must — you must have had eye-openers — but improved — that isn't the word. Of course you've greatly changed, but degrees of improvement it would be presumption to mention. Who would dare to comment, discuss or ride the high horse here," with an amused glance around, "it's enough that one is richer ■in experience and older in years" — with a light manner not characteristic, that acted on my sudden appeal as if it were ashes to be scattered. • It is perhaps a misfortune that we do not know ourselves better and therefor can never measure the forces within us. There is no age when we may not foolishly or unwisely express ourselves, lose our poise, or fall into gulf or morass. And I — ardent, impetuous, enthusiastic, without judgment to balance intelligence, and give insight, was in the midst of an animated effort to prolong the attitude, and to hug myself in the Elysium of hope. I had sailed very near the wind, but I was not out of my depth. Love — Love, even an unfed flame like mine, being in its purity an Angel of Nature, had secured me in those few seconds of ordinary inter- change a divine moment. The Great Invisible had given it as if a phenomenon had just happened to us both. There are always invisible exchanges taking place Page 163 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and consequently the necessary transmission of images — and just then nature had seemed to want to put us together. In the midst of the real and the unreal there had been a revelation of that psychical force, immediate and invisible and based alone or created wholly by my own fancy. And you will agree that as he moved out of sight, and I was dropped from the summit it was being rather pitifully rewarded for unasked bestowments! Some way before, his indifference had never exasperated me. In his case it had not challenged me to defiance or any attempt to secure notice — I had accepted the fact — I never dreamed of blaming him for not caring — such was my profound reverence. I was too devoutly impressed with the conviction of a super-integrity that separated and made him sacred. Whatever first developes in the region of the emotions begins in the heart and not in the head, developes feelings into ideas and not ideas into feelings. I won't attempt to verify anything in my own case or attempt to get a non-rational thing rationalized. I am more profoundly impressed with the power of feeling than of reason or intuition, or learning or logic. It is in the heart where the spring of action lies hidden, and you — my young grand-nieces — if you have enough ardour and sympathy to comprehend, can join me now and let laughter pass over us like a happy wind! You know I had not then that real comprehension of life and humanity which is priceless and comes late in life if it comes at all. I could not know how to look at such things in their proper light. Existence itself is facile when trifles give delight. One may not care to grasp or understand but thoughts like memories live in us always. There had been no moral ravages, and the repairing or restoring the balance of vision gave me no lasting sorrow or any prostration then or after- wards. The sentiment that had bound me to the "dream" could not suddenly die out but the clearing of my faculties that evening was a marvelous step towards recovery. It was not extinction, but the positiveness of unreality, that no com- mensurate feeling for me could ever exist, which made something melt away; a something that prevailed in me to rise above the youthful pride that craved as- surance of approval; just as one in prayer arises without receiving the immediate uplift that is needed, and still lacks the reward of appeal or the return from a responsive intelligence. But certain sentiments always give out warm rays. It was a veritable glow that I had felt when bent upon pleasing him in the vein most tractable, ready with gratuitous and spontaneous offering — heart in outstretched hand — his won- derous condescension adequately furnished for the moment the basis for enthusiasm my spirit, or emotional energy of imagination and feeling, had required. With the sigh that follows ineffable beatitude my eyes were ready to tell a further tale, had not his vast presence been quietly withdrawn by the interruption of a voice at our side that doubtless gave the hero of my drama his coveted opportunity to seek other and less feverish listeners, or withdraw entirely from the madding crowd. By a miracle of perspective assisted by riotous imagination I followed his royal figure for a second, before startled and perplexed I realized Mrs. Doughty and her pretty daughter were talking, and that the magnetic current had been broken. It was too sharp a drop to give immediate attention to such details of small sublunary things, but in answer to my blank look I heard again — "Just think! I've been successful — I've just won your Mother's consent — You are going with us to Cincinnati — with my daughter and me to my sister's house-party." And pretty Mattie by her Mother's side, a bright light in her eyes and a deeper pink on the delicate checks added eagerly, "It will be line at Aunt Mary's, Nina, I'm so ylad you're going." It was Mrs. Doughty's interruption that reinstated me. Consciousness coming back to leave only a sense of possibly a great event reduced to the most ordinary commonplace, the whole being a source of no lasting import. Aiul all of this — not demanding explanation or elaboration has been dwelt upon at length because i he seemingly slighl episode was practically the last chance for any real under- /■. i 164 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood standing, calculated to encourage me, since they were practically his last words to me. In less than a month he was to pass out of sight forever in a blaze of patriotism and glory, and reminders now of my last lovely Birthday party for years, of that conversation and the kindness on every side, gives me fresh vigor of soul. After all as little of value as there was between that young Patriot and myself he left me an enchanting image to apotheosize, and as it brings his face before me the charm is always there clinging to my heart. Maturity comes a little slowly when protected from life by its outward routine and the unchanging love of Parents. I had always been protected by associations, by loyalty to familiar standards, and by my very deep affection for my own. It was an ample inheritance of ideas and ideals that Puritan Ancestry and my own more broad-minded Parents had endowed me with, so that I was not wholly without ballast or in any real danger of acting like a mad-cap. I suppose we persuade ourselves out of pure love of sensation — but Mrs.Doughty's words had pronounced an exorcism. Life was too transfiguring in promise not to renew my spirits. Three days after we were steaming towards Cincinnati. It was my first house- party and I was tense with anticipation. The City climbed heights. On the low-levels where it stretched and straggled it seemed enveloped in smoke. The winds could not blow that envisaging cloud of mist or smoke or fog, that veiled and hid in a sort of murk the vistas and views and thewinding or ascending streets. It was very grimy, and the lower town seemed contaminated with smirch and stain of soot. Chicago was crude, rough and young, and muddy in its up and down street levels; unfinished and slovenly, yes — yes, but not unclean enough to be defiled by its dirt. I secretly made comparisons with that older and more aristo- cratic City, warmed by my natural partiality, and surprised into sharp criticism by first sight and first impressions. I liked the picturesque effect of building on hills but nothing else. To enter the Kilbreth Mansion, spacious, dark, cool and comfortable to the point of luxury, cured me of all distaste and gave a fresh lease or fresh zest to the days. Its gracious mistress was more than cordial in her welcome to me, the only stranger of the party; charmingly genial, and before long I seemed almost to catch a glint of affection in her kind eyes. Mrs. Kilbreth would be recognized anywhere, and at first glance, as a personage of importance. She was always dignified and efficient, and her beautiful silvering dark hair crowned a countenance benignant, strong and sweet. She had a genius for making everyone comfortable, and her perfect ease and grace of manner and indulgent smile was peculiarly winning. Instinctive sympathy made her anxious that her handful of young people should find freedom as well as pleasure under her roof. It was in the tradition of her family neither to watch too closely nor to patronize openly. In all little things therefor, it was Liberty Hall; but with a chaperon delighted in, deferred to and honoured. One thing I noticed at once, Mrs. Kilbreth's adoration of her sons. It expressed itself in a happy sort of dependence upon the older, and an indescrib- able, joyous pride in the youngest — just then home from Harvard, where he had made good and ranked high. He had a few College mates hailing from Cincinnati who added frequently to the gay circle. Will Kilbreth was married; but fortunately under his Mother's roof much of the time. He was very impressive in appearance, suave and rather courtly in manner. His was a trained intelligence, alert and able, with a controlling hand on family and financial interests. His mind was quick if not as scholarly as his younger brother's. Jim Kilbreth was undoubtedly brilliant, sprightly and spirited. He was possibly hasty in decisions, and stubborn in holding to them, but he had a classified sort of intellect. If the older was slower and in action surer, it argued perhaps that he was the wiser, certainly the cooler in his judgments, and I've heard he made the fewer mistakes. But there was a fascination in the younger's clear-cut face, in his eloquent mischievous eye, his easy grace of bearing and low- pitched, clear voice. He was like his courteous, warm-hearted Mother, of whom I grew fonder every day. Page 165 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Two nephews made up the quartette of four men casually and constantly together as members of that household. They were fine looking twin brothers, Press and Jim Guthrie, of excellent family and faultless breeding. They dressed well and nothing disqualified them for position and favouritism, of which I saw they were well aware. They evidently had considerable general information and showed great interest in sport and society. I had never seen such tall, well de- veloped young men. They dwarfed other youths; far less lettered than their cousins; they were cut to such a knightly pattern, with such an easy, soldierly bearing, and yet for those stunningingly handsome Guthries, I never felt any twinge of sentiment. In twins there is said to be a curiously psychological twin- ship as well as the physiological likeness. The "Magnificent Two" were very much alike, puzzling to distinguish at first, and yet if one rivets thought on any single point of slight difference it will fix itself, and it is easy then not to mistake the one from the other. I never did after the first day, and our acquaintance lasted years. They survived the War with the record of bravery; and Press, my favourite, was one of the groomsmen at my cousin, Joe Evans' wedding, where as first bridesmaid, I was to stand with General Custer. I liked and respected those sons and nephews, and I felt more than passing satisfaction when in turn I was sought or singled out for kind attentions, or escorted to certain of the series of gay entertainments given for, and returned by that bright house-party. The two nieces, Mattie Doughty and Mattie Guthrie were beautiful girls. They attracted without effort and were not unduly conscious of their own fair- ness. The former seemed to know always how to make the most of herself, as sure of herself as if she owned the earth! Yet she moved and spoke without ar- rogance or assumption, and was at home in any situation whether rehearsed or unexpected. I think Mattie Doughty at that early stage of youth had an un- compromising sensitiveness, that accounted for a certain hard fineness and aloof- ness that did not allow her to come to terms with the claims of her fastidiousness, and admit of easily bridging over and adjusting differences. Such regnant beauty as hers was an impregnable stronghold; a fortress or citadel of confidence from which to view with rare assurance, or to dismiss with calm celerity, any who ap- proached or attacked, without the pass-word of her permission. She was more than a trifle impatient with thwarting conditions or circumstances, but soft in many ways and words, holding the admiration of different and divergent people. She was getting ready even then, and all unconsciously for the social prestige of a high position in Army circles, where the rank and generalship of her popular husband gave her vantage ground that enabled her to eclipse and take precedence, and by great charm to attract and endear many in that critical set, who otherwise would have remained unfriendly and as rivals. I realized when I met her long years after at Fort Sheridan, as the wife of its Commandant, how her exquisite refinement and developed graciousness had fitted her to adorn the post. Her cousin, Mattie Guthrie, was of the recognized family type, with family tradition of good looks above the average, but on a far more delicate scale. She was very dainty, very fair, but small as to height and impressiveness. Artists would hail her merit for the canvas with acclamation, while yet to perpetrate upon canvas that ethereal sort of loveliness would defy the brush. Subtlety of modelling, and a rare spirituality gave value to face and features. She was touched by some inward flame, and without understanding it, I answered to the flash, for she too, had a share in that biggest of all gifts, indescribable and irresistible charm. Those long-lashed blue-grey eyes, grey or blue, of the greyest or bluest as sentiment or sensation dictated, under black pencilled eye-brows were worth looking at, and the hair, a fleecy dark cloud against her low white brow, framed the pale yet slightly rose-tinted face exquisitely. She was indeed like a flower — and not long to bloom in our cold earth. She wore what I could never recognize and had never seen before — the look of those about to pass early. She or Fate was to crowd seasons of leadership and loveliness into a relatively short one 01 years. There was occasionally a roguish li.u'ht in her Bmiling glances, bul more often they wore a brooding look, ai times appealing, even pathetic. The subtle i (id Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood sweetness, shrinking shyness, yet tenderness in face, and tenderness in voice, was never wholly lost. They were so unlike, those two Matties, but a joy to look at — they were living poems. The one had no coquetry in her, and yet in the game of life played there in miniature, the victory was oftener in the former's hand. I remember how I loved to watch them, their words, their slightest gestures had fascination, and often looking at them I felt my eyes were no longer enough for the looking and admiring. I was so moved and gladdened at sight of my old room-mate, Florence Foster, still more mature, and if possible more brilliant. How proud I felt that notwith- standing her superior years and superior attainments, the intimate school as- sociation at Van Norman's had created a tie that bound us together. I rejoiced on arrival to learn she had been a favourite there for years, and in her position as a specially prized friend, had won privileges, as well as the undoubted affection of our discerning hostess. I found her growingly congenial; no sentimentality and little apparent sentiment, but everything in her tended to quicken percep- tion and render her more speculative and deliberate. Her depth of thought, the workings of her mind showed that association of ideas which results in the exer- cise of reason and judgment. She never gave the feeling of youth, impulse, or immaturity. She was not enthusiastic. It was always the thinking principle, head not heart. She was so constituted that the intellectual was strongly empha- sized and the emotional seldom brought into play; at least it did not come to the surface. To her whatever was worth attention was worth profound attention; intellectual force exercised itself in every sign of individuality. She was in a sense agnostic, but no one could dwell near without seeing and feeling her splendid principle and aspirations toward a higher life. I believed her brain communed with knowledge and that she was driven with desire to know more; always filled with the restlessness of search or the urge of ambition. Hers seemed to be a super-excellence, and before she left this world, right in her earliest prime, I met and saw a good deal of her in London, four years later. She was suffering, and disease was beginning to lay her youth in ruins. I had heard she was ill, but I was shocked at the change and suddenly near to tears. She saw it and smiled reassuringly — "Why worry about me? — We are all on the same road — one early — another late. What difference in the end?" Hers was indeed a brave and gallant spirit, and I recognized something more than self control; a greatness in her that stirred new admiration and deeper tenderness. I learned from precious confidences how she had always worked and loved with silent but passionate energy. After all the glory of life does not lie in its length. And one thing she said then which summed up her whole attitude mental and moral. "We must cling to our ideals even though we go down with them. Our dreams are whatever our lives are not. Tell me your life and I will tell you your dreams." She was always self possessed, calm, courageous and steady-eyed, thinking her own thoughts and something in my soul moved its wings as she talked to me out of her deepest heart. Once, speaking of Evanston and some early mutual experiences during the Foster Presidency, and their social regime there, she said something that was her farewell and it echoes today. "Think of me sometimes when you look at those wonderful lights on the waters of your Lake, or the red sunsets blazing their royal road across those Western prairies. Life? Why it is Sunrise and Sunset — and that is all there is." — At that unforgettable House-party, however, of which I write, we two were the only ones not connected by close family ties, but no one could feel out of touch with those home people. It was a house brimming with hospitality and unstinted friendship and I was never out of my element there. I felt always connected with their world, although the various elements, common elements with which we all have share, seemed to me then inconceivably varied. I remember many details of that party, for soon followed the War, whose "distant drum" was already beating; and after that conflict was ended, there followed nearly three years in Europe which broke up many old associations and formed many Page 167 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood new ones. But now from a certain number of incidents, bright in recollection, I will select two that more than pleased me and still sit softly on my vanity. The second evening after my arrival my Hostess motioned me one way to the bounteous board where she presided, and whispered with a questioning look — "I've found out you're sympathetic, and I'm going to inflict a forlorn young man on you tonight. It happens he comes occasionally, and I make him welcome to my table; but he is in a sense out of it; that is, not one of us, and he has lately become a butt for the wit of my girls who are bored to death. I've interested my- self enough to help him in his Mission work, and Heaven knows he needs assistance. Do give him a decent time." And before I could assent or even smile, I found my- self seated by an undersized, very tired and decidedly shabby looking little man. He was timid, awkward and silent, and something in him stuck out and struck me as exaggerated almost to the confines of caricature. There was no modifying atmosphere or shadows; everything was salient and sharp, for however speechless, he seemed in some sense violent; so savagely uncomfortable and so wholly out of touch with surroundings. Peculiarities of appearance, character and circum- stance stuck out all over him and appeared to knock against things. He tried not to seem angry and not so aggressively material, but always and definitely so non-elastic as to be an impossible alien. He shocked one's sense of the fitness of things, and would undoubtedly have suffered an access of amazed regret had he realized how his own individuality and attitude of criticism accounted for much ignoring, for grudging antipathy and a constantly lessened notice. He misunderstood, was misunderstood, and suffered proportionately. He was less to blame than they could believe who only felt, without power or desire to analyze, his strange state of chaotic tension, and the fanaticism of extreme ortho- doxy and consequent intolerance. Mrs. Kilbreth in her kindness and strong- souled sympathy not only kept him under observation; but proved herself a bene- factress socially as well as financially. Her own religious convictions and spiritual generosity of vision gave her a broad view and keen interest in Missionary labours and labourers. She was in the highest sense religious and against her own faith and deeds there could be no invidious presumption. But the blindness or narrow- ness in him made for prejudice and a morbidly active stubbornness. He knew nothing of the bird-life which our Hostess lived, his eyes were upon the earth, hers upon the stars! The projections in him were somehow sent out whenever he was at the party, and those incalculable wireless messages of antagonism, and spiritual disdain acted and re-acted. To be plain, the Rev. Andrew S. Smith, was inevitably disliked and consequently avoided. And behold! My role assigned was to make that poor creature feel at home. I was aware of the glances of amusement and playful derision cast in our direction, which, if it roused some inward chagrin, equally determined me to pull that stick out of his deep-rooted reluctance to play the game, or to open his mind and heart to gratify, as he thought, the curiosity of such hampered and despicably worldly beings. He didn't tantalize mine, nor rouse either interest or curiosity for a moment. The point was, whether I could allure or tempt or excite any desire for less turning up of the nose or seeing spots in the sun! I set myself the task of arousing a good knife and fork hunger in him for something besides the edibles he was giving such undivided attention to — and actually, for tidings of another Mission, which I drew in picture for his entertainment, figuratively his mouth began to water. I told in lively tones all about Mr. Kean's remarkable work in that Field, and enlarged upon the School in Chicago where I gained much personal experience, I assured him, as I had taught there at intervals for years. That stirred swift response — "Do you mean that you — you have worked in the Mission Field, that you know and have answered to its sacred calls and claims?" He wavered — he opened out — he finally glowed, and he had a kindling quality that assured one of sincerity. 1 [e talked much and rapidly of his work, and before we rose from the table in surprising approach to enthusiasm, he "begged my con- sent to visit his school, if he could extract a promise from Mrs. Kilbreth to allow am! arrange for it the following Sunday ". /• t68 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood And sure enough she quite approved, laughed as we started on the day ap- pointed, and said merrily, "Why you must have bewitched him — that poor fellow; he acted daft, hankering with an eagerness and ardour I have never seen him mani- fest before. Why! he was almost impetuous in his appeal to bring you. Really to arouse breathless impatience in Andrew is to change the leopard's spots! You were a magnet, and he's becoming a cormorant." It was uninteresting and a very old story to me, but the little minister was most solicitous, and he showed such delight in our visit, that once or twice he almost lost self-possession in his anxiety to impress us. I had to appear responsive, but I had to calculate my Own words for I did not want to hurt him, or to let slip by inexactness or inattention my own distaste. I felt the danger of being caught napping while he explained and emphasized and pointed out so eagerly, but Oh! I rejoiced when it was over, and I did not let the grass grow under our feet after the hurried good-bye, as in spirit, I wanted to skip and jump with joy that it was all behind us. Six months after, the Fall of that same year, when I had almost forgotten his name, I received a letter with no apology, explanation or single reference to make clear the situation, or to prepare me for the calm assurance of his tone, and the astonishing proposition that he made with such gravity and confidence. When I looked at the signature, A. S. Smith, it actually took a few seconds to recall and realize the identity of the writer. It was all unbelievable, and I am ashamed to admit that I was so lacking in sympathy and understanding, that in a flash of curious indignation, I resented what never once suggested itself as a compliment. The little minister assured me "that he would never have dared to speak, if he had not laid the matter repeatedly before the Throne of Grace." He assured me, "he had wrestled with the Angel of The Lord, and The Lord Himself had finally answered. He joyfully believed that he had authority from on High, to ask me to unite my life with his. He knew that we could serve in the Vineyard very happily together. He had no doubt of my great qualifications for service and self-sacrifice," and said finally — "that he awaited my full comprehension of his faithful devotion and the wisdom of his choice — Awaiting a hoped-for favourable reply to his faith in offering me heart and name, he was ever, Faith- fully mine, A. S. Smith". It would have been better, I thought cruelly, had he signed himself simply, A. S. SJ A veritable wave of indignant surprise swept over me foolishly. It struck me as an impertinence rather than an absurdity, and yet, sincerity it must have been. I am humiliated to remember that I saw nothing simple and sincere in that density of vision and I scorned what was, however blind and stupid, certainly intended as a personal tribute. I failed in kindness as well as appreciation. I hastily wrote a brief curt note suggesting the wisdom of his having consulted me before he had wasted so many prayers! I emphatically declared that he had en- tirely mistaken any Divine permission to address me in that fashion; that he was evidently not privileged to receive special signs from Heaven, and I herewith returned his letter. The sense of humour that lasts longest and heartiest when one laughs at one- self, is one of the best features of its saving grace. They say that very few men can do it and fewer women; but one who can learn in far later life to laugh at oneself can afford to, and that power came to me at last. When we returned to that lively group that Sunday evening, my entrance to the drawing room was the signal for considerable chaffing, "How is Saint An- drew? We'll have to lock the doors or he'll come too often," cried one, and another piped up, "Oh, it's child's play! no great shakes to stir up that nonentity," and immediately the sportive ones began to imitate the poor young minister, which exhilirating amusement called for defense of the absent subject. "He may seem stupid, but he's good at bottom — he's straight and he's con- scientious." "Virtue is not always enticing," spoke up one. "Tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum," said another. Page i6q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "He's not only unattractive, he's repellant — boorish — uncouth," cried a voice, and against the laughter I tried to break water — "Anyway he's consistent and he's anchored to something. What if he is incompatible here? He's no simpleton even if he is clumsy," I spluttered on with unnecessary vehemence. "A fine champion, lucky fellow!" and I recognized the nature of the gentle- man in Jim Kilbreth, morally and physically, his clean mind, warm spirit and tender heart. He was so kindly and easily interested that he always seemed to me a desirable comrade. He was a treasure of manly qualities, strong to stubborn- ness where his emotions were concerned, and blind and deaf he proved himself to all appeals of family and friends, after he had been captured by one, who to them all seemed a Sorceress. Alas! that his fealty was yielded to one superior in years, a widow with several children, a French woman in whose boarding house this beloved son and brother, with two or three other fellows of his class, had found shelter for a certain period. And fastidious Jim Kilbreth, strangely enough, succumbed to charms that no one else could ever understand. It was a great tragedy and nearly broke his Mother's heart. He was cut off from the family but he was too strong in mind to ever be wholly downed; he suffered terrible dis- advantages in the lack of assistance, as well as in his full knowledge of the grief and futile rage of those who loved him best. It was devotion to a dream that brought such sorrow upon them all. But none could have imagined in that glory of his early youth that he would have to fight his way alone; and who knows in what grief and despair; to ultimate success in his profession, to his distinction and the popularity attained as a highly respected and able Judge. And now just listen, Children, to something amazing and very delightful for me to have heard, after sixty years of ignorance of the possibility of such a com- pliment. It chanced that a near relative of that family I had not seen for half a century called upon me very lately, and aproposof our reminiscences astonished and delighted me by saying that the beloved' Mother had paid me the highest tribute a Mother could after my return home — confiding to her sister, the Mother of the speaker, her secret hope. "I fairly coveted that girl for one of our own. I had hoped one of the boys would have recognized and won her." Heavens! I promptly forgot my fourscore years as I listened, and I began to wonder myself that no one there had yielded to my fascinations! And why on earth couldn't Jim Kilbreth have taken a fancy to me? I didn't know his Mother would have liked it, but at this late date I think I should! So you see eighty years doesn't change a human being so much — at least it doesn't change me. It must have been about that time that I remember and someway felt that I had gained favour with dear Mrs. Kilbreth. I mean that her manner and warmth at times were unmistakable, and I recall a merry little incident that was perhaps embarrassing for a second, but in a sense very comforting as well as amusing. It was on an occasion when the men were off for a whole day and evening, that they were making exceedingly demonstrative farewells, and Mrs. Kilbreth said, exchanging amused glances with us, "We're not going to miss you — Don't natter yourselves, I've made some fine plans." At this the young men became uproarious in further declarations and embraces. "Good-bye — Good-bye, Aunt Mary," and she threw her arms about them in turn with genuine and open af- fection. The sight someway stirred me as she laughed at their kisses — "Now that's enough — Oh go away, children" — and in a sudden heat of admiration, I spoke impetuously: "Oh! I wish I could call you Aunt Mary — " and instantly her quick look at me, her humorous smile and gracious wave of the arm pointed to and included the whole group of sons and nephews, as she answered with a meaning that brought the blood from heart to face, " You can". I fell the blush but swiftly took in the humour of it all, and met the laughing comments of the quartette with flippant answers to their mocking appeals for me to choose! They were all so jolly and natural and in all their pleasantries or satires never really overstepped the mark. To return to that Sunday evening, after all their raillery about my \isit to the Mission School and the implied devotion of the young Missionary. There Pa - //" Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood was a caller present who had been often spoken of and his arrival anticipated and looked forward to as the means of much pleasure. He had great possessions, and he was something of a sportsman, and I heard a strange voice ask, "Who was the fortunate chap that you've been placing a Foolscap on?" — As I heard the question, I noticed a man who rose and came forward to be introduced. Of medium height, dark, rather good-looking, but not comparable to the quartette I had foregathered with for days under that roof. He wag not in the least ordinary, and I noticed immediately the correctness of his dress. He was apparently not one of those persons who feel it necessary to let you know their importance or way of thinking. That popular bachelor, Mr. Emery, had an agree- able smile, was pleasant, affable and plainly fastidious. I had caught an expression of astonishment or amusement when I met his eyes, and I verily believe he would hardly ever have noticed me but for those attacks and my defense of the absent young clerical. We began to get on amazingly, and he impressed me at once as unwilling captive to conventions, or routine, or even social responsibilities. I did him the immediate injustice of believing human interest or sympathies would be like shadows, remote and having small power to hold him. The pallor of his countenance was peculiar, upright in figure but not of robust appearance, his sallowness indicated what his fine looking body denied, that he was not strong. He was reported influential and successful and must have created for himself some special interests in life. I wondered what they were outside the home and possessions, and the style of luxury in which I was told he lived. Out of pure mischief afterward, Mrs. Kilbreth whispered, "You shall have the most eligible parti in Cincinnati tonight, to reward you for martyring your- self at my request with the Rev. Andrew," and I found myself at supper seated beside the guest of the evening. I had no idea I was deliberately being given a chance against the Queen-ship of beauty. They had spoken often of his wonderful trap and horses, and I was well aware of the merry wager laid as to which of the fair nieces would ride first behind the famous Tandem-team. The Kilbreth cousins had promised five pounds of candy to the fair one who secured the first innings, and in any case, as opinion was divided, candy enough was certain for the winner and loser alike. There was no cold silence at the Kilbreth table, no dreary pauses, no false notes; lively conversation on all sides and more or less superficial brilliancy. And that special evening all were animated and a trifle watchful. I cannot reproduce such rosy coloured hours, but they gave a sensation of good luck. When Mr. Emery politely asked me "what Mission school had been referred to with such hilarity?" The conversation began rather languidly and threatened to bore us both. I felt lack of real interest while attempting some spirited rejoinders, and I fortunately changed the subject. I made inquiries as to his late European trip, with reference to my own limited experience of travel abroad. He roused when I added — "that at least I'd had wide experience in crossing on a sailing vessel instead of a steamer." He loved the sea, and it was like a flash in a tinder-box, as interested questions and answers rapidly followed each other. He declared "he'd always wanted to go over in a sailing vessel," and the talk grew fast and furious in mutual picturing of life at sea. He began to give minute attention to every detail of my description, and I experienced, while retailing what I could remember that was diverting or laughter provoking, an extraordinary lightness of head and spirit. I was flushed and elated and a bit physically overwrought as Mr. Emery's manner became more intent and absorbed, and was no longer the unsteady look that indicates indif- ference. But when someone interrupted us to ask for further description of my exper- ience at Mission schools, I took stock of myself by turning a deaf ear, and declaring that "I wasn't on firm ground there, as they themselves had shown me that I couldn't reckon myself a judge of human nature, and was not always very sensible in my conclusions." I noticed a change in my table companion, and that without Page iyi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood any idea of humour in the situation, he was quite ready to play upon awakened sensibilities. I relapsed into silence, and Florence on his other side sparkled enough to bewilder any listener. I don't know precisely how it happened — We were all merry and general enough, but to the evident enjoyment of sons and nephews, and, bewilderment at the note of admiration in his closing words that evening, I heard a courteous entreaty for me to drive the next afternoon behind the much discussed Tandem with its owner. Mr. Emery assured me that "It would give him great pleasure to show me the far-famed and beautiful suburbs of Cincinnati." "Nina has scored", laughed Florence, as the hero of the evening made his urbane compliments and bowed himself out, and after speeding the parting guest, the men rushed up to bow and scrape and pretend to doff the cap, and present arms to me! "A ten strike, I should call it," said one, and "Gracious! Goodness! and Mercy on us, can such things be?" It was killingly funny the way they went on, with upturned eyes and extended arms; "What do you say to that?" and almost choking with laughter, I added my own note, and joined in the general chorus, "Dear me! only think! Who would have believed it? — Where am I? — My hair is standing on end!" "Good sport," said the men, "You deserve it, he's to be envied," and the lovely Matties who could hold court anywhere, and counted their admirers by the score, were as smilingly sportive as the others. They did not in the least mind being counted out for once on an invitation which they could easily afford, without missing, in their socially triumphant course. So it did chance that, under delightful conditions, I was shown a beautiful country-side and wonderful estates, and had unforgettable drives with that agree- able companion. Mr. Emery made them delightful enough to remember always with satisfaction. Something unusually belligerent in the Southern Press, or some suggested compromise in Northern Journals, had excited the men of that household. It was my last evening with them, and I can well recall the talk, unquiet, agitated, an almost inflamed talk. It gave me the first startled suggestion of impending trouble in the body politic. If not always the exact words, their full import and substance returns clearly. I was to leave for home the next morning, and in the light of after events, I was long to remember what I heard there. It chanced that young Longworth, who dropped in often, another of Jim Kilbreth's class mates, and Mr. Emery, were among the callers. Our own quartette of men had flung out personal and prideful challenge, when the contention in Congress, the bitterness of Southern opposition, and widely varying view points, were being discussed. "How could a few States question the superiority or right of the majority to rule?" One instantly felt the sharp criticism in their attitude of resentment, and in the heat of their indignation, my astonished ears for the first time heard the word — "War" — actually spoken of as possible and very probably the only settlement for the disgruntled South. "I grant that if War comes, the North will fling every- thing into the fight," said one of our visitors quietly, "but it is an unbelievable state of things, the very idea of conflict between different parts of one Country." "One thing I'll swear — we'll shoot like Hell when we've learned our bearings, and the drum is tapped," interrupted one of our martial twins. Patriotism as they expressed it seemed suddenly more than a sentiment; flung out in the hot words of those young men, it was ethical as well as emotional. It was a pledge of the Union, of stability and the impossibility of division. "It is hideous to think of Secession — they can't break the- Union — Rebellion is in- credible." "Perhaps they can't," snapped a voice above that declaration, "but they can threaten, and they keep finding new and constant causes ot complaint. \\ '■ were blind to their actions and insolenl efforts to prevent Lincoln's Inaugura- tion, and they are blinded by passions and raging at defeat. They are out oi touch will: their own Country." "We are Democrats here," said another, "and Pagi 17- Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I suppose no one voted for Lincoln, we didn't want him, but that we've got to endure." "And he'll need a heart of steel and will of iron to carry on the outrage of Civil War," spoke up Florence Foster. "My Father is a Virginian by birth, and his sympathies are not with the present Government. We don't at all agree on this question — he thinks the attitude of the South natural; natural or not, I say it is wrong. They have always dominated, they have always had Leaders, they have always ruled, and they think they possess the land. The whole situation is not without pathos; but they are overdoing independence. I told my Father it would be "Onward Christian Soldier" with a vengeance; no mistake about what is inevitable unless a change of heart ensues. The South will have to submit, but they won't do it without a struggle. It's a bitter cup for them, and they'll kick it over before they'll drink." "Their attitude of national supremacy is maddening," answered Will Kilbreth. "Indeed I think it has lasted long enough," he continued, "Self preservation is the first most righteous law of a Nation's life." "I could wish we had a better Pilot in command of our Ship of State with such storms brewing," added one of the callers. "And I should think so," interrupted a young fire-brand, "That rail-splitter; typical coarse Western product — ignorant as he is awkward. I saw him at the Inauguration last month, speech sounded well, but I bet it was written for him. He is palpably inexperienced, he's terribly ungainly, and what can such a man do to hush all this clamour?" Although I knew no marching tune, no Battle song, some unexpected chord throbbed, and I, too, heard the distant drum, and I spoke up impetuously, my heart leaping into my mouth. "Mr. Lincoln has a fine record already, didn't he down Douglas? And he's not ignorant nor inexperienced. My Father says he has qualities of judgment and firmness of character that prove wisdom in a tight place, and no one doubts his self-control and probity. The people of Illinois believe he has Statesmanship too, anyhow we all have faith in him. He'll stand up straight in the face of opposition. Of course he wrote his own speech, how ridiculous! I can't bear to hear him belittled. He was nominated by acclamation, and I lost the sight of a life time in not being with my Father at the Wigwam. Oh yes! He may lack polish, but he's powerful and he's honest, and his Party believes that they have found the man for the place." I saw serious faces as I expressed my immature but grave convictions. That talk of War was preposterous, but the insolence of speech in Congress, the haughty rebellion against the right to have Mr. Lincoln as President, when he was the choice of the majority, ought to be silenced at any cost. "It ought to be stamped out," I ended with heat. "It will be." I heard in Jim Kilbreth's clear accents. He had always, when he spoke, a great deal of magnetism. He was eloquent when at all moved and in some way judicial even then. The kindness he had invariably shown me, was magnetism in itself. "Well if it ever really becomes a question of Union," spoke up some one gravely, "we certainly can't safely differ; we'll have to go for them, and they'll get whipped." That second all was silenced by Mrs. Kilbreth's quick objections. "I don't understand all this excitement — this talk — What is it all about, or why has it come up? You are unsheathing swords with no call to arms — all this boasting and drum-beating for nothing! You young men have more the metal of warriors than of peaceful and useful citizens. Do turn about, and forget political differences, they'll smooth themselves out. Unseemly threats sound foolish, and it's un- necessary turbulence; such disputes are uncalled for. Who cares how we voted? Lincoln's in, and he's got to be supported, nobody really dreams of breaking down the Government; dancing and music is a far better occupation than all this idle talk of brothers fighting brothers. Heaven grant we may never live to see such horrors." Wind and play — and wind of War! The change in the atmosphere was in- stantaneous. In that household all were young and attractive. Ah! Little they dreamed Page 17 3 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood of what was so close at hand — that the pictures they had drawn were far less lurid than the immediate reality. Those light-hearted, care-fee, well-bred contented people, who were so soon to be subjected to severe tests and to bear no small part of the strain and sting of War. And as we turned to light interchange and enjoyment of the hour, pleasantries, all seemingly safe, all panoplied and pam- pered with prosperity, who could imagine they would be called to prove their own words; and so to prove that creature indulgences cannot make cowards and laggards, and never traitors to their convictions, when there is the underlying granite of character and loyalty. They were Simon-Pure Americans through and through, and the first drum-beat that called on Patriotism and self-sacrifice was answered without any pause for personal comfort, or thought of personal safety. The atmosphere of that House-party left its ineradicable mark by awakened desires to be liked; by opening new doors to new friendships; by increasing familiar- ity with social usages; by widened views, and enlarging acquaintance with or knowledge of our time, as all adventuring into new fields is bound to do. And that week the sun shone, the birds sang, the flowers cast their fragrance on the smoke-laden air and it was as if we all knew that there was naught in the world save happiness. The beauty of those days before the War, thank God! continued to touch my soul. Their morning bloom is not wholly lost. It differs each day; but memory continues to enrapture me. I am taking a bath of Girlhood. It is delicious and gives a sensation of fresh life. I forget present reality, and even intervening years, as I write. I still find and feel in myself those ardent youthful impulses. But I realize now the brief duration — the duration of all exquisite things. Yet have I determined to take to the end my capacity for enjoyment, and in this mysterious process of recall and reaction, this work I am doing for you, my Children, I gain refreshment. When we are young we dream our dreams. When we are old we philosophize about them. It is a privilege age covets to show and share joys and sorrows, hopes and dreams, even the disillusions known to its experience. Oh! if the young would care to listen, would once understand the old who have not forgotten "Where the brook and river met," it would indeed ease and illumine the shadowed years of those who are soon to leave us. Listen my dear ones, for Time passes now like the wink of an eye! THE ANSWERING SWORDS Well I remember that as we neared Chicago after the week in Cincinnati, March in its last days was still like A-Iay. It was a sort of clear expressive sunlit loveliness. Spring was in the air, spring that was to make the summer — and there seemed a breathing witching presence everywhere. There was no sorcery — no threats— no peril anywhere — nothing to remind one that sharpening swords, des- perate battles and driving storms were close at hand. Nature breathed her mystic perfume and heady wine into us, and all seemed softening and sweetening as one looked lightly or watched keenly that ever shifting loveliness of earth's panorama. And Oh! to see again the silvery blue surface of the Lake, sparkling and beauti- ful beyond measure. And when I was anchored again in the home harbour, prompted by sympathetic interest to enthusiastic recitals of gratifying experi- ences, the mental glow became physical. It whetted all enjoyment and gave a sort of witchery to recollection. I certainly did my best to lend colour and reality to accounts of the Kildreth household and their persuasive attractiveness — "Honeyed words" — Father interpolated laughingly — "Joyful face and sparkling words are easy to captivate." "But — Oh Father! it was easy to hug oneself, living in clover!" Among letters and cards and invitations waiting, that put me into immediate contact with our small outer world, was one I thoughl very beautiful. The writer, cold and clever and remote for long, had grown amazingly generous and gentle, always making mc feci her regard as a new income of treasure. She had begun Pagt 1 71 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood a charming and characteristic note received in Cincinnati — "Dear Butterfly," and to my protest at the name, declaring in answer that I was not always as light and shallow as I might seem, and that "Butterflies never were cross or had colds," the graceful response, playful and humourous, and in the most delicate way reminiscent and suggestive, signalized her own dainty fancy and sensitive spirit. It could not enshrine me because I did not deserve it. I had cut a sorry figure with her at first and discredited myself, so that I could not be vain now in shining forth a figure that had acquired honour in her golden opinion. It did not exalt me at all — but Oh! I was delighted as I read — "Inappropriateness in the name of Butterfly I find none; a little poetic license must unquestionably be allowed, to debar you from enquiring too carefully into the perfect exactness of the re- semblance between yourself and the airy type of immortality! Perhaps they don't take 'colds' — granted — I saw one last Wednesday morning, as I went into town, that did not intend to take cold if exercise would prevent it. Through the dull and sunless air, dividing the murky dun and grey clouds of coal-smoke puffing from our engine, holding its way even against cold currents, making it waver sideways but not checking its steady upward motion, it went on as long as I could see it; impatient of the mist, trying to reach a sunbeam no doubt, and spread its microscopic feathers and Ethereal gold to dry in it; / was thinking of a girl I knew in Chicago.'''' And why there was such active grace in her idealiza- tion, forces me to tell what it will always humiliate me to look back upon. The teacher, Miss McClintock, whose regard I won last year; whom, when back from New York, I had first treated to an exhibition of impatience and snob- bishness that was inexcusable. I am ashamed to remember how I misinterpreted and repelled her by rudeness and lack of discernment for she treats me now as if I were a clever lovable child, and there is the true ring of sincerity and affection in words and look. What that first unfortunate interview lost me, and what afterward I sought so long to win back, took my best weapons and the best front of courtesy I could assume whenever with her. The evident estimate, the dis- taste that seemed aversion was a reproach, an invitation that I had challenged and had to suffer in consequence. I was taken down a peg or two, and constantly disconcerted with what I exposed myself to whenever I made the slightest advance. It all happened that first Sunday when Mr. Kean sent an old ramshackle hack, to take me over to his Mission. He had written a note of welcome home and regretted he could not call for me as usual. I remember I hated the whole idea anyway, and I hated going back to such sordidness and commonness, such a step down from New York associations and the gay surroundings and ease and luxury at the Sims. I know I was horribly uncomfortable and willfully incon- siderate of everything and everyone, as I donned the well-worn suit set aside for that place and that sort of work. Mr. Keane's letter "entreated me to take hold of the Plough again without delay — the Field demanded Labourers, the Harvest always waiting, and a class ready for me. He needed me sadly, The Lord's Work was waiting for my hand, head and heart." I hadn't the courage to tell him that I was dead tired of it all. I knew he'd look at me with sorrowful eyes, think I was a lost soul who had gone down by the cold streams of Babylon, which I certainly had if backsliding was synonymous. And so I got ready for the fray, that Sunday afternoon, in a nasty, hard, selfish spirit, ready to show discourtesy to the first object that presented itself. When I climbed into that worn-out looking vehicle, wheels all caked with mud, driver slouched, and dirty horses thin and half-starved, I fairly recoiled. On the high-backed seat sat a stiff tall severe looking woman in shabby black, for whom I felt an instant antagonism. My ugly spirit immediately found a vent. She must have realized antipathy, for she had not even given me a conventional greeting or a smile. It was hardly the most distant nod, which I returned in one stiffer, if possible, with the remark, "Certainly this is about the most miserable conveyance I ever saw, not fit for respectability to drive in." Her countenance looked forbidding, and at absence of all response, I continued haughtily, "But perhaps it suits the Cause or the place we are going." Page 175 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood She gave me a frigid stare and remarked drily, "In my opinion any sort of conveyance is more than the unappreciative deserve, and most of the people, who merit far better, have none at all." Neither spoke again until Mr. Kean meeting us at the Mission entrance, "Hoped we'd had a comfortable drive?" "Very uncomfortable," I shot forth icily, as my companion alighted without a backward glance or word to the Super- intendent. "Very disagreeable," I repeated, indicating with a shrug her rapidly retreating figure. "You will have to drive me home," in answer to his markedly warm greeting. "Of course I counted on that," was his instant and significant rejoinder, which my question fretfully ignored — "Who is she anyway?" "That's Marion McClintock," and the last name by force of contrast made me smile, as I conjured up Gussie's slim elegance, haughty grace and the unfor- gettable distinction and serenity of her farewell to me, when I left Paris in such humiliation and disappointment. That picture arose and stood beside me as he continued. "Why! she's a Pub- lic School teacher, very religious, very capable, Scotch, rigidly conscientious and a great "find" for me. She is loyal to the school and whoever and whatever else she cares for. They say she nearly supports her Parents, and they are all poor but an awfully proud set. Did you notice those few flowers she carried? The little ones of the infant class she handles splendidly and they are getting crazy about her. Someone said she had window-boxes, and a little patch of ground she tried to make bloom, she loves flowers so passionately." Something rushed over me. The essence of beauty worship is among flowers and trees, blossoms and birds, birds and butterflies, in fields and meadows and mountains and lakes, and in all the poem pictures of the sky. The more I thought of it after I got home, the worse I felt. And when I heard Father's beautiful voice singing some of the grand sweet old hymns he loves, as he often does Sunday evening, I realized a loveliness of soul in him, that was full of the beauty of holi- ness, sanctified by a salvation that uplifted. In my Father was constantly manifest a gentleness and patience that spoke of kindness toward all, as well as the steadfast relying, immovable faith that is lent to the faithful for every extremity. It is strange, but it is not in the brim- ming melody, or swinging rhythm, or any fantastic convolutions of sound that I feel the religious appeal. It is in Father's voice, far more than in the Hymn suited to worship or peculiar to his character and belief: more after all, than in any of the glorified chants of the Church, is the swift response to his character and speech, the lesson of his every-day life. " Sweetness and Light " in harmonious consistency, and someway it seemed presented and was ennobled in Father's voice. No wonder everyone loves to hear him sing in Church, where those tones ring out, leading the congregation. That last moment when Mr. Kean gathered up the reins, smiling down happily on me, and I saw my scornfully silent companion climb, with two others, into the old turn-out, still haunted me. I had vented intolerance and bad temper on an unoffending stranger, and added fuel to the flame by a direct affront. And I had begun to repent as we drove home, asking questions and learning of her un- selfish service, coming so far Sundays and working so hard week-days, which proved intrinsic quality and gifts that demanded the courtesy of recognition. "I'm awfully hasty," I said to Mr. Kean, "But I do get sorry very soon. Do you think she'll ever like me?" "I don't see how any one can help it," was his hasty retort, and I felt some warmth of confidence steal about my heart. After that I never wondered at Miss McClintock's evident distaste and stern attitude of avoidance — but I hated to be so disliked — I could not get away from the hope of breaking down her active dislike. Usually, I thought, everybody ought to like me — Why not? I liked everybody pretty well! There was good reason for her antipathy I knew, but I was ashamed to have given such good cause, and more and more I wanted to overcome it and gain some measure ol her good opinion. She was keen willed and seemed what the}- call "dour" and anti-social, yet Page ij(> Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I was convinced of her superiority of intellect, and no matter what I had drawn down, I wanted her to know that I was sorry and didn't feel repellant and self- sufficient all the time. I was up against it for a long time but I wouldn't give up, and I wondered what I could do when smiling and soft speech had no effect? I had realized from observation and hearsay how intense was that silent woman's love of beauty, and how carefully she tended her few plants and cultivated all she could in that little patch of ground by her home in the suburbs. Suddenly I laughed with pleasure, as there flashed upon me the picture of the little shop whose dusty windows were brightened with the season's blossoms. It was sand- wiched in between a grocer's shop and Mr. Nolan's Jewelry and watch repairing place. I passed it daily, and why had the suggestion never come before? I walked to the place, determination fighting sentiment and all doubt as to wisdom or tact absent from my satisfied mind. I left an order with the Florist for a box of flowers to be sent, without card, every week to her address until further orders, and felt the action was as profoundly original as significant! I remember my own delight as I thought of her surprise. It was like coldness melting when she finally taxed me with it, calling it dis- tinct extravagance; but with a look that changed her whole countenance. I felt the blood rush from heart to face as I held out my hand. "Please forget rudeness, please believe that I love some of the things you do." It had begun to seem to me more than I knew how to carry, a friendship greatly on one side without due correspondence on the other, and certainly I was on the road to learning what has helped me in all my later life, that the only way to have a friend, is to be one. Emerson said, I remember, "That when one becomes dear to us, we had touched the goal of fortune," or to that effect, but that "he is only fit for the alliance who is magnanimous." From that hour over the flowers, the change in manner and look and greeting became warming and winning. I called on her once when in that vicinity. We were driving with my Uncle Paul Cornell (Aunt Helen's hus- band) who in real estate ventures owned property far South and wanted to show Father the Site of his proposed town. She was not yet home when he stopped at my request, so while they drove off for investigation, I sat down in the little room to await her return from school. It was chilly I remember, and it seemed a long time before the door opened and she stood on the threshold. "Fom", she said — and looked silently at me for a full second without further greeting, but a swift change and a warm coming for- ward relieved me from embarrassment. I had succeeded, I had given her assur- ance of appreciation and regard, and she accepted my invitation to Lunch. It was lovely in my own upper chamber overlooking the Lake, where Mother's thoughtfulness and delicacy had arranged and sent up a carefully planned little luncheon, that we might have our hour alone together. It became a sun warming atmosphere of companionship, melting the ice of her natural manner, and soon a relation was quickened and cemented that was finally equally welcome to both. She was one under her shell-complex — hyper sensitive — mentally so superior that I felt justly proud to have gained her friend- ship. I could see my natural heritage of health and high spirits amazed her at first. Once she put it in a sentence of comment rather than criticism when she smiled over something I had recounted — "A conquering manner does not neces- sarily mean conquest." She had spoken apparently out of the depths of heart knowledge. She had a faith in the Unseen, ageless and deathless, that gave her a sort of radiance as she talked. And this was the woman I had thought hard, passionless and dominant, who gave me back such largesse of confidence and cordiality that took me on trust forever. And now how that letter rated me beyond desert in its fineness of approval and delicacy of sentiment! Miss McClintock, I found was deeply sensitive, while so constituted as to emphasize the intellectual and not the emotional in her; but whatever was worth attention was worth profound attention, and thereafter she never let me miss a smile, speaking so gently and seeming amused, treating me as if I were an ingenuous Page 177 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood child. I was impressed with her knowledge of the hard side of life far beyond what I had ever measured or understood. And it was this clever, and seemingly cold, woman who had in such exquisiteness of suggestion called me "Butterfly", and explained her reasons. Verily! verily! it is worth any effort to secure in this life a true and generous friend. Enter Elysabeth! — so different, equally endowed, and yet belonging to a wholly different world. "Who hears me, who understands me becomes mine," I quoted gaily to her one afternoon about that time, and how quickly she countered and capped with words from the same Essay, "The good spirit of our life has no Heaven which is the price of rashness." "Why are you so suddenly steeped in Emerson?" "Well, I read aloud with Miss McClintock his Essay on Friendship, and he says 'that a new person, is to him, a great event', but on the same page, and she had occasion to call my attention to it, 'That we are armed all over with sudden antagonisms and that they turn all poetry into stale prose'." Elysabeth smiled cynically at my late enthusiasm over the new friend, and replied, "One thing don't forget, Nina, in your hasty pursuits, that Emerson said, 'Love', which he calls the essence of God, 'is not for liberty — but for the total worth of man'." Elysabeth is someway well-tempered in her thoughts as well as words, where I am hot and impetuous and impatient. I shrank a bit when she declared with a critical glance, that she "thought so much more of my heart than of my judg- ment", and at my protest added coolly — "There's no doubt your nature yields too soon to the sway of sound and feeling," which rather sharply rebuked my importance. She often makes me feel like an infant compared with her men- tally, and is wholly unconscious of so doing, as we are at one in tastes and pur- suits educationally, and on most issues. I never let on to her or anyone else my sense of inferiority, for I won't show it. Why should I? I love sometimes to shock her by some sudden outrageous nonsense of gay license in speech, and that time I declared openly that she must admit I was more than her peer when it came to religious feeling, even if she did declare that emotions led me astray. Then she talked beautifully, and said that naturally hope was the parent of my faith, and that my home-sky was full of stars, but it was nothing but twilight all about most people anyway, and that as far as religions went they were often poor help, for we all stumbled in the dark places of our own nature. Mercy! she was profound enough and I guess any added heresies or new som- berness of view had something to do with our "Dante" readings; or more par- ticularly Dr. Bevan's influence and guidance, and his talks and talks about the problems of the Universe. He is often so wonderful that I feel like crying out for pity at my own weak head. He elaborates thought; he has such captivating ways too, he is so handsome, and such a marvel physically that I fairly get bewildered between looking and listening! I don't always care about torturing questions, but I adore such a tall splendid looking being, and I forget my own sublime ig- norance in a growing intensity of admiration for the man. "Elysabeth," I asked, and laughed outright, "Don't you think he has eyes of Sage, Seer, Prophet, Teacher, Friend and Lover? — and isn't his hair lovely, the colour, that nice little wave, and the way it grows on his head? I believe Dr. Bevan is the handsomest man I ever saw — look at his height, and the way he stands and moves — there's distinction for you! And did you ever notice how his eyes smile more than his lips?" "He has a very noble head — I've noticed that," she interpolated in her usual calm fashion. "Yes, and the brow and every- thing about him makes him look what he is! Oh my! If he hadn't a pretty wife and a lot of children I'd like to marry him." I did succeed in startling her, but no one can down the quickness of her retorts. "If he hadn't wife and children competition would be great, and he probably wouldn't want to marry you." "I'd do my best to make him," and with mischievous emphasis, "Anyway he likes me now, he told me so tin- evening of my Birthday, referring to us both," — ami at her stare — "I mean when I deplored witli considerable eloquence, that Page ijH Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I stood no chance in Scholarship where you shine, he flattered me by replying, 'Well the stars differ in magnitude', so, after all, don't you think I'd stand a chance if only he were free? You see it's my fate to admire married men most — There's Dr. Sims and Dr. Agnew — Yes — and Emerson, and a few Lecturers and Pulpit- orators, and numberless Actors and Writers — very soul-stirring, but all fatally bound in matrimonial fetters." She smiled at last — and, "Oh Nina! you ought to live in an aureole! — a radiant one to transmit the inspiration it receives! You have more sensations and fancies than organs of thought. But they will wear. out, for that can't be intended to last, lest some of them break up and destroy you." "Oh thanks!" was my parting shot, as with secret complacency I responded, "That if they hadn't any philo- sophical value, they were better than most women's speculations." Ah! what a light heart I carried just before that awful conflict shook our nation. I had not seemed to care or understand all the tumult or excitement of talk going on about us. Why it had come — what it meant — why it must stay? It is so many, so many years ago, and I was a very impressionable girl that had never carried a single burden. Wind of War! or Wind of Play — it was all a distant dramatic scene. Certain pictures come back to me, and my mind travels back to reproduce them, but things struggle in my mind with dreams. Grandmother Gray had come for one of her long visits to Mother, and later to my Aunts Margaret, Helen and Elizabeth, all in lovely homes of their own, and eager to welcome the stately and handsome personage of whom her daughters were so proud. She didn't seem as aloof or haughty to me as when we visited the Homestead where she presided in old-time elegance. Is it age that mellows or hardens according to the sweetness or strength of nature? Anyway my heart answered now to her smile and kindliness, and preparation for her presence and comfort took on the aspect of a happy event. One evening at that time, just after an early supper, I had a memorable sort of drive with Father and Mother and Grandmother, who had just arrived. The whole varied scene on the Avenue, people and children walking, and all sorts of equipages made the streets seem unusually gay, and I loved the kalidescopic moving pictures in that golden sunset. Little I had minded the sullen threatenings, the rumbling thunder of distant drums, the repeated accounts of State Secession, which appealed as utter foolish- ness, and was like a childish boastful safety-valve of expression that meant no real peril, or that there were any real breakers ahead. "Instability of our Govern- ment," and as they had said in Cincinnati, "could not be jeopardized, and never could hang by a thread." So at first no one seemed to feel the ground slipping from under, or that there was a barrel of gunpowder so near us. Risks, hazards, dangers, clouds, warnings — Who really feared them while we were all in East or West sleeping carelessly over a Volcano? And that mood I recall particularly, and what followed in an especially amusing experience, because it was the last day of peace. When Father, on our return route, was about to be dropped at the Church where a noted Revivalist was to hold special service, he looked a smiling invita- tion — which I answered quickly — "Yes, yes, if you want me, Father." He knew I had never cared for "protracted" meetings, and I was never commanded to attend those mid-winter diversions, for neither of my parents had, so far, ever insisted on my going anywhere against inclination. I had consequently slight experience of religious excitements. Mother's calm perfect dignity and my Father's good judgment, poise and natural quiet, made a sort of decorous background, which never showed arduous or fiery flights of sanctimonious imagination. Coin- age of the brain or any delirium of fancy was in no way conceived or created before me. Romanticist or Rhapsodist in that realm was a complete stranger, and the occurrence that evening was a phenomenon to me that appealed as mo- mentary fine frenzy, with no effect of solemnity. I was even daring enough to mimic to the best of my ability, when I recounted the incident at home, but I saw that my laughter was rather displeasing to my serious Grandmother. Page 17Q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Now I think the independence allowed me, their entire confidence that I meant no wrong and could be trusted in all honour, was wonderful liberty at that period. It saved me from all revolt, it preserved my respect for the belief of others, and increased reverence for what was dear to my elders; it anchored me in safe waters, and kept me near the beloved parents who gave me so free, unhampered, and privileged a girlhood. Climaxes of expression, flights of oratory, and even ve- hemence of appeal, were familiar in regular Sunday attendance, where the Pulpit was filled by able and eloquent Preachers and Exhorters, but never in Church or Sunday school had there seemed anything hysterical or common. I instinctively hated noise that showed absence of self-control. It was like ugliness and some- way swept love and pity out of me. My faculties did not allow me to grasp things sufficiently to be broad-minded or tolerant. Inexperience is both pathetic and comic. I think I was very unkind as well as hasty and unfair in many judgments. Whatever seemed a crime against the gentleness and good taste to which my rearing and home atmosphere had accustomed me, lost all authority, excuse or appeal. To return to the occasion just mentioned, I accompanied my Father cheerfully enough, and the visiting Evangelist was sharply emphatic. He painted in lurid colours a rather tremendous picture of those who refused grace. He described the fatal march downward, the terrible aspect and punishment waiting, and made glorious the figures of the saved and elect, all washed white as wool and redeemed for everlasting bliss. And just as his flaming peroration, painted in exalted phrase, the joys of all believers, one in the audience boiled over — bursting into a cry of suffering rapture. The tones were shrill and penetrated to the farthest corner and the speaker, suddenly visible as well as audible, rocked to and fro, transported and ravished in fullness of fanatacism and an ecstatic appropriation of the blessing — "Oh Lord! Withhold! Withhold! The Pitcher runneth over!" And instantly, from an old gentleman directly in front of us, whose grave and dignified appearance I had noticed, sounded the calm and overwhelming response to that panting cry, — "Oh Lord, withhold not, but enlarge the Pitcher!" It was more than a drop of oil on the troubled waters — it was a cold stream upon violent fires. It smothered and deadened the flame as well as quelled and sobered the spirit. A second's silence and nothing else broke the composure of the hour. There was no further breaking bounds. The rest of the service was under easy sail at half speed. I just loved that man. His grey head bowed over the hands folded on his gold-headed cane, lived long in my recollection — an embodiment of temperance, gentleness, and sobriety and humour. Courage and quick wit are always powerful. And now came that incredible time of general setting at naught all that was not individual and on one side. The time of disparaging, depreciating and under- valuing every opinion adverse to or differing from ours — disputing, denying, calling in question with no grains of allowance. It was like vertigo at first when they fired on Sumpter. It tore at the brain of all lovers of our country, and made the people distrustful, distrusted, and frantic. It was the period when so much was going on — when it was so easy to get lost in daily information — to see only one side, on which the memory now can nowhere bite. We misconstrued, misrepresented, ridiculed, insulted, and in a sense each persecuted the opposite side, both alike. Certain scenes come clearly back to me and something struggles in my mind with fears. It is all like a clamorous call to memory, and with a passing shiver pictures and thoughts of those first days of the War shake me again. I smile to think of my own violence, and my head grows heavier than a cannon-ball, things come back so poignantly; but I cannot disentangle them. Oh! Oh! that fall of Sumpter! The sudden excitement that spread like a rushing wind over the North and the wild rejoicing it aroused in the frenzied and defiant South! The blaring of their trumpets, the ringing of their bells, the shouting threats of those succeeding States told of the madness that vowed to disrupt the Union. They had fired on the United States Flag, they had scorned and despised the /■ . , tSo Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Government, they no longer belonged to us, they were enemies and not Country- men. The news of Sumpter's surrender was charged with dynamic force. It was the beginning of fierce conflict, the beginning of turbulence, of uproar, of menace to every home and heart. Turmoil, agitation, underlying sadness, a succession of shocks that made the wisest stumble and fall. Whirlpool and whirlwind no longer protected, imagination ran riot. It makes me lonely again, pictures rising up vividly out of the shadows. They were leaving us. Our young men, our friends, families were being broken, farewells on all sides so inseparable from those experiences of Civil War. Always something moving one to hot tears of terror and of rage. I felt a paroxysm of dread, an access of unnamable fear at Mr. Chandler's brave words when he held my hand with such firm and gentle grasp and looked at me so gravely. They were truly his last words, and some spirit stirred in me a sea of emotions that raised and dashed themselves; but have long since frozen into immobility. "I have loved your sparkle — your laughter, always happy and irresistible — ■ Good-bye, Little Friend- — Keep your golden voice and heart ever young." It was a poignant moment to me. Someway I was aware of furious energy of affection working in me. I think I can say that I had begun to recognize forces that make all human life significant. Certain responsive suggestions tore at my heart — but Death did not whisper to me then of the long, long years without that devoted and unselfish friend. Yet always that episode and his looks and words stood out like reefs in an otherwise smooth sea. And the next day I said farewell to the young hero, of whose brilliant passage by out house in that Company of Zouaves I have described in an earlier Sketch. He also then went out of my sight forever. In actual truth my Fairy Prince had never once blown his silver horn or beckoned me to come to him. Unlike Mr. Chandler, he never came to me, yet to me he remained the superior being whose every word was treasured. He was the young Knight, lance in rest, about to charge and sweep before him all the powers of evil and rebellion. I believed he could sweep them like chaff before the Spring wind. He had sent me his photo- graph. So long had all fancies there been restrained, but as I looked at that picture of noble youth in uniform, they were winging their way out of the sky. The excitement of expectation added to all patriotic fires, as I joined the gather- ing at his home to say goodbye. The Company of Zouaves were to leave the next morning in a blaze, to my eyes, of supreme glory. April sunshine came through the windows yellow as yellow wine, and the breeze from the Lake was as fresh as wine. That fatal Spring had come in with the breezes in a subtle sadness — the birds knew it — and we knew it. Showers of vital sunshine and heavy clouds gathering, sailing ever lower and veiling the sun. All that beauty and courage awaiting destruction! Beauty in itself is nothing when the heart is heavy and eyes are blinded with tears. Strange I cannot remember words of greeting or good-bye, only how I felt as his friends came and went; some clapped him on the shoulders and some spoke loudly, commonplace words of cheer, and that clapping him on the shoulders I hated. The familiarity somehow hurt me. Vast shadows came up that hour. When I rose to go, he came near, held out his hand, looked kindly and asked me to write, but I have no words precious to remember. Why did I never write? Perhaps because I never doubted he would come back; perhaps because he had given me no definite address; perhaps because, afterward, when his sisters talked proudly of exploits and triumphs and their brother's phenomenally speedy rise in rank, I could never believe tidings from me would be prized or of any value. I was so small myself, when I measured standing and stature with his eminence, and to me his unapproachable pitch of loftiness! You see, my imagination made him monumental to sublimity — and it was only years after that I could under- stand how words of appreciation and admiration from any honest source would Page 181 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood have been welcomed, and were always craved by those who, in suffering and service, were waging our battles. There are layers of memory in me that knew the sights of massed companies of troops, the training of boys and soldiers that we heard of from all sides. The wild enthusiasm that we all felt, communicated itself to the youngest; from men of business to the shrieking newsboys on the street, and the atmosphere that I recall hung over us like some outline of a distressed and distressful world. Thickly these memories crowd upon me, swift and searching they rise with all the power of an obsession. All dreamers are alike — literally and figuratively, alike in fury of aroused patriotism! a vengeful wrath with no qualifying sympathy. The fight gathered — the drums of power sounding, "The Answering Sword" in hand — one thought — one purpose as events gathered and made a sequence of passion and animosity. It haunted the soul of youth to crush and destroy the foe. Quick sharp anger and defiance striving for inhuman expression. My mind is not flooded with sane or vivid details. It was a cruel desperate time. The time drops from me as a garment and I am an eager girl whose personal dreams, aspirations and so-called patriotism show elusive foundations, for at that time all dreams or sense of kindred was lost in ebullitions of fury at the South- ern action and attitude. One, after all, commits oneself all unconsciously to the continual sustaining of delusions, and I seized a chance for vehement language in the correspondence long since racy, between my Aunt Dolly's step-daughter and myself, the little brown-eyed Lou Burge, that I had grown so attached to six years before, when we were together in Maine, at my Grandfather Lunt's. I had learned with pleasure that she was the most brilliant of her class in college, and until the War broke out, I had longed for a renewal of companionship, and felt for her a growing admiration. But now in my letters I expressed my views as if they were final and unshakable. I sought for greater and ever greater vigor of expression, for now my strenuous effort was to push her into the background, to overshadow and put out of con- fidence that boastful arrogant spirit of the South. It sounded contemptuously in her spirited replies to my epistles. It took higher and ever higher ground of mighty assurance. It was magniloquent in its tremendous superiority, so that it seemed braggart pretension, and I didn't care who I hurt by tall talking back, and by my own flourish of bravado. It was bombast on both sides, as time proved, but I tried to domineer by a haughtiness and overbearance that was precisely in its insolence like the face of brass I was snapping my fingers at! We flew to trample and intimidate, and mounting a high horse, I used all my faculties in that correspondence to ride roughshod, and crush underfoot by trenchant sarcastic bluster. I tried to be harsh and imperious in biting words — and I succeeded. The ungentle contro- versy became acrimonious and, in bad grace, was dropped perforce with all com- munications between the rebel States and ours. Reveries step hard upon the heels of each other and bring forgotten associa- tions to life! And vivid sensations focus about that time, for there were in the very intensity of those passions an increased allegiance and the constantly stimu- lated love of country, ever developing and deepening. The individual illustrations in our Army, and often of our own circle, taught new lessons of great bravery and lofty self-sacrifice, and I felt I was slowly learning new values of loyalty and devotion. We were no longer stirred with hospitality offered or received, few entertain- ments or festivals, many interchanges cut off, less and less time for social visiting. The Fairs, the Sanitary Commission demands, the sending stores and bundles, food and clothing plunged one into an unending state of confusion, agitation, and moral nausea. There were reasons why one should do this or not do that, why one should desire to do other things than see friends, always prompted to save energy for so-called War Work, bandage making especially, that was to me. because of inflamed fancy, such shuddering labour, alienating in every thought, forever up in armsagainsl a ruthless foe! Wherever one turned nothing fraternal or un- Pagi /A'..- Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood hostile in our world. And so all work seemed only for a cruel end. To all those around, life in War time, was little better than a series of dagger thrusts. My enchanted castles of great beauty and delight had been reared, it appeared, on the flimsiest foundations, and life noiselessly, in the midst of uproar and trumpet blast, was whispering and breathing into me something that deafened "The still small voice" was not heard, for evil was in full cry — the very air was ringing with its violence. And so began our defeats — Bull Run, and all the rest at first fairly frenzied us, and all good cheer and high hopes were relegated to a past of peace and jollity and good-fellowship apparently over forever. Isolation of a new order invaded the days, a queer consciousness of divisions, of dissensions, of semi- spiritual emotion all a-quiver. Something forever melting in me and heating to a point of suffering and hysteria. One, after all, unconsciously connects oneself to the continual sustaining of delusions, yet at that period, surely had things about me personally become shrunken. My life grew unimportant, on a different and smaller scale — loneli- ness of a new order, consciousness of being single-handed — a solitary individual, unable to serve or to fight. The great maw of the Cause opening ever wider and wider for money and time. My parents I, someway, seemed to see less and less often, absorbed with others of equal patriotism in sacrificial labours and bestow- ments. Happiness, for valid reasons, had fled or was dispensed with, and the awful noise of the awful conflict, in which horrors repeated themselves from the shadow-lands of death, took away all that made life precious. But even to try to roll back the curtain of time, is to summon those who stood out and incarnated lofty virtues; to summon figures, and crowds in fact, of those heroes on both sides who gave life and all its joys as an unrequited debt. And Oh! how wrong it all seems now, with wider experience and fuller knowledge of other countries, and yet it all repeated itself over fifty years later in the more horrible World War. In order to judge life as it ought to be judged, we must have the courage to look it in the face, to forget ourselves as far as possible — and of all things that is the most difficult. There are so few people capable of getting outside the circle of their own existence, to see the grandeur of their littleness or the littleness of all their grandeur. Those impulses of the will for the happiness or unhappiness of others, create certain currents and dispense or attract certain forces. And now for a picture of the other side — From the beginning we had been weaving all on one side, making a target and centering all faculties on putting bullets into the other. The smoke of our powder has spread and spread until it hazes or hides the forms of combatants. Take down those barricades, where the two enemies have been whipping forth their weapons, and seize a little chance to get in sight of the other side, and learn also of their skirmishing and ravaging. We have raged too long in hostile factions. The winds which have rushed down from the hills, from the hills of North and South in wildest storm, have not been as bitter as our enmity. Once, a.s children, Lou and I owned no subtlety, equally ready for wordy fights or frolics; but the case then demanded whole-hearted participation. Incompati- bility now lay, after all, only beneath the skin. Oh Lou Burge! dear little play- mate of six years before, I am going to look into those flashing eyes closed alas! as cruel fate had willed, before the end of the conflict. How I would have liked to show her that I had not lost all ideas of the amenities of social intercourse, all sense of affection, all memory of our pact of friendship, but, long before I could shape my lips and strive to cross the barrier, it was too late. The hot days of that first Summer of 1861, the late Autumn that followed, the cruel Winter that shut her in, and the Spring again when she could only write the few pathetic words, "My health is failing fast; I fear it is consumption", the fatality of her disease, had drenched the system and the wavering flame within went out as sudden as a blow. She was always to the last the intense Southerner, reared against Northern influences and Northern surroundings. Everything Page 183 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood about her had betrayed that fact, and I remember how I experienced a disconcert- ing shock that early time at Grandfather Lunt's over our differences, small, even as an alien inflection or the drawl of the Southern pronunciation, while she, as a child, made me realize instinctively that she always wished to avoid the con- tamination of the North. That clever little step-daughter of my Aunt Dolly's, who suddenly stood in the forefront of the enemy, and we as suddenly became belligerent hot and ve- hement; left, by chance, an old Journal only half complete, begun when she was the most brilliant of her class in college, and most of the entries belong to the period of which I have been writing. It is through the adopted child of our heart and home (My Aunt Dolly's grandchild and my Father's grand-niece) that I have the little book with its fine old-fashioned writing, in places faded and almost blurred. See! how it throws a little light on the situation as well as justifies the natural attitude of those Southern relatives. I quote some telling excerpts. — January, 1861. "I have concluded to keep a Journal, not so much as a record of my own thoughts, feelings and acts solely, but mostly as they occur with the events of the times — for these are certainly times to which all history fails to furnish a parallel and it will not prove uninteresting to me when age shall have whitened my hair and partially destroyed my memory (should God graciously permit me to live to old age)." At that time, so near her graduation at seventeen, chosen to be Valedictorian, and immensely popular of course, follows incidents and events of a personal nature, class and social triumphs, an account of honours received and pleasures exper- ienced, until we meet this exciting entry: "At two o'clock the bells down town were ringing loudly and people shouting gladly, for at twelve o'clock Georgia, the Empire State of the South, passed the ordinance of Secession and declared herself free and independent by severing all ties that bound her formerly to the Union. South Carolina had set the example, Florida, Alabama and Mississippi fol- lowing speedily, and right proud am I that Georgia is now with them in this im- portant decision and that Cousin Dick Davis was a member of the Convention. Macon is now illuminated in honour of the Secession of our State. Every city, town or hamlet is illuminated and blazing with joy. The College buildings here are beautiful. We were all in splendid spirits. We had fine fun fixing up rooms and windows, and with a number of excited officials and students we decorated the large hall. We had flags floating from the main doors — flags bearing upon them Georgia and Florida symbols — and the brilliant shouting Torchlight pro- cession passed our buildings singing and dipping flags and mottoes, and Hurrahing again and again for our College girls. It was an exciting scene indeed— all the Companies were out, and the Minute Men, and I had smiles and lifted weapons from many I knew. I must not forget to put down here that the numerous candles burnt into the wood of some of the windows, and greatly impaired their appear- ance afterward, whereat the Teachers were reproachful that we had shown so little care in fastening them — but I was too thrilled to care about that." * * * * * * "Have had a lively description of the leaving of the Brown Rifles for Vir- ginia. There were so many embraces, so much crying that Emma wrote me 'she was seriously afraid the Depot would be washed away!' In Camp in Charles- ton, South Carolina, they have mustered in many we know." Alexander Stevens of Georgia has been chosen Vice-President and Jefferson Davis of Mississippi, President of the Provisional Government of the Southern Confederacy. Companies are being formed all over the country to be ready in an emergency." "Lincoln takes his seat as President of the United States. His message is the poorest thing I ever read. Who could expect more of one who spent his lite in the West! First as a Rail-splitter, and then as a boatman on the Ohio. We are yet in hopes that there will not be much of a War." Pagt /A'./ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood April. "Old Abe refused to have the troops removed from Fort Sumpter. The Caro- linians declare they will take it if it costs ten thousand lives. The Steamer, "Star of the West", attempted to reinforce her, but the guns from Fort Moultrie obliged her to retrace her course. Our men later opened fire upon Sumpter. She replied, but it was of no use, and the Fort which the Yankees declared impregnable sur- rendered. Not a man was killed on either side. But, Colonel Anderson having obtained permission to salute the Stars and Stripes, four of his men were killed by the bursting of a gun. 'The Stars and Bars' of Liberty now float over Sumpter. All honour to our brave General Beauregarde. Cousin Wiley has sent me his photograph. Oh! he is so fine and he looks every inch the brave soldier that he is!" April 20. "We have been driving all over Macon and out in the country, and down- town everything is bustle and preparation. The Macon Volunteers and the Floyd Riflemen leave tonight for Virginia. I am to present a Flag to one of the Companies where there are so many we know — and the partings are sad. Eva Bellamy spent nearly the whole evening in my room crying. This is no time for weeping — but I have had a time of it. The girls are almost all of them crying — some of them fairly sick over one or another of the boys who don't care a snap for them or their tears. I am glad that I am not in love, if that is the way I should have to act if my sweetheart should leave for the Wars. I have just received a letter from Ed. Beecher repeating urgently the offer of marriage he made in August last. I refused then — and I refuse more decidedly now. Geraldine Howeson regrets that Fm not out of College, she says so that I could and ought to flirt with him, of which she avers her own intention if he should ever address her. Miss Mattie told her 'that he had been engaged to or flirted with every pretty girl in Macon until he came up against me.' What do I care for men who haven't any better occupations — Fm vitally interested only in those who join the Volun- teers — Would that I could be mustered in as one of them. — The Confederate Flag is in our Chapel now." "Have just had two letters today from Nina Lunt of Chicago. She is full of enthusiasm — a fierce Unionist. We have been having a sharp controversy with regard to the United States and the Southern Confederacy. One letter of hers is dated April 21. She commenced with 'E. Pluribus Unum', The United States Flag was in one corner of her sheet and under it the words — "Then conquer we must When our cause it is just, And this be our motto, In God is our trust. And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave." She speaks very bitterly of the South and she is but one of the vast North. They are all angry. The fall of their Flag at Fort Sumpter has aroused them all. Deep vows of vengeance are muttered against the South. Let the storm come! We will meet it as free men and true Southerners should. Nina says — 'Excitement! It is impossible to conceive of the extent of it. The whole North is in a blaze. Woe be to their opponents! The rash and mis- guided South! — Oh terrible! Oh terrible will be their destruction, and they will be utterly exterminated or submit'." "Such is the spirit of the North — Submission or Annihilation is their cry! They look for a short War — for what, they ask, can a people like the South, raised to indolence and luxurious habits, do against the all powerful North, as Nina styles it. We are a people compared with them numerically weak but strong in the justice of our cause, powerful in our unity, and unconquerable as long as we remain fixed in our avowed determination. We may be annihilated but conquered never! "Again Nina says, 'Loud and deep are the vows of vengeance breathed by all against the presumptuous tyrannical minority. They had better spare their Page 185 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood breath to be used in a better cause, for those who have defied the Union and aspersed the bravery of Northerners will have a terrible opportunity of finding out their mistake. No one can oppose us — no one has the power — I suppose the South is crazy — they must be mad to entertain for a moment the thought of battling with the United States! Oh what a bitter, bitter harvest they will reap, but repentance will come too late. Our troops will go where they please, nothing can prevent them'." "Later Nina writes, alluding to Baltimore, whose citizens refused to let the Union troops pass through, firing into the cars and killing many. 'As for that Mob-City, they will burn it to the ground and destroy it entirely; but we will at all costs pass through. And not only that City but the entire South. Who can turn them aside for a moment? This will be a great War, and I glory in living in such times. I shall live, I know, unless God cuts me off suddenly, to see the Stars and Stripes wave over every portion of this land. And the Flag of the Union shall float from every place where it has been before, even if it is only a pile of bricks'." "Well! Friend Nina — God will either cut you off very suddenly, or prolong your life many long years after I have moulded in the dust. God grant that I may live to see my Country free, or that He will take me from here, if in his mercy and kindness He does not intend to free us or permit us to free ourselves; for life under the rule of those who now have sway in Washington would be no longer desirable, robbed of all its joys. The grave would be best for me and far, far pre- ferable to submission. You say, Nina, 'Those who have aspersed the bravery of our Northerners will have a terrible opportunity of finding out their mistake — Of battling with such as we.' We shall see, Nina, we shall see." Behold me writing thus! — a young fire-eater indeed, with no sympathy for the other side, no comprehension of their bravery in rebellion, and no pity or compassion. And now again for the Journal — ■ May 5. "Great excitement in Oxford yesterday, good news from the front. Uncle Parkes came for the night, the Flag, floated from our Cupola and there was great rejoicing. Henry Graves has left College and he appeared later. He seemed very glad to see me and I am sure ray pleasure was not feigned. He has been a good friend of mine for years — they all know now that I'm going home, my health will not let me study more or even stay for Graduation. I have told the girls I did not think I could ever come back. They protested and said nice things; but it's no use. I've written to Mr. Brownell that 'as my health did not improve I could not accept the honours they offer.' At the same time how glad I am that I was thought worthy of them by the Faculty, appreciating it as the indication of the stand I took in my Class. John H. Ross left me to join the Macon Volunteers last Thursday. He looked very handsome in his soldier's uniform. What he said to me I cannot write. I have lately had a time of it, the girls almost all of them crying when the various Companies saluted us at leaving. Jessie Ethridge was so overcome that she has been ill in bed ever since. A snap for her! and for all such weakness! I even heard Susie Clayton screaming that splendid hour of their departure. Ridiculous! It was hysterical folly and not true patriotism. There is no timidity, no humble- ness in me. Independence in speech, and always doing as I please neither teachers nor girls always like, and there are others besides teachers equally disturbed! We have whipped our enemies already in more than one fight. The blood of the martyr, Jackson, who shot Colonel Ellsworth as he attempted to tear down the Confederate Flag and was afterward killed by Ellsworth's men, calls aloud for vengeance. And our boys have determined to avenge him or die in the attempt. "Cousin Wiley left a few nights ago with a fine cargo of cotton — the Steamer 'Nellie'; I am afraid the Yankees will catch him when he comes in. The Steamer 'Nashville' was in Beaufort, N. C, with a cargo valued at three hundred thousand. She was fired at by the blockaders; but they did not hurt her. How 1 would have Page 186 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood liked to have seen her! The Confederate 'Bars and Stars' proudly floated out, sailing defiantly up under the Guns at Fort Macon amid the cheers of the crowd, while the Blockader, chagrined and disappointed, dared not venture near. The 'Nashville' burned the 'Henry Burch' on her outward voyage and sunk a Steamer when coming in. The 'Sumpter' has so far burned twenty-one Yankee vessels. How they would like to get hold of her and her gallant bold and brave, Captain Desmond." * * H= "Battle of Bull Run! Yankees repulsed with heavy loss. Our men hold their ground. Beauregarde commanding our forces." * * * "On this the Holy Sabbath we fought the greatest battle ever fought on the American Continent. Since the removal of our seat of Government from Mont- gomery Alabama, to Richmond, Virginia, the Yankee Army has been loud in their threats. They would have Richmond by the fourth of July, the whole way torn down and disgraced, the Stars and Stripes should wave over that devoted City. Jeff Davis and Stevens should be hung!!! Disappointed about possessing the City by that time, they during the preceding week advanced. Our men engaged them, they fought desperately from four in the morning till seven in the evening. At one time it seemed that we must be whipped for among our troops they could discover fresh troops coming up, and whether friend or foe they could not tell; foes though, they supposed them, and they thought they would have to retreat. Their hearts sank within them, nearer and nearer they came, they could tell nothing from their uniform and their Flag was not seen. Nearer and nearer — nearer and nearer — all is suspense! A gust of wind comes up, their Flag unfurled by the breeze reveals the 'Stars and Bars'. Such a shout as our Forces, tired and ex- hausted men, sent up. It was General J. E. Johnston's men left some distance off for want of transportation. They had come part of the way on the run, and 'double-quick' the rest of the way, several miles, hastening all they could and with a glorious answering shout they charged the enemy. Consternation seized upon them — their ranks broke— they fled in every direction, flung away guns, clothes, haversacks, ammunition — Officers left their men — men their Officers — everyone going upon the principal each for himself and the Devil take the hinder- most, and the Devil did take the hindermost. Such a stampede — such a rout was never heard of. A great party of Congressmen, citizens and so-forth, came from Washington to witness the expected victory and glory over our retreat and defeat. Shame be upon them! Ladies were among them, too. One Miss Thurlow Weed of New Jersey, had obtained permission to plant the United States Flag on the rebels Capital. They had a fine dinner in view — champagne, lemonade and a great spread — but they stayed not to eat it! Our Cavalry pursued them and took many prisoners, arms and things they threw away in their mad fright. Oh! and handcuffs were found that they had purchased for the principal citizens of Richmond. They! a Christian civilized nation fighting against those once their brothers! The Georgians covered themselves with glory. We suffered a great loss — General B — , of S. C. Colonel Burton of Georgia, and other heroes were killed. General Beauregarde complimented them in high terms. Too much praise cannot be bestowed upon General J. E. Johnston and Beauregarde, while all praise is due to the Lord of Hosts." * * * "Another battle at Valley Mountain, West Virginia. Our troops repulsed the enemy. We whipped them. Cousin Dick Davis was in the fight. His Com- pany — The Patterson Light Infantry." sfc ^ * "Henry and Dutton Graves came bounding in Saturday. They were all surprised to see me looking so badly. Two months before no one could have made me believe that any cause could have kept me from graduating in form with my class. How swiftly does Time work changes!" Page 187 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Other entries mention Companies formed, and individuals joining and leaving for the Field of Battle, and she tells of incendiary fires, houses burned and even the Church catching fire, adding significantly, "We are all endangered. There is a great deal of burning through the country. Yankees are among us no doubt." Exaggerated notices of various encounters and circumstances quite impossible ever to have occurred are natural, and to be expected from that ardent and fierce young soul. And of course the dates are incorrect, often the information itself. When she tells of the exultant whipping of the foe and growing disdain for the enemy. Here is a characteristic entry — "It makes me laugh to hear what our contemptible enemies talk about an- nihilating us! The idea is simply ridiculous. They may take Charleston, Sa- vannah, Pensacola, Mobile, New Orleans, Memphis and every intermediate town on the sea-coast and Mississippi River, and five thousand cannon may be pointed at the fortifications at and around Richmond; but the heart of the Southern heart will not be touched. We cannot be conquered. Never — Never — Never. "Washington at one time had eight thousand miserable half-clad, half-armed and half-starved men under him. This was the United States Army. Did he despair? When asked if he could be conquered he replied, 'That, if still pressed, Flag in hand, he would retreat to the Western Mountains where his foes could not follow and there plant the Flag of Freedom.' This is our spirit. Who then can conquer us? We surrendered at Donaldson, and Nashville fell into their hands; but it was after hard and terrible fighting — four days — Ten thousand against eighty thousand. Their killed was about seven thousand. A man killed for every prisoner they took. Yet they call this the bloodiest battle of the American Continent — A great victory — and insanely rejoice over it!" * * * "General Brown ordered a general muster today for the purpose of raising twelve thousand volunteers. Newton was required to send one hundred and sixty. She did so without a draft. No fears but what the Empire State will do her duty." "Took dinner again at Mr. Graves' yesterday. A Sabbath, a Holy one that dawns upon us as a free and independent people. I accept it as a bright omen of our future happiness and prosperity as a Nation. Henceforth our course shall be as glorious and brilliant as the noon-day sun. God grant it may be so." * * * "Washington's Birthday! dear to every Virginian. Dear to every Southern heart. The Birthday of our Leader and President in this glorious struggle for independence. The first rebel! Today will ever more, if possible, be a thousand times more precious to us, for at this same date it was at twelve o'clock in Rich- mond in front of the statue of Washington when Jefferson Javis was inaugurated — When he took there the solemn oath to support the Constitution and Laws of the Confederate States of America." "The past week has been one of gloom and darkness both mentally and as regards weather. The Windows of Heaven seem to have been open and the rain poured in torrents. I was almost ready to exclaim that the 'Bow of Promise' had been withdrawn from the Heavens — Advised "Indee" every few minutes to look out, to look out of the windows to see if the Yankee Gun-boats were not sailing up the Spring-branch! Roanoke Island, Fort Henry and Donaldson have for a time filled the stoutest and most hopeful heart with gloom, and even disheartened some of the most timorous ones amongst us. But the dark clouds of misfortune will, I pray God, soon roll away." June 26. "My Birthday — and Henry and I had a long, long talk. Cousin Wiley spent the last week with us. He says we can see light. The last two months have indeed been stirring ones. My health does not improve. I fear consumption." Pagt 188 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood "John Perry was buried today. He died near Yorktown. Not a friend, not even an acquaintance near to bear home his dying messages or to whisper words of cheer and comfort as he entered the Dark Valley and Shadow of Death. Then, too, to lie there having been told that he could live but ten hours and die without one hope for the future. Nothing — nothing beyond the grave. God grant that Death finds me not thus — Not shrinking from an unknown future, but rejoicing in the hope of an Eternal Heaven beyond the Grave." Without any elaboration or explanation I find this brief closing entry — "Christ- mas was very quiet, and Oh, very different from last year which I spent in Ed- monton with my dear friend Julian — I have not heard from him since they left Roanoke Island for Portsmouth and I am very anxious. I have been engaged a year" — And here the old, old Journal is torn and tells no more its sad little story. The Family believe, and it is doubtless true, that that brilliant little daughter of the South was pledged to Henry Graves. Some thought it was Cousin Wiley — or it might have been the unknown Julian! Who can tell? Her heart burned hotly and first for her Country. I have given here almost all that was left in that faded Journal, the record of that one pathetic young life; illustrative and illuminative in its simplicity, its intensity, its bareness, its imprisonment in bitter pains and defeats, and the untold disappointment of the whole — not written out but revealed in her late entries. After these long years since she was laid to rest they speak from her heart to mine — and we are friends again. Details make a story live. Curious how certain influences and words linger and mysteriously affect us. They hold attention long, long after they are uttered. I have often felt that lovely Lou Burge was suffering under some burden, and was rid of it only when throwing herself into the daily whirl of passion. So sensitive, frail and delicate she was, and yet pushed by an innate fiery power of feeling, so that she made me aware in her passionate response of great moments in her own life, and of vows made in the secret house of being. We were only two girls. We represented the two hostile factions, and there is more of interest than of strangeness in what crowded in that period into our lives. Both sides were accomplishing what they believed imposed upon them, on every point urging War until fighting and hating had become instinctive. Each side rallied around its so-called "Righteous Cause" never standing shoulder to shoulder in a single thought or feeling — No — We quarrelled and killed each other. We were attacked and we were defeated — and we conquered — and we could not stop at that. There were many sins of conquest that the conscience of the nation did not recognize for long. The War separates — It has separated families, Fathers, Sons and Brothers, Husbands and Wives, Sisters and Mothers. What has happened, has happened and we cannot go back. We have to go on, and treasures have been taken from us that never can be returned. Page i8q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood BOOK IV THE STATE OF SIEGE Things continued to happen and Sorrow began to stalk the land. It came even to our far away city in its ebb and flow. Families were invaded — Mothers mourned a son. Young wives were widowed, little children Fatherless and lovers wrested apart. It was a raging, gasping conflict, and in near-by houses one heard bitter cries over those who had gone out to battle and death. Everywhere Civil upheaval, the boil of Civil War vibrant, and above its hissing sounds of grief, sharp on the surface, those shadows crept, even into a Chicago home which had always been a Paradise of Peace to its inmates. The daily Press told tales of tense belligerent manhood, brave in battle, force- ful and unyielding but mowed down mercilessly. Rage grew in the heart and fear on the faces. And yet the birds sang, the birds that had traveled from those fields of slaughter, from South to North with unheeded message. Still about us the far stretched blue beauty of the Lake, the country pulsing with verdure, the air scented again with the blossoms of another Spring, while War news more frightful was forever trickling in thickly and steadily to sicken the heart. Noises increasing to hubub in the mind; ears ever listening and strain- ing as reports grew daily worse. The War was sweeping all things into a fiery gulf. Neither sins nor failures nor interests nor wishes could be washed out in blood. War was no Heaven-sent chance. It could not cleanse. It polluted. It ceased irrevocably to seem noble; inexorably showing its monstrous lists of dead and dying. It was robbing life of all innocence. Iniquities that could never be cleansed multiplied, event followed event with pitiless swiftness, and the grief of our neighbours was my grief too. So much happened in that moment when I heard of his death that all external matters left absolutely but one impression. The son and brother had met the death all glorious. My hero of dreams would never return. It smashed all things for the time. A swirl of sorrow swept me like a wave when after that terrible news I first stood before his stricken Father. I saw only the broken man — heard only his broken speech with no utterance of hope. "My son — my son — Faithful unto death — my son — He gave everything — we have nothing." "Oh!" I cried piteously — for something shook me like a stab — "Can he be really dead?" I shall never forget that slow careful articulation, the tremulous emotional yet controlled anguish as his eyes of sadness looked intently at me. It was almost as if he thought I could understand. "My son — my son — he did well." It was painful, mysterious, heart-wringing and I felt submerged, unable to speak a single word. Life for the moment had become blackness and all the Argosies adventured were lost. That noble chivalrous young Soul killed — only one of many thousands. It embittered — It destroyed for a time a certain sort of Patriotism which is unconscious and runs underground. It is fortunate that the grief of children and of the young and inexperienced is often like a summer shower. It is intense enough while it lasts and a contin- uance of such seeming despair would wreck and injure the growing life. As it is — As it was, my whirlwind of emotion, of agonized sympathy, of vicarious energy of loss, passed and left me without disastrous results. It had all been a dream, a dear, beautiful dream, but one without reality outside my own heart-expanding ardour. He had never needed or called me, and slowly the belief died that 1 had been personally bereaved. I felt wistful, sometimes sad, but darkness fell away. My home was permanence. It was an anchorage. In that atmosphere no one was crippled. No one interferred or demanded submission and made sacri- Pagt I'jn Book IV l My Covenant was with him, of Life and Peace" Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood fices seem necessary. We never worried each other, perhaps unconsciously be- cause children with Parents recognized the unequivocal right each person had to his own views, his own share of freedom. That was wonderful — turmoil, trouble, noises of War themselves almost at times melted away like shapes of dreams or unsubstantial clouds. Freedom added to responsibilities which alas! I did not recognize. It may have accentuated my selfishness, I may have lacked nobility, believing so much mine of right and calmly taking constant indulgence and safe shelter for granted; but according to my lights comfort, cheer, and peace was inherent in home life, was the very order of the Universe. Then and now it seems to me that every single human being is entitled to his own happiness. I can quite frankly recall Patriotic sermons, talks and lectures, appeals and exhibitions, objections to this or that feeling and expression, and being surrounded by suggestions of a new and ugly world — but certain details and some important ones of that time strangely enough have largely escaped me, and I cannot exercise my memory now to complete satisfaction, save upon personal incidents and seemingly small household events. One morning my Mother's smile seemed radiant as she looked up from a letter, and I heard the words — "Canada is so far away; but Sarah says they have started — To think, Orrington, she can make the journey from Toronto, and that I shall have my Grandmother here in my home at last." And answering my look of surprise— "You cannot remember your Great-Grandmother Patten; she was only one among Great-Aunts and Uncles in the homestead in Maine when you were so small. Now she will visit us while Mother is here and we will be four generations all together." "Is Great-Grandmother Patten coming?" "Yes with your Aunt Sarah." In the anticipations and preparations for that memorable visit life seemed sud- denly more secure. The days slipped swiftly and the welcome accorded that Head of the Family (in point of years) was most enthusiastic. My Aunt Sarah had a proud moment when they were handed out from the train in Chicago. The polite conductor said, "Let me assist your Mother, Madam" — And my Aunt pluming herself on the fact, replied with dignity — "My Grandmother, Sir." This she recounted to us with great glee. It was long, long ago, the grave-spangled Country had been granted no rest; but I found a strange entertainment in merely watching the trim little figure of a very old lady who carried a cane, though leaning on it very lightly. She had grey-blue eyes, a small finely shaped head, a fully ruffled white cap under which shone a band of brown hair; a front piece, I suppose, or a wig, I never knew. She wore always a snowy white handkerchief crossed over to the waist of her black dress, skirt very full — bombazine in the morning, silk for evening. Slight and not tall, Great-Grandmother Patten sat in the best room in the best chair, a figure well fitted to inspire homage. The papers were brought to her first every morn- ing. She had seen three Wars, the American Revolution, the War of 1812, and now the great Civil Conflict, in every detail of which she took the keenest interest. Alert mentally she followed the course of events accurately. She was to me a monument of age and distinction, and I felt attraction in the minutest detail of her appearance. Once, when I listened to my Mother's pride in some story of her Grandmother's early charms, I thought I discovered a shadow of elegance under recognized limits; but it is sad to remember I was never drawn near, that I never tried to learn or listen, and was only profoundly interested in the ease of her movements, in her impeccable self command, reserved manner and speech. I think my Great-Grandmother must have had real amiability of disposition. I could never imagine her behaving harshly or showing conscious injustice. Her daughter, Grandmother Gray, was of the same type; but her smile was not of the same sweetness. Neither of them were frank and spontaneous nor, as I remember, very liberal in tone. I think I must have inherited my exuberant enthusiasm, intense admiration of people and things, love of nature or whatever dazzles the Page iqi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood senses, from other forebears. She seemed to watch us all with benign satisfaction; her gentle old face lighted up at times, with more than passing interest. Once she looked me in the face, that wise and aged one, as I entered to make my usual reverence and say good-morning, and asked in her remarkably pleasant voice — for hers was still a vigorous and practical intelligence — "Child, exactly how old are you?" and to my immediate reply, "Why I'm nearly nineteen," she made prompt rejoiner, "And I — I am nearly ninety." Threescore years and ten yawned between us. It was an impassable gulf. She was a woman of fewwords and invited no confidences but how much I could have learned had I sat at her feet and in my own buoyant youth talked intimately, got behind that worship of service and more or less formal speech we all observed, and secured happily some glimpse of the reality of feeling and the wide experience behind her daily expression; doubtless in harmony with characteristics, but who can tell? Now she looked at me meaningly — "Before I was your age Susan was born and your Grandmother wasn't my first either — but she bettered me for she had eleven children. Yes — Sam Gray saw her when she was hardly sixteen and fell in love right off, and they were married and your Mother and her brother Horace were playing round before my Susan was your age." My eyes were fixed in wonder but further revelations were spoiled at Mother's entrance. "I was telling the child, Cornelia, how slow she was to get married; girls are not what they were in my day." "But I wasn't married until twenty-three," interrupted my Mother gently, laying her hand softly on the small wrinkled one that tapped the cane, but she murmured on as if not hearing — "Yes I know — your Father kept you and Or- rington waiting seven years — Sam was stubborn — he had notions — It was a shame, for you would have married at sixteen too, if you could. Sam thought no one good enough for you." And Mother laughed outright! "But Grandmother, I can't let my only daughter go, I can't lose her, and I don't want to lose her for a long time yet." "And I'm never going to leave you, Mother," I broke in passionately — and, thank God, I never did, although only seven years after — so near — so near to it. For ten months then of an unclouded engagement it was the double life of recreated Eden of which I dreamed. And then arrangements for a consummation that would indeed have carried me far from her. Bridesmaids in the house — festivities going forward — and the sudden break! It was an execution. I knew not then, as I know not now, where or what is the limit of just blame with my temperament and creed of self-help and self-responsibility. Imagination is the supernal faculty. It surcharges time with expressiveness. But where are perfect scales to determine an ultimate balance? I know so well the events of that time to which I now refer again — the test in that wonderful period of conflict, the rough road for a little, over which I traveled. It was an engulfing time. In one flash had been typified for me the whole character of the man I had trusted. As far as his letters and assurances and his pledged promise went he was but a weaver of words; and they, in eloquence and apparent devotion, had established me on a primrose path of happiness — no moment or hour suggested the unthinkable of disillusion and disappointment. I was too exultant, too satisfied, too riotous and triumphant. The lesson I received was needed — and I have lived to rejoice in it, for this I know that the seeming defeat, the dread and the bitter sense of lost faith, the humiliation of even such an end was a blessing in disguise. And it is now in full recognition of that truth that I give thanks for the assurance of all my later years, for my long life in the home so beloved with the precious ones so sacred. Happiness comes through ourselves if only we are true, and struggle to avoid the stumbling-blocks of weakness and selfishness and vanity and spiritual avarice — demanding as a right what we have not won. All things move on toward their decline and I have dwelt on my illusions then, only because they concerned at the time the deepest and tenderest emotions; but in doing so I have leaped far forward beyond the happenings of that year, and must now return to the tar Page XQ2 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood earlier period of which I was writing, when I was so intensely alive and when peace was upon all I loved. "Peace be upon this house" was written over its lintel; and then and there my Great-Grandmother represented so much that was mys- terious in its silence and stirred me to wonder what old age could be like? I have felt very often that Great-Grandmother Patten might have become a well of wisdom to draw from, and all I knew or know was that she lived in Ottawa, Canada, with another daughter; that she had been married twice and that Grand- mother Gray was of the first marriage, and born a Fulton. Neither Grandmothers could have ever burned with enthusiasm, or exposed themselves to any suspicion of weak-mindedness; and both in our household aroused singular deference, ten- derness and loyalty in every expression. My Mother's extreme attention showed itself in watchful service and an open devotion. In a sense Ancestor worship has been inherited by me. Nights and days continued large and lenient in absence of excitability, and in a sense wholly individual and restricted with lives so narrow and circumspect. Life, perhaps, was not as conductive to the richer development of service as to the small social virtues, but I have good cause to remember that nothing ever disturbed the harmony of our home life. The War progressed and finally seemed to afford no excellent reasons why I should change my mode of comfortable exist- ence. Our Forces which had first been crushed — then advanced — then succeeded, and guns were hammering through those ensuing months. It was ideals and patriotism that appealed in pictures, as, so far, the disastrous effects of the War had not touched our family. Yet here and there, with amazing clearness, stands out the vision of my absorbed and ever busy Father. There lingers with me the tones of his voice those days of sacrificial War-work that took him often far from us. They were times to start and stare; to listen, whenever papers were shouted, or people called, always reading and talking of things catastrophic. At last and again came the hour when my whole world was thrown out of perspective. Father, at breakfast, read out clearly from the morning paper, "GEORGE CHANDLER among the list of killed today," and I too, was a shadow in a world of shadows. I saw again those dreadful Battle-fields, I heard afresh the clamorous calls of suffering and death. The vision of anguish and the sound of my Father's voice! "How sad — how sad" and the shock acted on me as never before. Something dreadful — unbelievable had happened. The answer of my swift convulsive sobbing amazed and startled them. Across all the gulf of those years I feel again that shaking grief and queer sense of compassion for myself. The calamity that cast over the gladness of life a heavy veil, had shut my world in a heavy fog. I had lost him — my friend was dead — I was only his "Little Friend", but something unrecognized, unacknow- ledged had bound me to him. Always his words of approval had heartened me, and sometimes his warm praise had been like appropriation and made for the strange subtlety of yielding and a mutual understanding. Did I not belong to him? He had almost once said such words — "You are my little treasure," and I could never now recapture the joy of that association and the certainty of its promise. I have the feeling of being separated from that time by something more pro- found, more significant than Calendar years. It was a loss that could never be blotted out. The shock of news that made for tragedy. I must have looked wild and pale for all their faces had blurred before my eyes. It was filling me with such sickness that it seemed I saw the act accomplished. What I had heard must have been a strange interpretation of some Satanic conflict. I needed air to catch my breath, and I saw tears in my own Mother's eyes as she ministered to me — an unexpected, unfeigned pathos and sympathy in looks and words. Her im- mediate sense of my needs, her comprehensive sympathy, and soon her purpose and efforts were to find a way of escape. My Mother was always firm as well as gentle, and once determined her action was not delayed. She had the kind of personality and power that diffuses itself like atmosphere and accomplishes its end without conflict. She had envisaged Page 193 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood her child in some special set of circumstances that would expunge dread and fear from the slate. I have said before that my Mother came from a long line of Mass- achusetts Puritans, and that group of human beings frowned upon romantic nonsense. But there was in her a vein of gentleness that matched her firmness. Verily! she must have been born wise as well as tender. I have said this before, I have said also how we never went in opposition to her wishes; they were evidently so wholly unselfish and for our benefit, advantage, opportunity or pleasure. Never in my life, thank God I can repeat it, did I hear a disrespectful word from one of her children. We loved her. She loved us. We felt her power. There was a peculiar dignity in the way she spoke, obedience was natural and easy. It was not that she was unduly serious, yet not gay and light. My life seemed cast on simple curves, but I have always felt the power beyond ourselves and it spoke in me then encompassed by dreads, fears, doubts, without wings of confidence. Days grew dull, toneless, as remembrance and revolt began to take all colour from them. For the first time I was not well. There was a band around my head. It pressed against the temples. It made me feel queer — a heavy and ever heavier weight in my heart. I was driven about like a leaf or like a storm-beaten plant. Something precious had been swept out of my life. I could not quench the rising in me which was like the hunger of a soul. "What is the matter with her?" I heard Grandmother ask with a kind of open impatience — "She seems to brood most of the time," and Mother answered quietly, "she has been long settled in one groove, and has met with a real sorrow; I think a change is imperative." Fear had hovered near and distaste for exertion grown — I had lost interest and brooded and brooded until even natural expression at home was becoming fitful and feeble in me — It was an electric current of some sort, excitement and interest, that in some way Mother felt was needed to restore calm and bring back joyousness. I do not think she made the mistake of spoiling me; but she had always indulged me, and neither weakly nor blindly. Now she thought the move must be radical, and a return to New York had evidently appealed as both wise and desirable; something to give me radiant days again with the promise of Music and its uplift. It was I that shrank a little at first, and made the objection that no high scholarship could ever be secured at Van Norman's, that their teaching was not worth a Tinker's zero. Mother laughed a little at my frank distaste on that score — "But you were all the readier there for adventure: apparently there was some sort of electric current to keep you so joyous. Your musical advantages, judging from your enthusiasm, must appeal. They are certainly worth finishing the year. Don't repeat shadows of failure." And I was instantly spurred to hear that Mr. Huss would gladly teach me again, and had consented at special request from home to take me with him whenever possible, and would secure tickets for whatever he desired for me, as a pupil, to hear. Also that arrangements as a "Parlour Boarder" would relieve me from all school routine and restraints. For the first time in my life I had felt inertia, almost indifference. Wounds for which no other is responsible seemed underneath all that I tried to do. Such were mine. One has to be re-born to get rid of mental and spiritual loss. To see them all again in their home life, the dear home on Madison Avenue, and receive such kindly demonstrations of regard, gave me new value in my own eyes. I seemed to have earned true treasure in the generous affection that im- mediately included me as one of them. Some hours I felt feverish with delight, as when Eliza talked with me about her engagement, which had renewed power over my imagination. I always remember the look of her in various gowns — such pictures made me love her personality more and more; her face, her figure, her arms and hands and unapproachable grace of movement. Eliza knew a great deal about dress — clothes and how to wear them — and for the first time its great importance was borne in upon me by comments about my own selections or choice of certain toi- lettes. The being openly told I "must get myself up well, make myself attractive Page lt;4 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood and ready to capture hearts, or I'd lose out among masculine friends and acquaint- ances," threw new light on the path. "They are your trappings of privilege," Eliza once said with a curious smile. I recall among their friends several who later became great Peeresses of Eng- land. Jennie Jerome and Consuelo Ysnager married into the very highest aris- tocracy, a Ducal circle where loyalty or remembrance of their own country or their own people was never adequately expressed. In that steady current there was a sort of joyous novelty appealing and draw- ing one far from profitless brooding and fruitless speculation. Digested wealth and social position certainly made them all articulate only in the rank to which they were lifted. The crudest things in life are the things we do to ourselves. That great surgeon, Dr. Sims, was still working for his ideal, a well fitted, fine Hospital for Women, for the idea and future erection of which he was entirely responsible. It was the first in the country and his charm, influence and eloquence, enthused and interested all those he approached. Great houses, closed to the outside world were open for entertainments to add subscriptions and secure funds, and I — fortunate child — went with them to many noted places, and caught glimpses of interiors and homes rigidly closed except to social leaders and sovereigns of that period. They remained forever as rather quaint and stately pictures of "Ye olden time". Children, or young people as outsiders, see things far more clearly than the sophisticated grown-ups imagine. Eliza with peculiar grace, attended to all amenities and courtesies with full sense apparently of the distinction it conferred. Her eyes always seemed to smile in harmony with her lips. Mary I learned, had never reappeared on the scene. Granville, the oldest son, whom I had never seen and rarely heard mentioned, had, it appeared, fallen a victim the very first weeks of the War. The little sons, Harry and Willie, were away at school. Fanny had grown out of childhood with a purity of expression and features that charmed and promised the attraction that all those Sims' daughters possessed. And little Florrie, still playing with her dolls, was already unusual and almost startling in beauty. In after years I thought Florence Sims, later the wife of Dr. John A. Wyeth, the most beautiful woman with one exception (that fascinating and supreme sovereign of her art, Teresa Carreno) I had ever seen. Certain impressions slip off my mind like rain drops off a grave, but always of things that have never come close, they become vague and uncertain when or because of no special importance. Other things, seemingly small, are clear and living within me and I hug every thought and reminder. So it is that I am not free where emotions are aroused or senses stirred. There is no way out of the maze. Those who are magnetic attract invincibly. Society, as I had glimpses of it that year, and later, showed me some celebrities, and no absence of real people with real brains, but having cherished a real con- viction that there was something else, something wonderful that must come to me, the general buzz of life just regained was not at first quite enough, even with the unbargained circumstance that gave me so many unexpected and amusing social experiences. Someway I missed some message in that atmosphere of il- lusion, some stir of electricity for brain as well as heart, something really or wholly mine as I took my way in that one channel — drinking my fill of the hours. I know life well enough now to believe that the meetings of individuals are not really casual as they seem. They almost invariably prepare for events, and disturb or delight us in singular fashion if any relationship becomes real. I was born destined by the Stars to love and be faithful to my friends. One may become relatively blind to opposing views, experiences or attitudes, and yet one is hard, or simple or complex, and reveals himself all unconsciously in unexpected fashion. Who can give the key to our character, study our expressions and tastes, and not see in individual as well as collective history how we are blind, or guilty of injustice, unfairness and partiality, and so remain absolutely foreign to each other as to ourselves? I touched that life about me with the blessed conviction of unalterable friendship and it touched me. Page 195 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood The Theatres were happy hunting grounds and I saw many of the old plays, classic and otherwise. At Wallack's and the Union Square, and later Booth's and Madison Square, I saw comedies and tragedies and grew someway familiar with the Stage. I saw and listened to Actors that approached their roles with respect if not reverence. And I can recall those great Artists of their time, Fechter, and Mary Anderson, Clara Morris, and Adelaide Neilson, and above all and al- ways that King — Edwin Booth. In the Musical world, Christine Nillson and Clara Louise Kellogg and the towering trio that I heard first in "Trovatore", Grisi and La Grange and Mario, and it was also at the Sims' after the War that I encountered often the beautiful Adelaide Neilson, and the elder Sothern and many other fine Diners-out, ever witty and sparkling with merriment; and in musical lines I met there the great Anton Rubinstein, and Wienawski, and Vieuxtemps — all welcome and at home in that brilliant drawing room. I met so many people, I went to so many places, I saw life at such different angles, and I began to fancy myself largely participating in the affairs of the world; but I judged so few people realistically, I saw in them not what was there necessarily but my ideals mostly. I beheld works of Art with ever increasing pleasure. It was a veritable delight to go to gatherings and exhibitions where I met certain well known Artists, es- pecially the dramatic ones, and a few who wielded the brush or the pen, who amazed me with their intuition of the beautiful and apparent longing for perfection. Nev- ertheless time had not come to tell me 'relentlessly that so many dreams were but dreams — nothing more — and that in every mood lies the suggestion of its opposite. I grew to believe in those light days of ignoring difficulties that I understood life; and yet life, except for the element of revived spirits, was going on exactly as before, with the added faith that I was winning my way, step by step through the unseen mediums into newer and greater independence. I had unshakable faith in my powers of judgment — and I had none. Had I not repeatedly heard that too often and too openly heart led head? Yet nothing had ever broken down my self-confidence, which to have lost would indeed have sapped strength. My eyes were not being strained to see, or my mind to grasp and grapple; my heart was fed and warmed, and my soul seemed strengthened and widened. My char- acter was hardening or yielding — and Character is destiny — it writes a man's life beyond possibility of erasure. That present filled my thoughts and feelings because with the turning of the tide, the passage of bright days once more, those ties were growing stronger and taking deeper hold. From a medley of impressions not one will come out sharply to explain the fact that knowing the Sims were Southerners and must inevitably sympathize with the South, and sustain its Cause in feeling if not act, I never realized myself under false colours in actually living with them every "week-end" exactly as before. It is easy to get absorbed in the life of others, and days with my opportunities, and the generous affection that always welcomed me, were vividly interesting and aroused me keenly to demonstrative expression. I found no occult change in myself, only ideas crowded into my mind and I talked exactly as I felt with absolute freedom and implicit confidence. I never had that terrible curse of self-consciousness when I talked. I know I was frank, spontaneous and trustful and I think I was always unaffected. In the charm of that environment and the companionship it created, I revelled more and more. I suppose I ought to have been less contented, less forgetful, less self-sufficient and less satisfied, but we are so rarely what we ought to be. Suffering was still everywhere and the Country rocking with dissensions. Something had begun to sleep in mc. The soul after a high temperature suddenly cools in a bath of kindness that can resemble a tem- porizing process, and I felt a flame of wholesome joy under the action of forces I could not always understand. Perhaps it is all the quickening of the mind that needs no other justification; healthy and young and naturally blithe of heart I no longer listened to the clash of battles or heard the striking of swords o\- fell "The State of Siege". I'agr /(/> Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood All these following incidents and events of my long gone past wear the guise still of eternal novelty, because reminiscences of when the flowers were fresh, the marble of character being chiseled, the ideas and ideals, feelings and experiences brought into being again, again become clear and unalterable as the elements. The intense pathos of the young and romantic makes for wistful poignancy of longing that bites more and more, or, according to temperament, less and less into the soul. It would have seemed like a crime to pick a quarrel with nature or humanity. I saw so little that was not artistic and I listened to so little that was not amusing. My taste for so many things was being formed. Nevertheless although it all fitted into my dream of life, the dream that the drums and terrors had deadened, I am sure I was extremely shallow and callow and that nothing made a really transforming effect. My interest quickened and intensified itself on individuals — pleasant emotions shook me so that nothing in me for the time sat in judgment — and War grew afar off. It was enough to bask in youth and high spirits.. The lovely household had blossomed forth to make me admire and appreciate afresh, to experience fresh and legitimate pride in their affection, so that I was never tempted to analyze thought and heard no voices across great distances, I was merely living with the intense personal passion of the moment. Achieve- ment did not call and failure did not daunt. I was constantly over-stimulated and forgot to keep my feet upon the earth. I saw things even there about me faintly, and was less and less sure of their significance. There were many enigmas but the War slipped into distance. I can never forget how my heart leaped with joy, and a new recognition that thrilled me afresh, whenever I was with Eliza; and I ceased to offer unsolicited opinions and grew less and less certain of myself. Yet nothing in that atmosphere seemed unreal to me, while there was in a deep sense perhaps very little that to thinkers and workers and warriors was real. Once I had tried with contemptibly insufficient words to tell Eliza of those months of excitement at home, and of the death-strokes that had threatened to change me so utterly. She said nothing of the great rending Cause itself, only looked at me a little wistfully — "You have, it's true, changed, but after all we are going through that is natural." And avoid- ing the subject with repressive effort she compelled herself to laugh and talk with a fair semblance of her own care-free brightness and gaiety. There was something so disarming and fascinating aboutthem all. The Mother, large, benignant, and a bit heavy, sat almost always in the same chair to which she gave somewhat the semblance of a throne. She had a settled manner much inclined to reserve, and seldom joined in what interested the others. But she smiled genially and gave marks of approbation so that whatever we did all fore- bodings were instantly banished. She roused to activity only for her daily drive in the Park, and later to meet the wearied husband and retire to their private sitting-room for rest or confidential interchanges. Several times I have seen him on the couch there, recounting to the woman he loved whatever he chose to share of the day's investigations and operations. I have read that a man's experience is the externalization of his own thinking. Dr. J. Marion Sims was the most original, brilliant, daring and successful opera- tor of his day and later days. A great genius, an Investigator and Discoverer, an Inventor of Instruments, one of Nature's Noblemen, with all the assets of the great Physician and he well deserved his title as "The Father of Gynecology." Certainly in that eminent Surgeon's case there was indeed and also a splendid outward expression. In my life I have seen but few men so attractive or who could so immediately lay claim to one's affections. How I delighted to be near him, and, in the hiatus of months since I had been away, I had always dwelt with reverence on his nature and disposition as well as tremendous ascendency in his profession. But now at times I felt in the head of that house a sort of appealing, groping sadness that strangely without analysis or understanding seemed like a reaching out for sympathy or a struggling loyalty. Some hidden balance seemed lost, some tranquilizing power no longer exercised its influence. Page 197 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood There are some things that are a fantastic memory, and I cannot say just how long it was before I gained any sense of reality of my own position in contra- distinction to theirs. I had rallied to claims of courtesy with whomever I met. It was no longer a part of imagination to wonder who they were. It was a sense of relief to enjoy them. I was not poisoned with restlessness. I did not mind. Memory and opportunities grew happily on trees as far as I was concerned. I was such an idiot I had never once suspected the possibility of actual friendly contact with the open enemies of my Country. I supposed myself understanding everything that was said and done — except its real meaning. There were always foreign and distinguished visitors so that it could not seem strange that there were far fewer New Yorkers, and so many outsiders and travelers. I was growing used to words that stopped conversation often when I entered, where guests had gathered — "Come here, Nina — Let me present you to Mr. This, or Mrs. That — or Captain Somebody else" — and with sometimes comprehensive exchange of glances — "This you know, is our little Yankee — very dear to us. — We don't care what opinions she holds or was born to!" And I was used to it, althought there were undoubtedly hours when I was not honest with myself. I was still living, in a borderland between sleeping and waking, the terrible certainty of differences, the sharp separation of sympathy, the impossibility of mutual service, had not worked its division. Once I opened the door of the big and temporarily deserted dining room to leave a message with the waitress, and was surprised to see Dr. Sims shut up there in close intimate and apparently secret conversation with a tall, austere looking man; both so intent with heads so near together that I instantly drew back and felt myself an intruder. The stranger started up looking at me with eyes that blazed and yet in an abstract unseeing fashion. But my name was kindly called as usual, with the usual introduction, intimating clearly as ever my inheritance of opposing sentiment. The stranger eyed me sharply with an un- pleasant glint and smile from the lips out. It struck me in a flash his peculiar glance — his peculiar voice — the odd inflection, and the long-drawn out drawl of his commonplace conventional remark as he seated himself. It returns to me as I write, and is one of the instances that curiously has not lost poignancy in re- collection. I remember it as an occasion when I tried to answer with smiling sprightliness, for it suddenly seemed as if whole scenes were in tumultous move- ment; as if there was unrecognized yet sinister amusement in the flash and gleam of his eyes fixed on Dr. Sims, and something exasperated me for a second — something strangely like triumph emanating from his atmosphere. Unrecog- nized thought pushed down all emotions of pleasure, almost of courtesy. It might have been unrecognized instinct that was coming to the rescue, but no one yet in my presence had obtruded personal views or challenged mine. And hours that followed were so peaceful that it was difficult to believe there might be a storm centre here or anywhere in the whole wide world outside. But things unseen were suddenly to be as clearly defined as things seen, tinged in the vivid colour of the sharply personal. The Pendulum swung on — and at last came the unforgettable evening of which I always think as of a sudden reverberating bomb. I had felt no necessity of asserting myself until that fateful hour struck, an- nouncing in sinister sound something that sprang upon me in a sentence, gathering force and fury, and forever destructive of all pretense of disguise. But still un- consciously, forever cultivating my own idealism and making emotional demands on myself, I was yet becoming growingly acute as a social observer; learning what witticisms and persiflage and social coignage of the lightest meant, without fully knowing it, while much of the time feeling and seeking in a strange yearning tenderness as far removed from the usual intercourse as Sun or Stars. I was all unsuspecting of the tremendous opening gulf between us. They had been so careful, so considerate, so kind and generous in concealing antipathies and re- bellion that the question had ceased to recur or thrust itself. 1 had never heard one word in their midst that bade me pause and consider — and the blinding fnght, the blinding fear spiritual and physical rushes back with the memory ol that one Page tq8 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood bitter hour, so that breath again seems to catch and strangle in the throat and my heart to miss a beat. Oh! then indeed I was driven off into the dark — dark — dark, for words drove against me with a blow, and flew a signal I could never ignore again. It was in the back drawing room and "Tea" was being served as usual — a habit belonging only to that house, for never had I before, nor since, met anywhere else the gathering at so late an evening hour (Ten o'clock) for that order of light refreshment. As I approached them I noticed three strangers, men of fine bearing, who looked at me somewhat startled, and I noticed and felt Eliza's appealing beauty; she was a living poem of grace and charm as she sat behind the large tray and silver urn. And I noticed that the wine glasses from the small table near, which bore usually a decanter of sherry, had just been filled. At the call, "Come join us, Nina", which had hardly died out, I moved into the circle, and at that instant with a quick look around, one of the men lifted his glass and whispered under breath — "Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy'" . Eliza, herself an example always of tact and delicacy, was suddenly shaken out of her tranquillity by that open and defiant Toast. My heart gave one great bound and without purpose, without thought of effect, the glass I had been smil- ingly offered, slipped and shivered from my hand. It was melo-dramatic, but not intended. They had lifted their glasses, held to their lips, gazed at each other for a second, almost as if in a communion of love before those bold but repressed tones — " To Jefferson Davis and the Southern Confederacy". It was loud as a cannon — it rung upon my ears — and some sensation fought and hunted and struggled in me, and some part of myself became only intense listening, as if I had lost consciousness of natural surroundings, while the black horror enveloped me in a cloud. It was so unexpected that it was impious. There was violence and passion in the air, and I seemed to have the brain of an inebriate. It was psychological and physiological struggle and revolt. Stupid and dazed I could marshal no forces at first to control the shock and recoil. I was like a traitor to the Cause in that glaring hour of materialization, as they all gazed incredulous, startled and angry. The eyes of one had contracted, his brows drawn sharply together as he bent on me a look of fury. He was a tall dark man, sallow faced and low-browed, thick hair very black and glossy, very erect and haughty in bearing and not devoid of personal attraction. There remains always a certain vagueness about the other two of that trio; soldiers, either on leave or who had run the blocade perhaps; a vagueness not due wholly to imperfect memory but to an incomprehensiveness from my point of view, of any knowledge or idea of disguised rebels visiting New York, and in the nature of things, working with heart and brain for their Cause. Something had filled the eyes of all three with a smouldering flame. They stared resentfully at me as if cheated by fate of their hour of pleasure, as if discovered and foiled, as it were, by one utterly at variance, utterly disloyal to their own grimly mag- nificent purpose to spot and demand service from all Southerners whose lot was cast where they could immensely serve the Confederate Cause. What right had I there? Who was I to be like a spy among those loyal Southern- ers? I can never express that horror-stricken suggestion of being one with those enemies of my Country. I could not speak a sane word. All the forces of my intelligence were aroused; visions, that explained so much not noticed before, came and went, but my faculties were not clear. The mask was torn away and I saw certain things now in their proper light. I felt sharply how that whole household was Southern through and through — that Eliza's whole heart must be for the South. Was not her fiance, Tom Pratt, with Morgan's men, one of that famous company of raiders, as was his friend the soldier who had spoken? It was all a swift incalculable process — Why, I loved Eliza, I loved her with a love woven into the smallest detail of our life together, and she had never failed me! We could not be enemies. And now her voice released dread and shook off horror, and out of sight and sound, swiftly gone like a thing of wind and vision, Page 199 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood was the awful fear as I caught those gentle expressions of regret — "They did not know — they would never have spoken — they thought you one of us, and not one of us would ever hurt you, Nina. Y\ hy we love you — what does it matter?" But it did. — Oh! it did — and I felt it was just retribution for ignoring all warnings. I felt vanquished. That voice human and beseeching was piercing straight to my heart. How could I take up weapons against them? They had never disdained me, for me to shrink or throw over those lovely friends would be demoralizing, and something beneficent and purifying to my whole being spread its warm wave, and Eliza's sympathetic distress pressed me forward to the edge of speech. But still dazed and stupid I could not instantly marshal forces to combat the shock and recoil. They were still watching me, expectantly as if they believed in another out- burst — their eyes as hard as a wintry sky — those men — those men, with their appearance of lightness and muscular grace, that had suddenly disclosed the enemy and made me so horribly afraid. The shrinking revulsions, the waves of recoil had rolled over all expansive impulses. Every instinct had stirred, not hidden nor sheathed. And now I met those intent defiant faces — incredulous, startled, angry — and the voice that had seemed sunk back within myself came back, and my head cleared. My knees felt weak; but something had snapped back in my head. I lost that deathly feeling that had sickened me with despair and disgust. Bewilderment and uncertainty fled; I felt cool, cool again — and I could not be startled by my speech or by them. Something had touched me deep down, that, if fanciful, was still impassioned and tender, and before had only answered to music. The worthlessness of all enmities, of all bitterness in association; of all pos- sessions; of everything but love and loyalty, worked swiftly in me. Life was no longer a furious parody. Why did we fight each other? Why couldn't we under- stand each other? How could we hate each other? There suddenly seemed comfort in inanimate things — comfort in everything — nothing was meaningless — nothing all bad — we were all helpless in the grip of circumstance — but we ought not to be held forever apart. I tried to speak and act normally, and said in tones very tremulous, " There is a Toast — Could we not drink — To the Right?" Eliza caught my hand and whispered, "You darling, you darling," and I was no longer restless under the steady gaze of her guests, which had lightened as if the culmination was relief. Their faces were no longer cold and expressionless, their eyes brightened, hatred had died out. It was the leader himself, the dark austere one, who lifted his refilled glass and spoke it clearly — "Success to the Right." The flavour of that wine is on my tongue this minute. Those soldiers were Confederate Officers as I long afterward learned, and "The Leader" was an Envoy or Representative from the so-called Confederate Government, sent by their President to search out and consult with those dis- tinguished Southerners in the North who had prestige and wielded influence. But we had met. The real and common subject between us was the human heart which remains the same in every age. Their courteous words as the glasses were set down assumed Eliza's manner — apologies and assurances — but I was very tired and made no reply, I longed only for flight. I wanted to chase something away, to get away from every human being. We can console ourselves for separations — for differences or for the silence even of those we love best — but are humiliated by blindness or any idea of being deceived. The flame in me might flicker, but it burned, it burned. I was afraid of sudden tears and a collapse, but I tried to smile feebly as moving off I turned a backward glance. Then I saw a picture. It is stamped forever on brain and heart. I saw they had drawn themselves erect — I saw each hand had stolen up — / saw they stood at Salute. These pictures cannot be recalled with any formula to work magic with — I had looked at the truth, and words made a phantasmagoria of Ugly things. Hut flushed, disconcerted and dismayed, 1 had cried out against any sense ol degrada- tion iii belonging to those large hearted faithful friends. 1 had awakened to the Pagi Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood. motive power back of all feeling and action; a belief, if not understanding of our relation that hereafter never needed words. A new, infinitely sweet compassion was born while yet the effect of those poignant moments never left me. Ungovernable instinct still works and its memory is never a genial or palatable one. I can see the humour of that whole scene — it merits no laughter even now — the traces of all the tragedy and comedy was in the incident. I can never forget what I may here have poorly described, that while I clung desperately, tenaciously to my own ideas and beliefs, many things had become insignificant outside of love and fealty. Eliza's face was blanched and her eyes tear-drowned as she greeted me days after with the sobbing announcement, "Tom — Tom has been taken prisoner." I stood shiveringly, thinking of all the soldiers sent to that Hell of battle — swallowed up — sons, brothers, friends, lovers, to be seen no more on earth, and thinking of my Prince of the Fairy-Tale and our beloved George Chandler. Was not im- prisonment vastly less terrible than their tragic fate? I hated to see her pale face show such fright, she was tragic for the moment. It was for the second time only, the first when she had told me of Mary's startling marriage, and now of her fiance as a prisoner, that I had ever seen her graceful calm broken or her self control shattered. When she added brokenly — "Papa thinks — perhaps they can get him ex- changed or paroled — or something. Influence must get him out, or shorten the time — Papa has gone to see friends — and we must send messages." I only listened and wondered. Her man, the man she loved had not been sac- rificed as had so many thousands of others. The one, the great, the vital thing was not missing for her, and grief seemed immoderate. I felt her good fortune by comparison, thinking of the agony, fear and loneliness of those utterly bereft, deprived of what had made life so bright. Oh! the War — the War, the wholesale giving of loved ones to Death! It was more than grim fighting, suffering, wounds or imprisonment. It was to women something infinitely, terribly, more. And less to me could not appeal as such an unnerving blow. And here the striking difference of sentiment and act stands out distinctive of those times. When that Civil Conflict shook out Nation the very atmosphere that surrounded us differed from what we all breathed during the colossal World War that struck its root of evil deep down into the soil of all countries and into the souls of citizens. When that rebellion expressed itself in ugliest forms in our midst, it was in- stantly crushed, if possible, and naturally there was a character of social ostra- cism when opposite views were too pronounced. Yet what an illustration of magnanimity and faith in our kind was Dr. Sims' being permitted to retain place and position without surveillance, or the poison of suspicion and aversion. It showed, after all, the close touch with our fellow men, the general kindly con- nection one with the other. We were somehow, consciously a homogeneous people. There were few Aliens and no one feared them. It was a peculiar crisis — brother against brother — a great moral question involved. But we were Americans, and then by comparison the trait most manifest, away from the Field of Battle itself, was a sort of humanness. The universal suspicion, the misery of refusing freedom of word or look, the Secret Service hound- ing as well as watching, and the swift internments, were alike unknown. Has not this that so menaces the Nations today, destroying confidence in each other, the dreadful divisions in sentiment and service, the absence of all peace in the strange course of events that leave so many bruised on the Wheel of Fate, and nothing to minimize universal distress, come in somehow with Cable, Telephone, Wireless, Radio, Air Service, Tanks, Submarines and Chemical Warfare? Cer- tainly today shadows are all about us lurking in the work dead hands had left behind. Is it a worthy result of all those horrors that the History of the late War has blazed upon every road, in every hamlet and every land? Where is the worthy result of our advance in Invention and our grappling with Science, and what does it say for so-called Civilization and Christianity? Page 201 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood In the Civil \\ ar it is true danger and treachery were on every side and never absent, but there was tranquility of temperament, expressions of faith and a kind of courage and belief in each other, in which some of the bravest of our Leaders and dearest of our friends today are notably deficient. These obvious reflections, easy enough of suggestion when outside the danger- line, impress me more and more as I re-live that time, and remember how success- ful was that special effort to release that special prisoner. It was largely, I learned, through Mr. William E. Dodge's services, who saw Mr. Lincoln on the subject, and although at the other pole of sentiment, was a firm friend of Dr. Sims, a staunch and noble upholder of the Union, his patriotism was no less fine and un- selfish, no less proud and unwavering, because he believed in listening to the calls of many who did not believe with him. His means, his words and his deeds all united to express the truest devotion and the purest patriotism as well as the most generous service. He was a bulwark of faith in the Church and in Missionary Fields, showing zeal unmeasured for the spread of the Kingdom of Righteousness and Peace. He stood a pillar of strength in the world of business, and on an emi- nence socially, and was considered an example of Civil probity and of personal nobility. Yet that true lover of his country, one of the great lights of the time, traveled to Washington to speak for and serve the family of his friend. The wide difference in views and sympathies and the impact of self-assertion neither destroyed nor weakened mutual kindness and helpfulness. Is it not a marked instance, and one for his descendants to hold as example, in prideful memory? It is pitiful that today what is human and beautiful should seem a hopeless romantic dream, incapable of realization in national and inter-national interchanges. Even in individual ones, alas! it seems so sadly seldom transformed into a fact. And I have dwelt on the whole incident not as peculiar for I construe it as a sign of the times. I have given it much thought and have drawn certain de- ductions, fantastic though they may seem to youth and inexperience and to the prevailing views of today. My interest then in all that happened was keen and not detached, yet I did not realize the amount of speculation I have spent on it in the many years since. It is now that my scattered faculties assemble them- selves and stand at attention. There are always some grounds on which we can meet everyone, and every state of existence has its inner justification as happiness and unhappiness depend on the inner state. I had matched my puny strength against malice, and the destruction of what was precious and true in our lovely relation, without betraying any sense of loyalty. The flame in me might flicker this way and that, in the wild winds that like an army's slow advance blew and destroyed all before it. I understood the menace to peace and safety; and against open wrong I cried aloud before the Shrine set up by patriotism; but I was not ungrateful, not selfish, no longer blind. Some- thing of the buoyancy, the unafraid challenge of life went out of me. And now my first unmistakable perception that Tom would surely be set at liberty, that conviction based on the kindly relation, efforts, understanding and sympathy existing between their friends who had influence and were exercising it, became verified by his release or parole or exchange — I never knew which. Dr. Sims had worked out his problem by deciding to leave America and settle indefinitely in Europe. Apparently, perhaps largely in consequence, all discussions or irritations were sedulously avoided. I realized these and other impressions as the result of my sharp and startling experience, and, recognizing the rights of each other, very deliberately I decided to absent myself entirely and retire from the field when Tom arrived. Well I could imagine exultation, festivities, cele- brations, explanations and experiences that I neither desired to hear not could possibly share. There was nothing for me to do but to metaphorically pack my emotions under my arm, put on my bonnet and walk out of the house. K very t hing pointed to that one course, and a sense of disquietude and disturbance rolled off as I quietly slipped away a few hours before the expected arrival. 1 knew not only that in the excitement I would not be missed, but [keenly felt that under the Page 202 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood circumstances my disappearances would spell greater freedom, freer interchange, and more complete satisfaction to all concerned. Since the good news of his speedy appearance Eliza had needed no assistance, and I had become more of a witness than of a participant. The part I played in their life had become a minor one. Oh! the monotony of the school which, though not under its rules and rigidities, I felt more keenly than ever. It was hard to relegate so much into the background, impossible to escape sharp comparisons and dreary incongruities. I struggled on to make independence practicable, although I never once grasped the state of mind, or any outlook, which had made stars and winds so eloquent before. Things seemed unreal, I could not ignore much that was becoming unpleasant, and Oh! the joyous emotion that swept over me when Carrie two weeks later burst in like a revivifying and refreshing blaze of sunshine. "What the Dickens ails you, Nina, to stay away so long? Even Mamma won- dered what on earth had become of you, and Papa has asked where you were several times. My Goodness! What rows go on in our house! Mamma only laughs, says she never could imagine what sister Eliza ever saw in Tom Pratt anyway. Tom's imprisonment hasn't helped his disposition. He's got an awful temper. I told Sister I'd never let myself be made miserable by any such hot- headed fool, and I swear I won't marry a man I can't hush up. Jealous? Why over everything, over nothing, mad at everyone, and I tell you it means ructions. Of course we keep everything from Papa or Heaven knows what would happen." Carrie had youth, beauty, distinction, charm, style — and temper; and I laughed with renewed delight as she rattled on. "Sister Eliza sent me, said I wasn't to come back without you, and I said your airs and independence made me mad; that I thought your high-mightiness better be left out in the cold as long as you wanted to stay there; but Sister says she needs you, so get your duds quick and come along — the Coupe's waiting." I was in high spirits not to be let alone, and hurried preparations while she gaily continued — "I tell you Paris will be a relief. I begin to hate New York — so many prigs and prudes setting themselves up to judge us — it's duller than ditch-water. The Lord knows it was stiff enough before the War, and now those straight-laced old things are sitting up in their big shut- up houses, thinking they lead society! Why Papa has had letters that they'd give their heads for. That old Grande Dame, the Duchesse de Grancy, whose Mother was one of the Ladies-in-Waiting to Marie Antoinette, and whose daughter is a Dame D'Honneur of the Empress Eugenie, wrote Papa that she had secured us a fine apartment in the new part of Paris on the Champs-Elysee. You know it was the Contesse de Florin whose recovery the whole Court thought such a miracle. That was a big operation of Papa's, but of course he was successful, of course he cured her. Now they are all so delighted we are going to live in Paris, as well as the big Doctors he captured last year when he operated at their Hos- pitals. Dr. Velpeau and Dr. Neleton, the most famous Surgeons in France have also written, and Papa heard at once from both Mr. Mason and Mr. Slidell. Oh we are in for a great time! Mark my words, we'll be in the Imperial Circle next. The Grand Duchess of Baden was a patient of Papa's last time, and he'll have the Empress before long, you see if he won't." That prophecy was fulfilled. Dr. Sims was summoned by Sovereigns and decorated by great Courts. He spent much time in London as well as Paris and secured for his family a social eminence they adorned. But Royalties, no matter what was offered, could not spoil such a nature, nor change the simplicity, sin- cerity and directness, warmth, naturalness and charm, that endeared their dis- tinguished Father. Always kind and generous, always radiating sympathy and skill, Dr. Sims was at home with high and low. When we entered the Madison Avenue house of many memories that day of my return, Eliza flushed and paled as she rose to welcome me. It was plain something had insinuated itself into the rose of her happiness. Something had plunged disturbingly into that urbane household. Something of the buoyancy, the unafraid challenge of life, had gone out of it. But it seemed to me that I saw Page 20 j Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood shining in the delicate oval of Eliza's face, the intense blue of her eyes, under the arch of her brows and the frame of that glossy black hair, even about the curves of her mouth as she smiled, a new revelation of loveliness. There was a new ex- pression of feminine sweetness that with the living gentleness of her manner gave a distinct impression of irresistible fascination. She talked of Tom and it set a fierce hammering in my heart. She was no longer passionless, she opened fully and told me of scenes that made a thrill race through me. Tom had a perfect mastery of the game and I immediately wanted to pit my brain against him, and be a sharp tool to cut through conditions; but everything seemed disastrous and everything meant annulment if I once broke bounds. Eliza, always wistful and adoring, made me sub-consciously aware that no outside power could break the spell, that as his demands grew she inevitably and increasingly bestowed all her thoughts and time to gratify his whims. She insisted to me that her hero was ardent and always chivalrous at bottom, and that it had been a Heaven of relief when he first clasped her in his arms. Now he was shaken and stirred to irritablity because of so many people and claims, for friends were ever about, and even ordinary callers disturbed his composure. Something I had never seen literally bloomed before me in beauty and sweetness, and the experiences she confided prepared me for further and deeper mysteries of imagining, creating, idealizing and gilding. It was the woman's appeal in the untried nature of the girl, something blooming and rounding out continually that can never be rooted out from borders where it once was seeded. But Oh! the break of all my apotheosizing, the utter destruction that very night of the picture that had tempted me to endow her lover with enchantment. He was very handsome, that one must admit, but I could not endure his audacious looks and air of ruling in that gay circle. We met at dinner and before it ended we became almost openly antipathetic. Even his reputation for courtesy was in danger of being lost. Our mutual dislike grew without words, and I was sure he would have gladly used some deadly ammunition on me if he had dared. On that point of aversion my imagination never had to work overtime. I saw that nothing could restore me to my old place while he occupied his throne and things remained as they were. He had walked right past all bolts and bars and guards and got all he wanted — and he did not want me. I effaced myself as noislessly and as speedily as possible; but it made those last days painfully unsettling and I had no philosophic outlook. Something disastrous had occurred one early morning, and Tom had dashed furiously out of the house leaving Eliza white as a sheet. It was hours afterward that I found her alone in the silence of her own room — silence for both of us was ominous. She repeated no oft-told tale of suspicion and jealousy, only whispered, "Stay with me. Keep the others away." And the twilight darkened and we returned, after the forced descent to dinner, and by that upper window sat watching as evening hours sped on. It was long after midnight and I saw the ravages of fear deepening almost into terror until her pallor made me desperate. I shall never forget how we leaned out of that upper window peering down into the blackness. It was two o'clock when the familiar footsteps rang upon the pavement and his jaunt}' upright figure was clearly outlined as he ascended the steps. Eliza slipped swiftly down the flight of stairs to open for the selfish-souled lover who plainly had wished to give her a lesson. It. was long before they ascended and I sat alone, my indignation rising to fever-heat. I was shut out of it — shut out by my own inhibitions, and neither novelty nor joy during all my last visit could help me to patient enduranct him. The Good-nights" had been prolonged sufficiently for me to understand that "The King can do no wrong", thai forgiveness had been extended to the innocent and trustful one, and all was swallowed up in the love-making which 1 resented. The lire in me cooled into stead}- dislike, determined avoidance, and a grow- ing apprehension for my darling. There were days and weeks of growing distance and of upheaval and removal in the house. All were tOO bus} and tOO Page .?"./ Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood absorbed to notice enforced absence on my part. And the fateful day of departure, like all days dreaded or desired, dawned at last, and Oh! then the farewells hurt on both sides. I was overwhelmed when they left, and stood with streaming eyes on the wharf as long as I could follow the receding steamer. In heart I rebelled beyond reason. I felt obstinacy, solicitude, fear and pain I could neither measure not understand, as I saw those dear faces fade into the distance. And when next I saw them, to renew those happy relations, it was in Paris where we spent many joyous months. And I can never forget that through Dr. Sims' letter to our great Actress, Charlotte Cushman, I owe an acquaintance and friendship that opened the doors of many notable Artists during our first trip abroad. It was at Miss Cushman's house in Rome, the Winter after the War, that I met many of her distinguished group, and the pleasure and distinction of her kindness enriched experience and made our stay in Rome that year mem- orable. It was a new sort of existence in New York for the rest of that year. I was not interferred with, and my music became my solace and Mr. Huss my dependence. He tried to advance and never curtail the pleasures of my existence, securing tickets for all notable concerts, and at the regular Philharmonics he began to try to make me sufficiently scholarly to show some interest in looking over and seeing him follow the Score of the Symphonies. He took me to many Solo-Recitals of Artists more or less renowned, and he made that new and busy life — at least before untried — wholly fresh in comparison with my half-hearted attention and studies when, before, all matters had invariably assumed the personal note. He never insinuated criticism, and did not openly bring any accusations against me in our discussions; but I could not rebut my own convictions that I had closed avenues of progress while so absorbed in my friends whose departure I was mourn- ing. I dwell now on Mr. Huss' teaching and my friendship with them all because of its comforting assurance. It opened to view afresh simple harmonious home life, sincere and satisfactory, that needed no outside benefaction or excitements. I saw so little there that was not also artistic, and I listened to so little there that in the end was not elevating. And here, my children, it may interest you to watch me decide that I wanted a thing, and to follow the steps by which I got it; for I can visualize for you those far off busy days with distinctness. Even at that length of time the faces and actions of those I have written of are never blurred or indistinguishable, but clear before my mental vision, and in my youth, you see, I was compact of impulses and emotions. The rest of that year as I have said was valuable, because I had reached a point in which I took an important step. The fascination of my music lessons now placed that interest on a plane alone, and I began persistently and eagerly to strive to learn. Mr. Huss gave me that legitimate attention which could not accomplish all it suggested but afforded me definite intellectual images. In short he invited my intellect to get up and ride along with my emotions. He did not believe in any trifling work and he stirred inward desires to excel. I learned that to be even in small degree master of technique demanded special gifts of intelligence, delicacy of sentiment, and quickness of perception to hold the mirror up to feeling, and that to interpret at all is no easy task. Taken as a whole the result was not highly creditable as to technical or any excellent musical interpretation, but my ears were getting practiced to keenness, and my attention becoming concentrated. His audible suggestions and charming comments incited me to put more and more enthusiasm into my efforts. At the Opera I was wholly fascinated, and I listened to wonderful and impressive dramatic and musical interpretations which thrilled me to the core. My heart was big and hungry enough to enjoy and to profit by the unusual opportunities. I learned especially to appreciate the soloists, vocal and instrumental, and the artists as individuals were set upon their right- ful throne. And with varied opportunities and under that kind tuition I became a fervent and pious lover of the Art. In the Huss household were no eccentricities of behaviour neither the usual Page 205 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood dull methods of ordinary progression — each one apparently owning a spirit which soared far above the merely commonplace, and of all the group of children little Heinrich, a sparkling specimen and full of talent, was my favourite. I could never imagine adverse destiny for such a boy, as every time I saw him it was as if he had first opened his eyes on a strange fascinating world, which he faced with sturdy but inarticulate defiance whenever the hours were devoid of interest. The entire correctness of the child's behaviour with visitors, as well as his personal charm, quite enchanted me and always aroused interest and expression of admira- tion from others. And Oh! for me the rapture of seeing narrow horizons widen! and the ritual ordained was to practise, practise, practise until power came. But it did not come, only the sense of beauty quickened in me. It was as if the huge world was opening before one's eyes with a promise of magic, of enduring and incal- culable fascination. My heart was brim full of innocent longing to kneel, to worship, and to be of the chosen who served at that High Altar. THE WORD OF COMMAND. The resilliency of Youth is certainly one of the most remarkable things about it. Mine was a family that admired and practised strength of purpose and ac- cepted its good fortune with equanimity. And for me, where delights or desires were concerned, a wave of electric and exhilirating anticipation seemed to be in the very air. It is the priceless amenities of existence that not only add zest and protect the fortunate from many a jolt that others endure in the earliest stages of life's journey, but, the substantial advantage of ease and comfort, makes the world a cheerful place to live in. You see I was a stout-hearted early Victorian, I knew my own mind and admitted very little compromise. The I— who am I — both by inclination and training might always have been unconsciously concerned with law and tradition, yet was always dealing directly with lives and emotions. Life, as I knew it, always moved on to musical measures. It was so well directed by my Parents, that when I took it for periods into my own hands, it never seemed on the loose, I mean to swing perilously. There were some small adventurous ex- cursions before I swung back to the main traveled road, and to my well-ordered home, but someway I never felt that I was lurching a little, or that my daily experiences and perspectives were in danger of becoming blurred and indefinite. And now looking at life so much in retrospect, I am wondering that we, the children of our parents, should have been so blessed by being seldom misunder- stood, and never crushed or devastated by injustice, or any determination to frustrate our efforts or endeavors by their own individual tastes and habits. Many mixed reflections, curious aspirations and foolish hopes passed through my head and heart in the intimacy of my own rooms, but the enigmas of existence were fascinating and there was nothing stilted or formal in the days. And Oh! — The Lake — the Lake, how I rejoiced again at the splendour of light and colour when familiar background was once more mine. Its different moods meant different lights and wondrous tints, all shades of lustrous colours, azure, turquoise, rose and green, violet and purple; darkest Sea tones and dead grey surfaces when the sky lowered heavy with clouds; and far away on the horizon's rim a dim line of depth and width that reaches far down, and has its foundation deep in some earthly paradise. Oh! who can uproot beauty if nature smiles and shelters and reveals herself, and lets romance cling and seem to open out and show all the Fairylands of Poetry and Song. Very soon after my happy return I felt the unwonted shadow, and found my parents were worrying over their son Horace's craze to "Join up", to be one of the defenders of the Union. He was a mere boy, one in the "Lower Forms at Andover Academy, that excellent Preparatory School for Harvard University. Pagr 206 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood The War had called away many of the older students, most of whom had to lie as to their age. The need was too great not to have Recruiting Officers shut eyes to any course that would not add strength to the Army, however young looking the applicants. Horace was then barely sixteen. It was the stirring and dramatic events of the time that apparently drove out of the mind of the youngest classes every other pre-occupation. Our Mother, who seemed to possess the Seer's gift, was inclined to think a crisis had arisen sufficiently important for them to summon my militant young brother home, to prevent in advance any dangerously hasty act or obstinate aversion and desertion from the path of learning; for battles, and the sound of battles, threatened and almost remodelled character; making everything else decline into unimportance, measured against the ardour of patriotism and the devotion of service. Consequently, that he might view life in another perspective, and realize that his sixteen years must restrain him for the immediate present, to study instead of to fight, he was called to meet remonstrance, firm insistence, and finally gently, but positively, the "word of command". The open discussions had their effect, and my brother was brought to see that he must not dream of withstanding his family; that he must exercise what required the most courage, by yielding his own wishes to theirs. To his youth and inex- perience that must have required great effort, and must have appealed as self sacrifice, the cheerful giving up of one's own passionate longing to ally oneself with the great Cause of a Country's defense. He was amply rewarded by a con- fidence of my Father's who told him, that the War, in the opinion of those most qualified to judge, was slowly drawing to its close. And then he shared with him a secret hope that had long been our Father's dream. He especially wished Horace to have a year in Europe before entering College, and planned for us all a pro- longed season of travel abroad, that we together, as a united family, should have the great privilege of visiting foreign lands. It was quite enough to hearten my young brother who kept the secret until its near possibility was assured to us all. It was a promise of splendid things that made existence for its own sake glorious, planning those wonderful years over-seas. And Horace shook off his despondent mood and, aroused and alert, returned to school to give his studies there his best attention. I can trace way back, to almost the exact hour that dramatic presentation, and tales and songs and gay adventurous recitals, settled suddenly in my own mind the thought, / want my brothers to go to Harvard. What did I know of Col- leges in general or particular? Courses of study or the relative values of Insti- tutions of Learning? Absolutely nothing. But that Kilbreth visit, the sight and sound of those Cincinnati chums, and classmates of the sons of the house, the jovial choruses, the roaring College songs, the droll details of adventures in Boston and Cambridge, the looks of those Upper Class men, their air, dress and bearing; all was as impressive as their open pride in the traditions and rank of their Alma Mater; it settled in my receptive mind the vast and unapproachable superiority of Harvard University. And later to my brothers, I had repeated with all the emphasis at my command, all I could remember that was most vividly interesting. In recounting what had most impressed me, I strove to impart my own am- bitions as well as enthusiasms. I only remember one sentence as significant or proof of any marked effect. Horace had a gift at reticence. He was a Gray in temperament and never overflowed unconsciously. He prophesied his future eminence as a Judge on the Bench, by looking calmly at evidence, and rarely expressing conclusions hastily. He was Mother's own boy and his reserve, even at that age, amounted to dignity. It never detracted from his charm, or from that serene radiance of per- sonality. He had marked social gifts and was never unduly silent in company even then; for his striking appearance, his ease of movement and his graces of manner had seemed from childhood in the ascendant. There was something ineffable that Horace could use at will to attract admiration and increase affection. After one of myexcited statements of the overpowering advantages of Harvard, Page 207 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood he looked at me gravely, and said quietly — "Yes, I think I'd like to go there;" that was all, but it was sufficient to change my purpose into speech and argument. I knew then and I know now, that it was my influence alone, my representations and my urgency, that finally decided the question and sent my brother to that University, for which he was then taking the mentioned course in Andover. It was the first and only time I remember coming in contact with my Father's choice or questioning his decisions. My Father naturally preferred that his sons should attend the Evanston Institution with which he was in a sense affiliated, as always an important Official and benefactor, and for which he lavishly gave of time, thought and means. His unstinted efforts were only matched by his high hopes, his high purposes, his educational aspirations and his devotion to standards of Church and State. His ever growing influence and unselfish services to aid in the development of Northwestern University and Garret Biblical In- stitute, can in their result, never be measured and never be exaggerated. He was one of the Founders, one of the most devoted adherents, loyal and loving to the very end. As an important leader, as Vice-President or President for fifty years or more on the Executive Board of one, and Secretary and Treasurer of the other, he never laid aside those duties until his death. On the merits of College East and West and their claims, he failed to see any reason that ought to contradict his wishes or over-ride his judgment. He was mild but firm in the expression of his opinion and preference, and for all my eloquent statements he remained at first quite immovable. I had no realizing sense or feeling for the probable clarity of his spiritual or critical faculty. Everything to me as I saw and expressed it was in terms of the material. I cannot recall that Horace was more than a silent listener to the argu- ments pro and con, but I very well remember that I refused to admit the claims of any new Institutions as against one with the history of so many years of ac- complishment, and with that age-distinction and eminence that rendered it so important to the whole country. It was during one day of a renewed discussion that George interrupted impul- sively — "Why Father, let Horace go there if he wants to, I'll go to Northwestern — I'd like it lots better — it's nearer home and I don't care anything for the East, nor whether the College is old or new, I know I'd like to go to Evanston and it would be near you all." That unexpected assurance and warmth of declaration seemed to turn the scale. George's apparent desire to ally himself with Father and his preference, was a strong factor in the situation, and Mother's words — "We'd better let our boys decide for themselves" — effected the compromise — and so it was brought to pass without heat or hurt. George as a boy of twelve had listened with animation and vivid interest to my descriptions; but sensing disappointment or any distress for Father he had instinctively tried to banish it. He did not wait to weigh any course for him- self nor was it consciously an unselfish act. It was simply an expression of his nature. The incident shows perfectly the characteristic lovingness of my brother George, his tender sympathies, his unselfish spirit, and his swift warm-hearted response to every appeal. The exquisite deference to his parents that developed with his years, the marked grace and courtesy of manner and an unfailing consideration for others, made him beloved in all circles where he was known. His popularity later in College was greatly enhanced by his physical attributes and athletic leadership. He was the pride of the Gymnasium that he and my cousin, Will Evans, started and brought to completion. He was the Organizer and President of the fine Yacht Club that was at one time the pride of the town. He conducted races and contests of various kinds. He and Elysabeth's brother, Fred Clarke, thought Evanston should have a fine social centre, and, by their united efforts and success in interesting a few others of prominence, the present Evanston Country Club came into being. Me always excelled in sports, eclipsing easily in skating, rowing, dancing or 208 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood any form of manly exercise with the grace and skill of a champion — everywhere showing the sheer joy of exuberant life. George was very striking in appearance, six feet in height, of blonde type like a young Viking, erect and virile, a splendid figure, he showed perfect physical fitness. With no frailty or infirmity visible his health throughout boyhood and youth was superb. He grew from youth to maturity and into noble manhood, and being naturally and gracefully demonstrative, his smile, genial word of greeting, innate courtesy, ready service and charming personality endeared him to all who came near. He had seemed a young Hercules, and how could we ever fear or believe that he the youngest, the strongest, would be the first to leave us? Yet like a knife at the throat — in early middle life — Death summoned him. There were circumstances in connection with his illness too poignantly distressing to recall. He tried to rally — to meet life's inexorable demands — and failed. It was a swift tragedy and the anguish of it for us all was not tempered. My Mother loved her children with an intense devotion as people love the things that make life precious — that feed the heart. And grief rolled over her in great waves, sweeping, submerging and almost drowning in the black misery of loss and longing. That first crushing sorrow meant heartbreak, and stamped a mark that nothing could ever wholly obliterate. At that time when, back from New York, I was settling into the home-groves the War seemed someway so much nearer, so much closer at hand than when away. In the East I had almost lost its daily impact upon consciousness, that impact of violent self-assertion which was in every thought and word about me. Those dreadful casualty lists — Death going on and as it were, gripping us all. The War was like an encroaching nightmare — extinction recurring with ghastly battles and terrible acts, and forever in the Press on every page in every column, reports of unspeakable horrors. And sheltered from its direct encounters yet I too began to awake in the night seeing vague shapes, and in the days even visual beauty began to seem only a scroll filled with close writ drama. Sorrow and mourning everywhere — in mansion, in farm-house, beside the snows in Winter or when Summer held the land. — The country-side or home interiors all marked by the graves of those who fought in the Civil War — all left with only an agonizing freight of memories. Why were things as they were? It was arousing imagination to aid destructive sort of work —to be killed — to have those we love killed — it meant nothing but murder. ' And then came Elysabeth cool and sane. The sun was in its right place. The possibilities of life were by no means exhausted. "There were victories to seek", she said. Curious for one so young to be so cynically clear in vision. "Don't be so dramatically morbid. Your imagination seems in danger of leading you into Chambers of Horrors. I hate that sort of grissly instinct, forever dwelling on what is terrible. There's a twist in you somewhere, and treacherous depths of emotion — pitfalls in fact — and I believe you are pushing yourself toward them. In this Universe even though every cause has its effect, only patience and endur- ance can calm the storms or help us to rise and stand quiet in times of turmoil." Such philosophy like devotion threw out its line far beyond itself, and with each breath, when we began to read once more, came fresh and novel sensation, almost of exhiliration. To live life eagerly and buoyantly, and forget what I could neither face nor help now became my effort, and that was advanced by every mental process. The matter of life being worth while — and mine certainly was — was being shown to me as only a matter of short-sightedness or far-sightedness. The heart that knows the power to rise above emotion, Elysabeth maintained, was after all the one that felt most justly and most deeply; that leaned most securely and strove to do the best to broaden intellectual vision; for each aspiration can make a dif- ference in the ultimate welfare of the world. Elysabeth's friendship and mine has never been broken. After her years as a brilliant and successful teacher she left Chicago to make her home in Boston, near the beloved and only brother. A certain sentence that I find in a preserved Page 20Q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Birthday letter of 1890, gives me a thrill of joy today, even as it did when I read it first. "Your friends, my dear, could wish you no greater happiness than to see yourself as others see you. It would be with quite another result than Robbie Burns thought of!" To show that the brilliant mentality of her age is as satirically sparkling today as in the young philosopher of sixty-two years ago, I quote a few characteristic sentences in the last two letters dated and received this Spring of 1925. "I think one of the to be prized possibilities of old age is that you feel free to divest yourself of certain opinions and efforts, not feeling any obligation of action that requires a special philosophy — So the world is all before you where to choose, and it becomes delightful drama, not tragedy because the scenes shift rapidly and the fifth act doesn't come to the whole Cycle." "To keep in the current of domestic and foreign affairs requires time, and they are to me interesting, this World-Drama in which events are so much more interesting than the actors, that the latter seem puppets of the mysterious "Zeit Geist" — why did I not say Providence? — perhaps because Providence suggests a nursery-care for individual welfare, and there seems today a terrible (to us nursery folk) impersonality in events." "After you have perfected your character in youth and middle age by duty and self-denial why "paint the lily and adorn the rose" by limiting the freedom of wish or whim in advancing years? Halos are difficult of adjustment. Modern psychology negatives the value of noble example to youth whose slogan is self development and self expression. A frank sound-hearted selfish old age is really wisdom." "Except for my friends and whatever fruitage I gather in the present, the past, my past doesn't interest me. History, the biography of others, does, so far as it illumines the ever-developing Day, here and now. One would like the men- tality of the young-eyed Cherubim who see the only hour that exists — namely, JTUD IjCLlYuL jhe Creative instincj^that holds past and future. I wish dear Nina, you were a neighbour, you might then guide and form my mind. Meanwhile as I am lacking such help from you I am just Your loving friend Elysabeth." And soon I became eager for Dr. Bevan's greeting and guidance. No one had ever so opened out new worlds or so generously helped us. And the day he called again light flooded the earth. The Lake was luminous, irridescent, opalescent and rapturous with intangible light. Such hours, beauty without and joy within, are momentary revelations and release from visible vapours and dark fogs. When Dr. Bevan asked "what I had been reading while away so many months", I looked up to meet his kind, penetrating gaze, and replied — "Well! Romances mainly, and 'Lives of the Musicians'. There were two lovely stories I ran across, 'Charles Auchester' and 'Rumour', also two gorgeous novels, 'Beulah' and 'St. Elmo', where they all talked in words a yard long! They were by Augusta J. Evans and I vow she had plenty of sentimentality. But that wonderful English writer, George Eliot, whose real name is Evans too, is as far above our American authoress as the very stars themselves. They don't live on the same planet. Oh! how I devoured those books, 'Scenes from Clerical Life' — 'Silas Marner'- 'The Mill on the Floss' and 'Adam Bede'. They were wonders. But since 1 gol home" — I ended with a laugh — "I've read James Freeman Clarke's 'Ten Groat Religions' and I like it. I've learned a lot about the Sages and Seers of the Great East, and now Elysabeth and I have begun to read 'Dante' together. Not in the original, of course, we're not clever enough for that; but we have three trans- lations; we compare carcfully,and you know how splendidly thorough Elysabeth is." "That's fine," he answered; "but I'd like to have you learn a little about Oriental Philosophy, Hindu Literature and the wonderful Indian Scriptures. Page 210 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I've something for you to dip into that will show where all religions came from, and teach you something worth while about the Saints and Sages of the Far East. I had never been initiated into the first principles of the, then little known, Yogi Philosophy which was profoundly interesting my mentor; in other words, revered Guide, Philosopher and Friend! Once more strongly under his influence, I endeavoured in my own way to follow his footsteps which changed for the time the entire trend of thought and belief. It was a splendid philosophy that the real man was not the visible body; that it was only a suit of clothes that the spirit had put on and could take off from time to time; that as instruments we must be finely tuned — the body brought under the control of the mind so as to respond as they put it, to the touch of the hand of the Master. He sent me books of those Eastern Scriptures and I found them colourful and fascinating, and reading under that direction, I said often to myself that I needed and wanted less heart and more brains, else how could I ever get enough knowledge of Literature, History, Art and Science to understand or appreciate in full measure Indian Philosophy and its occult teachings? Curiously enough it appealed to my dramatic sense, and gave me something of the same feeling I had as a little child when my Father read to me "The Fate of Liars" out of the Book of Books, instead of switching me as I deserved for that first falsehood. How it all comes back to me — "All liars shall have their part in the Lake which burneth with Fire and Brimstone which is the second death." How that called to my imagination which has always rioted in pictures, even as it did while I steeped myself in those wonderful and revelatory writings. That I ever came safely through a maze of doubt, mystery, and peril is bewildering to me even now. Perhaps because whatever I attempted so soon seemed broken up, scattered and kaleidoscopic, for little daily events or sudden change of surroundings broke into bits any arduous studies. Just at that period my cousin, Joe Evans' letters were full of the develop- ment of a romance. She had met the man of men and the swift recognition of his supremacy had glorified the days. He had deigned to woo the Governor's daughter, and she felt he had stooped from a height of unapproachable manhood to crown her wondering self with the royal signet of choice. I laughed at undue humility. Joe never overestimated her own loveliness and now, I thought, she acts as if prostrate before a King! Heavens! What must it be to adore anyone like that and have him choose you out of the whole world, and I longed to look upon that paragon of his sex. My cousin, Josephine, after graduating from the Massachusetts Wilbraham Academy, first crossed those great plains in a Prairie Schooner, as they called those big covered wagons fitted up for the long days and nights of travel. Her Father, -appointed by Mr. Lincoln, Governor of that far Territory of Colorado, had moved his family from the pretty Evanston home to that little town of Denver, on the very frontiers of civilization. They seemed to have migrated to the moon, and had all sorts of unusual experiences and relative hardships. Now the railroad to Cheyenne had been built among other great enterprises of Uncle John Evans who wrought such wonders in developing the City. His material achievements were very great and his personality like his work survives the years. His were no chimerical schemes. He participated in and created tremendous events in that territory. He had brains, resourcefulness, and gifts of foresight as well as general- ship; Denver, after he became its civil head, could never be isolated. He built railroads, Churches, Schools, and made, by sheer force of initiative and stupendous purpose, a shanty town of twelve or fifteen hundred inhabitants into a City that connected East and West. He changed and developed and made it dominate that whole Rocky Mountain region. No wonder they called him, in after years, as they did Gladstone, "The Grand old Man". He was a conquering hero in every sense. Such dauntless spirits are indeed our proudest heritage from the Past. His was a mind that projected great things and saw visions, and once he prophesied Page 211 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood that the third great City of our Great Country would be on the site of Denver. New York, Chicago and Denver! And now his descendants, his son, his daughter, his grandson and namesake add lustre to the name. They have given value and noble service to the City of his creative dreams. They honour it in Civic virtues, unstinted usefulness, noble and honourable living. Their usefulness to Denver and what they have accom- plished cannot be measured. It was one of the greatest pleasures I had experienced for long, to hear that Joe was coming to stay awhile with me before her contemplated marriage, in the Evanston home, when Summer bloom was at its freshest. She wanted me for "maid of honour", and said General Custer was to stand with me. All plans were laid and Aunt Margaret would arrive before long to settle the cottage by the shore, and get all in readiness for rejoicing festivities, while the bride-elect's plans embraced some visits East; but the bridegroom was booked to visit his fair fiance at our house before the consummation. And so it chanced. The morning of his appearance? — How clear cut is the picture! Was it three years before that Father had brought in to supper a dark-eyed young stranger en route for Colorado to act, I think, as Secretary or in some way assist my Uncle? He looked to me a man of mature years, large, square built and dark as an Oriental. His personality was striking, and he seemed somehow conspicuous, and gave me a curious sensation that was only dimly acceptable. That night my Mother was absent and I sat in her place behind the tea-urn. That meeting was commonplace enough — no adventure, only the caprice of the hour made him like a herald, so that one awaited a moment, all unconsciously, that, to some minds, never loses its quality of miracle — as if some thrill or cry said — I am here. Imperceptibly, resistlessly I felt his look. Sometimes a look one cannot interpret or understand, yet rouses in its eloquence and intensity a curious thrill of expectancy or wonderment. Such a one I felt that night. We had talked merrily, when, looking up to answer the simplest question, I met a gaze so deeply penetrating, so strangely speaking, so keen and flashing in those dark eyes, that it called to me, and made an unforgettable impression although it was only a passing illusion — but it was his moment — and it would never come again. I was vaguely relieved when he left after a long evening. The stranger continued a stranger and I never afterward even recalled his name, but something possibly vital had slipped out of life. Years after, during our ten months' engagement, he told me what a flicker of life and sudden emotion he felt at our table — that he had shed there other fancies, even plans, he had counted upon and weighed as most important, suddenly gave him a sense of their insig- nificence; he said that I had intrigued his imagination for those hours; that a dream rose before him that had been long desired, and that seemed to wait and to beckon. Always it was in such a home, it was such a daughter, such youth and gaiety, that he wanted to make his own heart's altar — But the hour was not ripe. That was a scene long blurred. Faculties have to be wrought up into ener- getic action to report events of fanciful thoughts properly, and mine were. How quickly I answered Joe's exultant cry and the eager voice that called one morning — "Oh! come, Cousin Nina, come quick. He's here!" It was only an hour after the arrival — they had been happily closeted, but at that summons I rushed down to join the enchanted pair and meet the much lauded lover. One look! — You? — Why! we've met before!" Joe was very fragile, delicate in build and with a certain luminousncss that surrounded her like an aura. The death-marked have sometimes a peculiar look long before they leave us, that seems to ask, to plead, to grieve as if indeed they saw the cloud that was so soon to shroud all nature from their eyes. And yet, God be thanked! she had her year. And then — and then — "The beginning of things reaching forward to the end of things, and the end of things reaching back- ward to the beginning." It was just at th.it time while our house was full of visitors that 1 received .1 P Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood polite note from Mr. Emery of Cincinnati, who had given me those charming drives during my last days at the Kilbreth mansion. He wrote that he would be in Chicago at a specified date, near at hand, and would give himself the pleasure of calling. This aroused no thrill, it was complimentary to be remembered; but I felt an uneasy wonder as to how I could best entertain him. I mean in any measure compatible with his former courtesies to me. He had dated his arrival by a very formal announcement and I racked my brain, not realizing that the ordinary hospitalities of a house, or ordinary personal interchanges, might afford sufficient satisfaction. I was only eager to entertain him and try to repay his courteous attentions. A flood of recollection that I had arranged to attend a cer- tain gathering of the young people, an elaborate sort of picnic in the woods, or on the shore somewhere distant, as we were to go by train, suggested a pleasant solution. Why! I could take him, I could show him Chicago's best and brightest! I was relieved, and I wrote asking him to come to the house early as I had a special pleasure in store. My faculties I suppose did not allow me to grasp things suffi- ciently in that line to know that probably what he sought was only a deeper ac- quaintance or opportunities to enjoy or inspect my home life. I made the grave mistake the sophisticated would probably call a stupid blunder. Mr. Emery arrived prompt to the hour. Immaculate in dress he looked slim and elegant. His figure was upright and his manner impeccable. The dark hair was brushed back carefully and smoothly but no blaze of life shone from the eyes, and no rude health flushed the skin. The pallor of his face took away from any robust appearance; but there was in him complete lack of hurry, a freedom from strain. He greeted me with smiling cordiality but one could feel that no impetuous rush of words would ever flood from those firm lips, as one could see that no manual toil had ever disfigured those shapely hands. Something in the poise of his whole body suggested a very serene almost indifferent outlook on ex- istence. It united to give the impression, if not of marked intelligence, that he could never be guilty of enthusiasms or manifest any energetic receptivity of anything. I had always heard that he had the entree of every desirable circle, that he had great influence as well as great wealth. He was flatteringly sought after, and had the sense to remain in a sought after position. So far he had never deigned to show me any of the finer qualities of his mind. There was no shadow of dis- taste or any expression of disapproval when I mentioned the engagement, and asked him if he would not like to share with me the plan for the day; never once thinking I could be enough or was desired for even an hour alone. He was no Prince from a Fairy story-book, and flaws in him as a comparison were not in- conceivable, but I had given myself no chance for real interchange. There is an incomprehensibleness from the point of view of the inexperienced or the unsuspect- ing. It looks like density as to the full meanings, doings, and sayings of others. I suppose we never understand anyone but ourselves, and then only if we are very simple. I had looked forward with bright-eyed confidence to a full and merry day. I was excited — I wanted to gather all I could of entertainment and amusement for him, so I proceeded to introduce him right and left to the beauties; Hattie Sanger, Jennie Stuart and Mattie Hill and whomever I could reach; brimming with desire to display that attractive young man, and genuinely eager to show him our Chicago belles. Even on the train going and returning we were never alone, and I became subtly conscious of dullness, silence, and lack of response. It was plain he was bored to extinction, but as we parted at our door he said gravely, "Many thanks — I will call tomorrow with your permission." My stupidity had made an incalculable blunder. Mr. Emery was never an idealist but he might have been something to my life. Who can tell? At least, a friend to be depended upon. His character and main qualities argued for kindness and faithfulness. I recall now with a smile my all too palpable blindness which bore the aspect of complete indifference. I, the dull dreamer, wanted to establish an Empire. I wanted to conquer a world, Page 213 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood wanted to create destiny, and I never saw the opening doors. Of course it has always evaded me, always flaunting something far beyond any present possibilities, always ignoring the personal or the intensely impersonal at hand — and so was never real — and has never been realized. I felt sometimes in life with a few, who thought they cared deeply, something possessive and strangely urgent for a little; but ending always in futile gestures. It was merely an inner urge for complete companionship that went no further and that in several instances left me uneasy dissatisfaction. Altogether as a whole that visit of Mr. Emery's was a decided failure and not fruitful in any comfort to either. He made his brief call the following morning and found Mr. Elbert established in our midst, apparently at home and apparently in confidential talk with me. The two men were not mutually attracted although I warmly introduced them. And as the door closed, after his polite, suave acknowledgements which some- way emphasized to me his fastidiousness, aloofness and almost cynical indifference, Mr. Elbert stepped unexpectedly into the hall. It was then a flash-light shone for a rather blinding second in his startling suggestion — "Are you going to marry that man?" He spoke in a sharp curt tone and the inquiry first startled and then greatly amused me. In quite a burst of merriment — "I can't answer; how do I know? I don't see how it's to be brought about as he's never asked me." "He'd ask you quick enough if you'd give him a chance — Don't do it — He's not half good enough for you." The colossal conceit of the brilliant being who was warning me; who undoubted- ly thought himself good enough for any woman on earth; who certainly thought himself good enough for me, as after years proved, bringing to me in crashing revelation, a total break of preparation at the last moment, in the discovery that the Idol had feet of clay! He made it forever impossible to recapture glamour, to drink twice at that Spring. Gone forever the keen joy of setting out into unknown regions to un- known ends. No further speculations and high hopes in pressing on in the ad- venturous journey. Instead of romance, disappointment and disillusion was in the cup he held for me to drink. Thoughts overflow and run together independ- ent of our will. I was permanently poorer for promises unfulfilled; there is no exhilaration in a backward journey to dead levels beyond the vision that in im- passioned words and tenderest assurance he had conjured up. The light had come to me from within instead of without, the light which- his own character and con- duct quenched in a moment; that, in its illumination, released me from life-long misery, since it meant escape and gave me back my freedom. The human spirit turns back to its own for strength and sustenance. And a mystical significance revived in me — I could not be long starved. I was there- after an irresistible Seeker for vision, for communion, for revealing, for the truth of feeling. The negation of life had no hold on me, and the precious thrill of ascent, of trying to climb to see, to grasp, to worship nothing could long take from me. The human heart needs human associations, vital needs; I was even then all un- knowing preparing myself as with armour, to resist blows, and to flaunt my life- long Flag of Victory. It was twenty years after when I next time saw Mr. Emery and for the last time. He was taking the "Cure" and I met him in Carlsbad. He looked old, ill and shrunken. That unexpected encounter left no trace of special pleasure, it was lacking in distinctive warmth. Our exchanges were perfunctory and proved in the end that there was nothing of value to record. His characteristic courtesy remained but all interest now centered on symptoms and health. Long before I had heard of his fortunate marriage to a very charming and cultivated woman who became a patroness of Art. His name in Cincinnati had continued one to conjure with, and she had carried on the family traditions and added merit and sparkle to its dignity and eminence. Strange as it may seem in this category that remembrance of Mr. Elbert'js assurance returns; his thoughts, his speech, his actions even at that time when l'u\\e 214 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood he truly loved Josephine. And when he came to me, long after her lovely eyes closed in death, and plead so eloquently, I found his advances irresistible. He had loved her faithfully, there had never been any question of individual immorality in his neutral plane of life. He created for her a fine environment and they led a typically happy life. He had been left desolate and alone, and I suppose the balance tipped in my direction. But merely now at Josephine's name I deliberately walk backward — no straight or narrow path; but into the broad highway — and so rises a picture of breath-taking beauty. The sun flashing its last rays of splendour over the Lake, and, as it slipped out of view in the West, light still lingered in hovering films of colourful clouds deepening to orange and rose, and tones of ever changing loveliness till they died into the night, as music dies into silence. The sky and the Lake were vying with each other, the waves breaking on the shore — audible strains of a fading symphony for the central figure of that beautiful scene. The music on the balcony of the little cottage was not so sweet as the wash of those waves, the rustle of those leaves that canopied the Wedding Party. We stood under the group of tall Oaks that made bower and background of verdure. There was a sort of unearthly beauty in that hour and place, and who could dream that her young feet were set tomb-ward, that the Invisible Hand was soon to tighten its grasp and the night of silence to enshroud her. It is hard not to leap the years knowing so often the end from the beginning; but I must write back and remember only those joyous days of my cousin's visit, the gay journey that we took together; Joe to visit her dearest friend, Mary Ray- mond, and utilize her period of liberty with classmates and others that she seemed eager to enjoy again, And I — to find myself in a new group. It had gratified my parents and delighted me to receive an invitation from the Simpsons in Philadelphia. The visit there promising something not experienced before, and I had especially desired to see and know the "City of Brotherly Love"; and that distinguished family in it. The Bishop had been several times at our house and was a very close friend of Uncle John Evans. It was almost a family joke, whenever the great Orator was to preach, and the latter had his coveted chance to be among the hearers, that he always deliberately provided himself with two extra pocket handkerchiefs. Very cool and indifferent to the amusement it aroused, for he declared "it was necessary as he would pretty certainly be moved to tears by transcendent eloquence and must be prepared!" So that had become a habit. We had as a family unusually pleasant relations with Mrs. Simpson and the two attractive daughters; but she was Aunt Margaret's intimate friend, and the girls loved Josephine, who was a frequent visitor in their home, and had promised to join me there later. The very day after arrival there came such a wonderful letter from Miss Mc- Clintock. The opening words said something that I cannot believe anyone on earth could ever think of me. "Dear Little Lassie — With the brain of a strong man, the physique of a gentle woman, and the heart of a child." Someway I felt ashamed — I so little deserve her royal generosity. To think that such warmth should struggle through her natural reticence, that she ever could praise me in such wonderful words. Surely the sincerity of her affection enriches me beyond all praise. It had been real satisfaction to search and find a good sized and quite excellent Bust of Dante before leaving, which I had sent as a suitable Birthday offering to Miss McClintock. Perhaps as I referred to incidents that had lately affected my spirits, there had crept a tone of depression into my note of congratulation, for in the beautiful letter that followed me to Philadelphia she never once re- ferred to fears or dreads due to the ever lowering War-clouds. She avoided the slightest mention, and gave me the most marvelous account of the Bees she hives and harbours. She tells me how her Hives have given new meaning even to the flowers she loves and draw her nearer to a sort of intimacy with nature. Oh! she made a beautiful picture of it all for me! It was like a musical voice from some garden, and a lesson of ardent interest and skill and gentleness in handling those Page 215 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood furious and mysterious little insects. I never knew a thing about them before, only that they had wonderful instinct and gave us honey! I never before had the slightest craving to learn the laws of the Hive — their devotion to their Queen or the distribution of their labours. But now I can never forget that she declared that a summer without Bees would be a sadly empty one, and for her almost next to the absence of flowers and birds. She has given me something new and striking and almost transfiguring to think about. Such marvels of industry, such patience, sagacity and sacrifice! I was excited reading her eloquent description of that multiplying and mag- nificently organized life, and from her point of view the Bees gave a sort of proof that we may not hold such a very honourable place as the privileged beings we imagine ourselves. Sometimes a little bit of knowledge such as she has freely given throws considerable light on our own endowments and position as, after all, not so much to boast of, to cry aloud over and to shout about! She closed that lovely letter in characteristic fashion — she has to start early from that distant suburban home to the Chicago Public School where she has taught for so many years; and she is daily carried to the City by train. She said that watching from the Car windows the heavy black smoke that belched from the engine as it tore by the train, was, at first, like a black shroud, whirling and billowing out from grey to silver, and then in snowy curling masses floating upward into soft cloud shapes — cloud-films, fairy little white islands melting into the sky. And she added significantly — "Just as soon as it leaves the hand of man it hastens to be beautiful." I thought of those curling white masses, folding, unfolding, enfolding, that sweep by in such white curves and spirals, sometimes so gloriously pierced with sunshine and my own heart leaped. Yes, I know what she means — Yes, yes, "as soon as it leaves the hands of man it hastens to be beautiful." I shared rather proudly most of the letter with the girls, and Sibbie Simpson, the younger, said enthusiastically, "Oh, you must read it to Father — he will like it — do it tonight at dinner." I was quite willing, but I would not have consented at once except for the inward impetus the Bishop's kindness and marked interest in our family affairs had given me. He never killed romance any more than he ever pledged anyone a radiant future without Faith and good works. But his methods were open and easy, and he disconcerted no one by fighting strategically. You never felt in the dark with that great man, there was no game to play or any concealed meaning behind his public or private statements. And that night when I gave him the letter, his quizzical eyes met mine with such an appraising look that I dared not speak a word to stem the torrent of his rhetoric. It was a kind but ironic voice when he twinkled at me with a smile and read aloud with suggestive emphasis that quite destroyed my placidity — "Dear little Lassie — with the brain of a strong man, the physique of a gentle woman, and the heart of a child." "Really, that is the most remarkable tribute; one of the choicest compliments I have ever heard, and in the finest fewest chosen words." "Very flattering indeed," I heard Mrs. Simpson exclaim, with quite a touch of satire in the tone, and I burst forth — "Of course I know it sounds absurd, I couldn't in a thousand years deserve it — it's only rhetoric; but then she's so generous and so amazing to write me as she does, and I can't help being pleased." "I should think not. You can afford to be very proud over it — merited or not — that's not the question. It is beautiful, and her description of her Hiving, and the Queen's flight is perfect. It's extraordinary. It's literature. One can fairly see the interior of those Hives and the ordered division of their work. It makes me think — and he sighed — of the profound enigma of our own origin, of our life, our self-assertion, self-consciousness, and all of which we are so proud. How little we know — nothing, but for the Scriptural revelation — for more ignorance results from unaided study, outside the Bible, than in any efforts of comprehension or interpretation. The mystery is for ever eluding us." I have always so loved words for their own dear dramatic sake, and I listened Page 216 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood thrilled. He did not, just then, seem in our own world — so absorbed in thought. His voice drifted down to us from somewhere far away. Emotions become fixed in recollection, so that even shadows are indelible, when strange or startling events occur or something rouses one spiritually, that in a whole lifetime can never cease to move us. And soon followed an incident which will never sink into oblivion. Bishop Simpson was grave, imposing, impressive and commanding in pulpit or on rostrum. Always dignified, a stately figure, conspicuous in the foremost ranks in that stirring eventful period in our History. There was about him an imperishable distinction — his simplest statements affirmed a proof more trenchant, more convincing, than any oath sworn by bell, book and candle. His was a heart of oak — that spirit of daring which marks the hero, and without raising his voice he could lay stress on a law, and sway absolutely his hearers to almost any view or side. What he said in public, therefore, was momentous, weighty and invariably dreaded by opposing factions. He had been advertised for weeks to give an important address on prevailing conditions and political standpoints at the Academy of Music in New York. Crowds always gathered in force to hear one of the most powerful and eloquent men of his time, whose patriotism, wisdom and oratory was only paralleled by his wide-spreading influence. It was one evening at the supper table, that, with one or two distinguished guests, I heard him discussing the Emancipation Proclamation, and condemning the President unqualifiedly for his delay in giving it to the world. "It ought to be proclaimed from the house-tops, blazoned forth with a flourish of trumpets", he added, after dwelling on the subject, "Delay is disastrous — I can't condone it in Mr. Lincoln — It seems almost cowardly." He continued thoughtfully, and with a slow emphasis, "I have urged on him that Proclamation, as have so many others of our best thinkers, and I am puzzled and disappointed over his dilatory attitude." And to us, after the visitors had gone, "Because I don't understand, I must see Lincoln again," adding solemnly, "In my inmost soul I believe further pro- crastination at this stage reprehensible. And as I cannot omit criticism and severe comment on such an all-important subject, I will state my own convic- tions to the President himself before I speak them to the people." He departed the next day for Washington and at the White House was immed- iately accorded a private audience. When he returned from that memorable interview we all gathered round to hear the result. I shall never forget the sad seriousness with which he told the tale — "The President was perceptibly aging I thought, as he grasped my hand warmly, when ushered into his presence. He looked almost physically spent, while I proceeded with all the emphasis at my command to give again the impera- tively urgent reasons for his immediate action. I tried to be deliberate, but I think I must have shown some heat, and I ended somewhat sharply — "Mr. Presi- dent" — I raised my voice conscious of irritation — "I shall no longer remain silent on a subject I deem so vitally important. I have come to tell you my firm belief that unless you issue that Proclamation at once the Country will suffer, and you will be responsible for its unpardonable postponement. I have spoken to you first, I have let you see what I think and feel, and now I go to tell the people. "During my remarks he sat silent, hands loosely clasped and head bent low, the pathetic figure of a burdened man. As I concluded and turned to leave, a little indignant at his lack of response, he called my name — " "Bishop, The Master whom you serve was very patient and long suffering with the sinner — even until seventy times seven He forgave. Could you not be patient with me a little longer?" Bishop Simpson's eyes were misty as he repeated that sad appeal, and after a moment of impressive silence which no one dared to break, he added the tribute from a full heart in almost trembling tones that made the whole scene one of Page 217 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood voluntary homage. "Lincoln is true and noble — he is our Leader, and we must trust him. I believe in the loftiness of his character as never before." I have heard that the great address that the Bishop gave at the Academy of Music to an immense audience, was electrifying in power, that he counselled faith and patience and moderation in judgment. He made recognition and ac- knowledgment while stating the need of the hour, advising a quittance of all doubt, and an overflow of thankfulness for what our Leader had already done. There was no condemnation. He used his power to praise; tenacious for ideals he swept his audience into admiration. He paid open homage to Mr. Lincoln's transcendent honesty and nobility; and his eloquence lifted the Chief Executive to his rightful throne; compelling, with his wonderful skill in marshalling facts like regiments of troops; and leading them to the charge with such beautifully cadenced diction. To that breathless audience it must have seemed like the lilt of bugles and the victorious beat of drums. One last picture with its recollection of conquest is most vividly coloured. It was where stood as central figure my former room-mate, Florence Foster — a radiant vision of victory. I did not see it, Alas!, but one who did, a member of that Parsonage family, painted the scene for me with streaming tears, and as she recounted the details, I was suffused in a sudden response of exultant sympathy, of proud recognition and profound enthusiasm. It tremendously thrilled me for all time, and it remains in heart and mind as if I, myself, had participated and been blessed with the glory of the vision. That gifted Scholar and Preacher, Randolph Foster, was only twenty years older than his brilliant daughter, whom he often called, gaily, humourously or cynically as the case might be, "his ablest and severest critic." They had been at odds in mutually expressed opinions, and defended principles, since Virginia, birthplace and home of the Father, had joined forces with the rebellion. The hot Southern blood coursing from heart to head could not clear vision, or develop Northern views of patriotism in the mind of that influential and justly admired orator and clergyman. His following was constantly increas- ing and his honours multiplying, as his splendid gifts were exercised in sermons, lectures, writings and debates. Their differences therefore, radical and strong alike in parent and child, were often militant in character and expression. They could not pull together. They really could not pull for long apart. They were too wholly devoted to each other and occasional encounters of fiery vehemence could not be avoided and left the soreness of a wound. One morning of that January of 1863 in the divided house sounded a clarion call! — a call that resounded through the silent rooms bringing every one from room to door. The "Emancipation Proclamation" had been given to the world. "Glory to God in the Highest— Glory to God in the Highest," repeated twice — three times — And she stood like some Seraphic vision singing the Conqueror's Song. Its rapturous cry to that astonished household seemed for the moment as if one of God's angels was embodying Liberty in human shape and repeating its Hallelujahs! That Father, an awe-struck witness, called sharply from his Study door, "In Heaven's name what is it? — What do you mean?" looking up where, at the head of the stairs, holding out the morning paper as her Country's Flag, stood the glorious figure of his daughter in her exultant triumph. It was beatification. And afterward I was told that, with bowed head and heart stirred, illumination came to that gifted Father. The light shone — and he, grateful for his consecrated and pure minded child, thanked God on his knees for the wise judgment and ful- filled action of our Great War President. And later, to his daughter's bursting pride and joy, to his family first and to his Congregation thereafter, he made noblest acknowledgment of long held errors, and grateful ones that his eyes were opened to the truth. "My Father! My Father! he is magnificent." This she said to me when we talked of the seen''. Page 218 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood If I live to be a thousand years I shall never forget her rapturous shout of victory — the shock — the awe — the thrill — the wonder of it— the challenge of Heaven to earth. It was like spiritual ravishment. All it meant to the country, to the family, to the individual, to everyone who loved Liberty and desired righteousness was for the moment in that human shape. It will cut across space and ring in my ears forever as I look and live back. "Glory to God in the Highest — Glory to God in the Highest." THE OTHER VOICE My home always enfolded me as if with outstretched arms. The hours were precious when I returned to it and the strong home-loving instinct was vibrantly awake. I loved to touch all the articles in my room, the pieces of furniture any- where, everywhere; to change the position of vases and ornaments and to look up at pictures that looked back at me glowing, beautiful, welcoming. It was always a tryst with other days equally happy and the impulse to wander from room to room was irresistible. How sweet it was to see my own again — how I loved them — and how grateful I was to be with them once more. And this time we had George. He seemed to have brought into the house the heartiness of the winds, the very freshness of the Lake. It was the morning freshness of his youth — the whole of him glowing in a sort of gay gladness with each day, and to me, he had the very freshness of the Lake about him! Something had touched and sealed him all ours. He was elate, satisfied with conditions that arose from his decision to take his College course at Northwestern. It was such a joy to have him, with no dates of departure for Eastern Schools. "Don't catch me at any Eastern Preparatory; the Latin School here suits down to the ground. I'm never again going farther from home than I can help — home for good this time!" and good it was. He was so amenable — so responsive — so sporty — so sympathetic, and his boyishness was an unfailing delight. So many days at that time seemed to rise with a song of invitation. The same birds I had left were apparently making the same cheerful music — and all the breezes from the Lake were welcoming ones. The Lake revealed itself with new beauties — and that View from my windows offered explorations that will last a life-time — new colours — new combinations, tones and tints that made an ever fresh series of pictures. Beauty can become so intimate, so holy that ap- preciation deepens to reverence and pleasure sharpens almost to pain. I had bubbling feelings in my brain that I had to get rid of, and I remembered something Dr. Bevan had said, when suggesting that certain course of reading which was so soon interrupted — "If the Ancients lacked knowledge of a scientific order, they are fully compensated by their visions and intimations of truth and amazing beauty." — and so my vaulting ambition grew to read and read, and learn and learn, but it amounted to little. Life in the household was so often broken into bits. My Mother was hostess to so many. Our doors were hospitably wide, but more to the needy, to the clergy and to kindred, it seemed to me, than to the interesting or eminent. Our family circle was constantly enlarged by relatives coming and going. My Mother was devoted to her sisters, and the younger ones had lived with us after the death of Grandfather Gray until their marriage which had taken place at our house. My Mother, whatever the demands, bore herself everywhere, always, with the un- conscious, quiet dignity of birth and breeding. Her knowledge of life seemed to be wonderful, and sometimes as if she no longer needed warmth of expression — but her great love for her husband and children showed in her constant watch- fulness and devotion, which seemed great enough to have conquered its own needs or any passionate longings. Her gentle aloofness and reserve was like an emanation of the spirit manifest in the flesh. I can never express it — spiritual — humourous — Page 2ig Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood charming, and doing kindnesses. When she spoke it was always to the point; judgment and perception and other rare qualities of mind and heart were stamped on her face. Hers was a reflective brain. In the golden evenings of that season there was too much going forward in our house to let the glooms of War overshadow the comfort and brightness of that home-life. Somewhere in me a bell was chiming — a bell of such quality it rang cheerfulness and hope against all the barrenness and bloodiness of the conflict: one could almost wholly forget it when out in silence and sunlight that let everything lively and lovely become imaginable — almost tangible. And the natural goodness of those about me had a certain influence that curbed wilfulness and always kept me from galloping too far ahead in wild speculations. At certain times however, my readings, and my thoughts bothering about human beings, and why certain beings were on earth at all, and why certain others, necessary, noble and useful, should be crushed out relentlessly — I would get somehow frightened as to Divine Oversight, Divine Love or Divine Care, until I looked at the shining Lake lying often so breathless under the blue beauty of the sky, and all my fearful visions would drop and drown deep in that Crystal Sea — in its radiance that seemed to transmit inspiration! Nature supplies the Soul with ideas that tell of life forever changing, broken up, destroyed, worn out and transformed, but continuing in fresh forms — uninterrupted — Eternal. Some- where on some summit there must be beauty, progress, perfection and happiness that we cannot conceive, and, however blindly, that faith always returned: flooding my soul, and giving me even at that early age sensations of an income of treasure, of power, of joy, if I could only hold firm. It was an exquisite joy just to believe — and I often harked back to earliest teachings, to anchor myself again in the sunny waters of that happy harbour of Faith. I had been taught and believed that the Christian Churches were moral leaders in all our Civilization — and ever since my bout with the Rev. Andrew Longacre in Paris I had begun to observe more closely the men who occupied Pulpits. And someway the clergy as a body was becoming more interesting to me. Their authority was not so unpleasant as when special visitors of the class had striven to bring me to a sense of my sins, and to reveal my need of ever- lasting salvation. Now the situation had changed, and I really made some friends in the succession of ministers to whom I listened. It did not indicate any great change of thought in me, but I was less supremely indifferent to the individuals who seemed to have power to give us the "pass-word" to the Kingdom of Heaven. There were one or two studies in religious personality that return to me, and at the time impressed with either their devotion or activity. Dr. Hatfield for instance, whose quality of spirit made him different in temperament and intellect from those who by preaching and personal touch had preceded him in the pulpit of the Church we attended. He was more eloquent than many others, but he never shook himself free from rigid theology; and the value of his religion blinded him to any claims outside, or to any tolerance of other views. There was nothing infinitely greater than his own ideas and beliefs. I learned to avoid conversations, because aware of a constant check in his tenacity of purpose to shut out the free- dom that was dearer to me than life. Doubtless there was serenity at the centre of his being, but he was narrow, bigoted and intolerant. Nevertheless he was a warm friend of the family, socially very agreeable, popular and highly regarded. There followed the Rev. Henry Cox, whose hirsute adornment and loud voice and heavy figure made him seem far more the Sea Captain than the Clergyman. I never could measure or feel or credit any Spiritual gifts. He was so droll, so merry and such an inimitable story-teller. Once I remember — for it was told me by one present — that a few were gathered at the home of the aged Bishop Hamline who was counted a saint — who preached perfection and certainly had marked ability in all sacred ceremonials — The party were being amused by one of Mr. Cox's dramatic recitals, which sometimes almost exhausted credulity, and sharply in the midst of a humourous story the Bishop's stern accents called a halt— "Brother — Brother Cox, pray" — "Yes, Bishop," with instant willing- Pagt 220 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood ness, and they all plumped upon their knees to hear a fine long-drawn out pe- tition to the Throne of Grace for Divine justification, and the Sacrament of ac- ceptance and special blessing. And springing up, Mr. Cox instantly took up the thread precisely where it had been cut — "And as I was saying, Bishop," — pro- ceeded calmly with unbroken cheerfulness and perfect composure to finish his tale, he being neither shaken nor alarmed. If anyone felt the lack of courage it was among his listeners; the Bishop administered no further check or reprimand. Mr. Cox had no spell of personal magnetism but for me there was nothing mourn- ful, nothing distant or impassive or austere, and often at our house, never thrust- ing problems of the Universe on us, I enjoyed his somewhat boastful phrases, and any awkwardness in the hasty movements simply indicated energy of heart. But it was Robert Laird Collier who first broke down the distance between pulpit and pews. And then began my real friendship with members of that pro- fession, however inaccessible they had previously seemed. From that time for- ward they were men as well as ministers, and I continued to make friends with them because they seemed to love truth, goodness and beauty. I have forgotten who said that Christianity was a tremendous thing and — "Let no man, believer or unbeliever, try to make light of it." Among the Clergy and among the. Doctors I have been singularly fortunate in making friends. The one taught that every- thing lay in Faith, and that the basis of all thinking was acceptance of the doctrines which meant absolute truth. And the others, believing in absolute truth, sought for it in research, in thinking things out, in the simplification of dogmas, and in contradistinction to authority; studying the world and man, tacitly dropping unworthy beliefs, and demanding freedom for full investigation in the realm of science. I felt in Mr. Collier's preaching sometimes that his mind was not wholly made up, and his indecision was proved by his later uniting himself with the Unitarian body. He became very prominent in their midst; he was scholarly and had the gift of oratory. I think he was in a sense a true mystic, and I recall with pride and pleasure that we met charmingly in social matters, and that he and his adorable wife sought me out and showed me many signs of preference. Our relation grew familiar, and if not spiritual or very intellectual was neither without interest nor affection. There were a few men of intellectual stature at that time in our pulpits, but their strong Evangelical convictions did not disturb or excite me. It was per- sonality that I questioned, and when that did not fail I strove consciously to make them understand mine was no flippant turn of mind. I was proud of a growing ability to make friends among men. It made for intellectual development whether in business or professional circles, and nothing made me sceptical of my Father's theology in particular; for as Dr. Stewart, long after President of the Biblical Institute, wrote of him once in a letter to me — "He by love, soft speech and stain- less days, made known the Peace of God." I have dwelt on this phase of my truly awakening life because it conveyed to me feelings and cordial interchanges so gratifying. I was grown up — I was worthy of notice — even of attention from high sources. There was no mystery up there any longer. It was never that I held a shield for emotions, but I was learning to use wit and raillery in a moderate fashion that made me agreeable though never fascinating. I loved to find little chinks in the armour of an ad- versary, but too much self distrust was growing for me to think myself a casuist or possessing any real engaging cleverness. I felt very keenly the compliment of preference, and could name a series of those with whom I corresponded then and later; or with whom I enjoyed conversations and discussions; and sometimes I felt and responded to a golden mellowness of spirit as with John H. Vincent, one of the loveliest and sweetest souls alive, with far too much humour to be a bigot. He looked into the hearts of men, never knowing angry distrust of human nature, always with faith in the supremacy of spirit, and meeting hopes and as- pirations in a reality of service. His passion for inward peace had charm and humility, and was of the order that could never shut out from eternal life the souls Page 221 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood that did wrong, even the souls of the wicked. And his long years of usefulness blessed the world. He was the great power in Sunday School work and Chau- tauqua was his monument. It was born in his brain, his own original idea, and he started the Chautauqua system and his name as Founder and Director is a synonym for its ideal. I think there were some pathetic examples of curiously agile brains as with Charles Fowler. His world was a world of thought, and he had too much intellect to keep all tradition sacrosanct. He seemed often striving to penetrate illusions, exploring in a region where no man can be master who wears ecclesiastical robes. He was a born Orator and held large audiences breathless. My relations with both those young ministers became markedly friendly; at times they even read me from their sermons in advance, and such kindly estimation most generously expressed was fully appreciated and returned. Both those young ministers be- came Bishops in the Church, wrought faithfully and were considered great leaders. I love today as I began to love then the gifts that mark the Clergy, and some- times I like their atmosphere of aloofness and distance and dignity — if they can only preserve it! But best of all I love, when I can find it in them, the feeling of nature's presence; the life that has in it the air of fields and birds and outdoor beauty whatever and however certain the diversity of Faith. The Thinkers and Seers have been seeking through the ages. And we listen to Preachers and Philosophers and learn little, meeting few who can really help us, as we pass on with outstretched hand and ceaseless indefinite longings — and, God grant untiring feet; for however childish our speculations and absurd our ventures the Seed is sown; and Oh! if only the Seed of Immortality it will reach, even in ages hence, upward to the light. And have not strangely all the high emotions affinity? The enjoyment of our surroundings, the growing knowledge of beauty in its high and pure sense brings ever finer experiences; and dispels sad sensations promoted sometimes (as in those days) even by the wind in the trees, the movement of the clouds, and always by the news and noise and blare of battlefields. It was ever the Breath of Death and the Breath of Life, both then to me assuming new shapes. How the news came first I cannot remember — I think from Aunt Sarah Comings in correspondence with Father. She had many friends South, as she had been for long periods in other days with her sister, and was occasionally able to get tidings in little scraps and at scattered intervals. I was filled with regret almost, the shadow of remorse, and an imperishable sort of sorrow hearing of the long illness, the undaunted courage and fierce devotion to the Confederacy of that young bright life doomed to so speedy an end. Lovely little Lou Burge was dead. She had once been so dear a comrade and we had so lately struggled and fought with cruel words. I was haunted by remembrance of her gaiety, her pride, her childish charm and our affectionate interchanges that Summer in Bowdoinham. How admiringly I had regarded her; how willingly I had conceded her gifts, and then so lately the violent break that our letters precipitated. The War that so maddened each side, creating images that blinded us to all justice, fairness or even tolerance. Only hard words to remember that could never be blotted out. No night could fall upon that memory of unkind expressions and mutual anger that had extinguished the radiance that once marked with glad enjoyment our youthful companionship. She had vanished. She had said she hoped never to live — never to know defeat. She wanted to lie down under the sod rather than to live and see her beloved South conquered. Things seem to assume their true perspective when Death is nigh or has snatched someone from us. It instantly alters our outlook. It shows us stark reality. It takes away our proudest possession — self sufficiency. The thoughts kind or unworthy, the words courteous or unjust, the deeds generous or selfish, all so often regarded as trivial or unimportant loom big and portentious. It hurts us to remember how wc magnified mole-hills into mountains, for in the face of Death everything shrinks into its own insignificance. 1 was occupied with thoughts that conveyed nothing of comfort. All delightful warmth of recollection had Page 222 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood passed and given place to a feeling of bitter pain that chilled the spirit and made tears spring unbidden to the eyes. "That fierce furnace of the Civil War is burning away the natural ties of kindred, neighbour and home." This my Father said sadly as he read certain pages aloud to us that kindled both pride and sorrow as we listened. The letter was from a young Officer to his family in Chicago. The first part all comments on the unshaken resolution and passionate devotion to the Union of our Army; and lauding our Great President, who makes its preservation his most sacred charge. There was something so impassioned and devoted in it. He asserted that each soldier was now pledged as a consecrated individual to the service of the whole, but alas! with victors and vanquished exhibiting rancour and hatred. He was a young Philosopher as well as a Christian. He said it was no use to believe that we were to be saved in the future by patriotism, by so-called social reforms or military preparations — adding that everything can be abused and perhaps nothing was wholly evil. And then he told of that March to the Sea of Sherman's Army as it crossed Georgia, and overflowed into the Burge Plantation; destruction and havoc and horror in its wake. No pacification of the spirit came through all that warring account, for they were all only obeying "The Word of Command." It was war, war, war and no cessation of hostilities anywhere — instead a fresh rush of vigour and determination to uproot and to destroy. The result on all sides of appalling distress was pictured. And in its development, but as no side issue, he spoke my Father's name in reverence. He told how he found his sister — my Aunt Dolly and her little daughter Sadie — on the threshold of their home; how she had claimed protection in the name of her family in the North; how she had steadily asserted her sympathy with the South. And answering his inquiries, for he was the first Officer of the advancing army that reached them, as to why or how she felt any right to claim special protection, she named first her brother, Orrington Lunt, whose services to the Northern Cause were undoubted and unmeasured. My Father had splendidly won something to be proud of. Something that stands for what men love and honour most — faithfulness and strength and unbroken word. That which was fullest, best, of greatest worth in life was his. That young man had been one of the members of a Bible Class my Father had conducted years before. He not only remembered but revered him and lifted his hat at the name — and uncovered as well to her. He was a gentleman and a patriot, and did his best, by passing down word from Company to Company, to keep the house from Invasion by an ordered Guard. That order we have been told was repeated from regiment to regiment as they crossed on their rapid and fearful march. The place of course was devastated but the house remained un- touched. The slaves were marched off or fled in mad fright. No provisions were left — nothing outside was spared. It was desperate straits for Mother and child and neighbours. The impact of violent self assertion, and inevitable revolt instead of submission, is all naturally expressed in an old Diary of the time kept by my Aunt, that Ida found among her Grandmother's preserved papers and a year or so ago only, had printed for a small family or private circulation. So I am again able to get light on the other side, and hear "The Other Voice," which we of the North were most resolutely crushing: destroying all ideals, and all ideas of mutual or friendly relations — making it impossible it almost seemed for them ever to be renewed. Here follows chosen excerpts in more or less regular succession from Aunt Dolly's Journal. January I, 1864. A new year is ushered in but peace comes not with it. Scarcely a family but has given its members to the bloody War that is still decimating our Nation. Oh! that its ravages may soon be stopped! Will another year find us in the midst of carnage and bloodshed? Shall we be a Nation or shall we be annihilated? July 22, 1864. We have heard the loud booming of cannon all day. Suddenly I saw the Page 223 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood servants running to the palings, and I walked to the door where I saw such a stampede as I never witnessed before. The road was full of carriages, wagons, men on horseback, all riding at full speed. Judge Floyd stopped saying: "Mrs. Burge, the Yankees are coming — Hide your mules, horses, carriages, plate and whatever valuables you have." — "Oh Mamma ! What shall we do?" "Never mind, Sadie," I said, to my little nine year old daughter, "They won't hurt you — you must help me hide things." Follows the account of dividing meat to the servants and bidding them hide it; and gathering linens, silver, clothes of value, silks, merinos, muslins, challis, all crowded into chests to be buried with other valuables underground. "And verily we had cause to fear that we might be homeless, for on every side we could see smoke arising from burning buildings and bridges. The woods are full of refugees." July 29, 1864. Sleepless nights. The report is that the Yankees have left Covington for Macon, headed by Stoneman, to release prisoners held there. They robbed every house on the road of its provisions, taking every piece of meat, all food of every sort, blankets and wearing apparel, silver and arms of every description. They would take silk dresses and put them under their saddles, and many, many things for which they had no use. Is this the way to make us love them and their Union? Let the poor people answer whom they have deprived of every mouthful of meat, and all livestock to make any! Our Mills too, they have burned, destroying an immense amount of our own property. August 2, 1864. Just as I got out of bed this morning "Aunt Julia" (a slave) called me to look down the road and see the soldiers. And there they were — the Yankees — the Blue-Coats! I was not dressed — the servants came running — "Mistress, they are coming! They are coming, they are riding into the lot, they are coming up the steps!" I bade Rachel (a slave) fasten my round door — and go to the front door and ask them what they wanted? They did not wait for that but burst in and demanded why my door was fastened? She told them that the white folks were not up. They said, "they wanted breakfast and that quick, too!" As soon as I could get on my clothing I hastened to the kitchen quarters to hurry up break- fast. Six of them were talking with my women — they were asking about our Soldiers, and trying to pass themselves off as Wheeler's men. "We are a portion of Wheeler's men" — said one — "You look like Yankees", said I. — "Yes", said another stepping up to me, "We are Yankees. Did you ever see one before?" "Not for a long time, and none such as you." It is to be remembered that my Aunt was born in Maine and had lived in New England during all her early life. November 8, 1864. Today will probably decide the fate of the Confederacy. If Lincoln is re- elected I think our fate is a hard one, but we are in the hands of a merciful God and if He sees that we are in the wrong, I trust that He will show it unto us. I have never felt that Slavery was right for it is abused by men, and I have often heard Mr. Burge say that if he could see that it was sinful for him to own slaves, if he felt that it was wrong, he would take them where he could free them. He would not sin for his right hand. The purest and holiest men have owned them. I have never bought or sold slaves, and I have tried to make life easy and pleasant to those who have been bequeathed me by the dead. I have never ceased to work. Many a Northern housekeeper has a much easier time than a Southern matron with her hundreds of negroes. November 75, 1864. Went up to Covington to pay the Confederate tax. How very different is Covington from what it used to be! And how little did they who tore down the old Flag and raised the new realize the results that have ensued. Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood November If, 1864. Have been uneasy all day — at night some of the neighbours who have been to town called. They said it was a large force moving very slowly. What shall I do? Where go? November 18, 1864. Slept very little last night. Went out doors several times and could see large fires like burning buildings. Am I not in the hands of a merciful God who has promised to take care of the widow and orphan? November 19, 1864. Slept in my clothes last night as I heard that the Yankees went to neighbour Montgomery's Thursday night at one o'clock, searched the house, took his wine, and all his money and valuables of every sort. After breakfast I walked with Sadie to my nearest neighbours where the Yankees were yesterday — plundering the house and driving off all the stock, and before we were done talking — happen- ing to turn and look behind — I saw some Blue-Coats coming down the hill. I ran home as fast as I could with my little Sadie. I could hear them cry "Halt — Halt", and their guns went off in quick succession. Oh God! the time of trial has come! I had hastened back to my frightened servants and told them to hide, and went out to the gate to claim protection — But like demons they rush in — my yards are full. To the smoke-house, to the Dairy, pantries, kitchens, cellars — like famished wolves they come — breaking locks, breaking whatever is in their way. Hundreds of pounds of meat in my smoke-house gone in a twinkling; my flour, my lard, butter, eggs, pickles of various kinds, wine — the jars and jugs all, all gone. My eighteen fat turkeys, hens, chickens, fowls, pigs, many are shot down in my yard and hunted as if they were rebels themselves. Utterly powerless I ran out and appealed to the Guard. "I cannot help you, Madam; it is orders." My mares, my colts, my mules, my sheep, and oh! worse than all, my boys! (slaves) — Alas! little did I think while trying to save my house from plunder and fire that they were forcing my boys from home at the point of the bayonet. Some came crying to me — big tears coursing down their cheeks — but a man followed, cursing and threatening to shoot and they had to yield; those who tried to escape were captured and all marched off. They are not friends to the slave! — my poor boys — my poor boys — What unknown trials are before you — How you have clung to your Mistress — Never have I corrected them — a word was sufficient. Never have they known want of any kind. The old parents of many are with me and how sadly they lament the loss of their boys. Their cabins are all rifled of every valuable — all the house servants' clothes — and Rachel's things, which dear Lou gave before her death, which that faithful house girl had packed away so precious to her, were all stolen — ovens, skillets, coffee-mills, cof- fee-pots, sifters — all, all gone and the poor negroes remaining huddled together fearing every moment the emptied houses would be burned. An Illinois Captain came in — Of him I claimed protection from the Vandals forcing themselves into my home, and named my brother, Orrington Lunt. And at that name I could not restrain my feelings. He knew him, and I implored him to let my brother know my destitution. I saw nothing before me but starva- tion — he promised to do this; he comforted me with assurance that my dwelling- house should not be burned, though all my out-buildings might. Poor little Sadie. She went crying to him as to a friend, and told him they had taken her doll Nancy — he begged her "to come and see him and he would give her a fine waxen one." (The doll she mourned was found later in the yard of a neighbour, where a soldier had thrown it, and was returned to my little girl. Her children later played with it, and it is now the plaything of her Great-grand-daughter.) The young Officer felt for me. He was surprised that I had not laid away, hidden in my house, flour and provisions. His was the character of a gentleman. In parting with him I parted as with a friend. That member of my Father's Bible Class who uncovered at his name, in the presence of all those discords, of all that confusion, that depression, resentment and anger; the terror of rumbling, rolling, firing, fighting, cursing, which was Page 225 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood deepening every moment; called the little child to his arms, soothed her grief, and promised her a "wax doll" if only she could come to see him." He comforted my Aunt — They were acts that proceeded from a personality, from a nature exhibiting resemblance to our conceptions of the higher life, our ideal of man everywhere as our neighbour, which is the life and essence of Christianity — the life that needs no dogmas and expresses itself by love. Sherman himself and a greater portion of his Army passed the house in steady succession, and all day and night as the sad moments rolled on she tells of their passing, not only in front, but behind, while the house was not once entered. The garden-palings were torn down, a great trampled road was made through the lots and back yards, the stock was being driven through, fences being torn down, utter destruction desolating the home. "Such a day! If I live to the age of Methuselah may God spare me from ever seeing again! My rooms were full of poor cowering negroes and their bedding. As night drew its sable curtain around us the Heavens from every point were lit up with flames from burning buildings. Dinnerless and supperless as we were it was nothing in comparison with the fear of being driven out homeless to the dreary woods. It came up very windy and cold. I could not close my eyes. I kept walking to and fro — watching the fires in the distance — dreading the ap- proaching days which I feared, as they had by no means all passed, would be but a continuation of horrors." She watched every moment all night and the dawn still found her watching for the flames to burst out from some of her own buildings; and for attacks from the soldiery that were encamped about her — dreading those that were to pass — supposing they would complete the ruin the others had commenced. But the "Word of Command" had been given. No one molested them. The house was a safe harbour, but nothing on the Plantation (that was so thoroughly raided) remained, and she was left poorer by thousands and thousands and, as she tersely adds, "A much stronger rebel". There follow many detailed accounts and in- cidents of her own experience and the fellow suffering of many others but I give only her closing entries. January jo, l86j. I have felt a strong desire today that my captured boys might come back. Oh! How thankful I should feel to be able to take care of them again, and to see them once more safe at home! April 29, 1865. General Lee has surrendered to the victorious Grant. Well! If it will only hasten the conclusion of this War I am satisfied. There has been something very strange in the whole affair to me. I can attribute it to nothing but the Hand of Providence, working out some problem that has not yet been revealed to us poor erring mortals. At the beginning of the struggle the minds of men, their wills, their self control seemed to be all taken from them in a passionate antagon- ism to the coming-in-President — Abraham Lincoln. Our Leaders to whom people looked for wisdom led us into this, perhaps the greates terror of the age. "\\ e will not have this man to rule over us," was their cry. For years it has been stir- ring in the hearts of Southern politicians that the North was enriched and built up by Southern labour and wealth. Men's pockets were always appealed to, and appealed to so constantly that an antagonism was excited which it has been impossible to allay. They did not believe that the North would fight. Said Robert Toombs — "I will drink every drop of blood they will shed," — Oh blinded men! Rivers deep and strong have been shed — and where are we now! A ruined subjugated people! What will be our future is the question that now rests heavily on the hearts of all! The barriers between the North and the South as to understanding, 1 mean the barriers then existing of traditions, customs and ideals, might be as thick and opaque as stone to most, and was, (acknowledged, or in tin- heat ot attack and loss unacknowledged) in reality dark and impenetrable, yet transparent as glass owing to her tact, intelligence, and sympathy. My Aunt Dolly had more insighl 1'tij^e 326 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood than most women. She was different from the women about her in that region because there was no real mystery to clear up between the two factions. She understood both sides in measure. Her experience gave her vision, and she knew that differences in character and temperament were bound to clash, but she did not believe an understanding or compromise impossible, or that it would always keep up. With her broad mind, her sense of honour, her early life in the North, her later and happier one in the South, she could not believe in complete annihil- ation of happiness and Union. Aunt Dolly's fine qualities made her invigorating, and explain her popularity and influence and the affection she inspired. Her unassailable position, her helpfulness, her self sacrifice and universal kindness, marked her out as a figure of prominence and usefulness that ended only with her life. To the end of her days she was known and beloved — a source of sympathy and helpfulness, and to this day, as the Mistress of Burge Plantation and the dispenser of bounty, she is recalled and revered. But the end of the awful conflict? The killing and seeing killing — the human slaughtering day after day, making combatants lapse into barbarism, for how could it be otherwise? — The limitations, assassinations, antagonisms increasing! All attempts at reconstruction showing meanness and injustice — forever moving against each other, until activities and experiences brought at last to awakened consciousness the demand for co-operation, for tolerance and measurable under- standing. Oh! what a failure of our civilization! impressions, recollections, aliena- tion always underneath! It has left its mark. It has reacted adversely on those who took active part in it. Nothing can compensate for its abominations. It was long, long before steps were taken from sentiment to sympathy, and from sympathy to service. And slowly, slowly developed the Union of effort and under- lying purpose for as little destruction as possible, knowing destruction meant War, and that never, never until mind and heart unite to give, instead of to take, can our World be fructified, and the individual consecrated to the Service of the Whole. THE TENTED FIELD Every relation entered into, every City visited, every fresh event, or bright or sad experience must have particular significance. The moments of my youth while they lasted were constantly promising new fullness of delight, for secure in myself I was being carried buoyantly forward. I admit I was likely to be a prey to vivid fancies; I had no strong practical strains in my nature, I was an idealist at the core; and possessed all that enviable assurance of youth, confidently looking forward to the best life could give, and believing it would surely be forth- coming. Certain changes and charms in different surroundings and different individuals, no matter where or how they emerged into my range of vision, threat- ened sometimes to become too interesting and too kindling. Some things precious or otherwise are always ready if we look, and present themselves and produce certain impressions when we are sufficiently keyed up by the shifting scenes. And there was nearing a climax to my days that meant the invincible action of freshly and profoundly stirred patriotism; an experience that spread something before my eyes intensifying the whole affair of existence. To find oneself in Washington for the fourth of March to witness the second Inauguration of Mr. Lincoln! It was with my Aunt Margaret and cousin Joe Evans, that we journeyed to the Capital, for the pageants, the processions, the celebrations, and the great function of the Inauguration Ball. We all felt re- splendent for that occasion. My Aunt looked stunningly handsome in her velvet gown and fine laces, and Joe and I had new frocks that filled us with satisfaction. It was a wonderfully gay and colourful spectacle but we got little out of it except the pictures of amazing toilettes and the blare of music. My Uncle John Evans had preceded us to Washington as he had important consultations with the Page 227 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood President. His own Official relation to the Government gave him opportunities, of which he took advantage to secure for us the best views, and most desirable places to witness and enjoy those notables and historic events. I must pause here to tell of a singular meeting that swept me far back into my childish days. It was our first meal at Willard's when my eye fell on a girl, seated almost beside me, with a shining crown of chestnut hair. She seemed slender and tall and as she spoke to a companion at my side I caught sight of gold-brown eyes. Suddenly glancing at me there was a change in their quality, a stare of amazement, and then a soft swift look of recognition leaped all barriers, breaking all conventions or sense of remoteness. "Why Nina — Nina Lunt! It is you — you, after all these years." And something living and indissoluble established itself again. Without an instant's hesitation we clasped hands, and I answered with the eagerness of soul to soul contact — "Why Carrie! Oh! it's great to see you." It was Carrie Reed, my chosen chum of Newburyport days. I held on to her at first as if she was going to melt away fairy fashion. I was swept back into the current of that first Boarding-school. How lovely she looked! That heavy chestnut hair, the gold brightening its brown; those starry eyes that turned on me and seemed drenched in light. She was a vision of those childhood days, developed flower-like into the inde- scribable, delicate charm and added grace of early womanhood. We talked a little of the past to seem to unite us with the present. She told me the School had been broken up shortly after Georgianna left, that Miss Mary had married Mr. Leslie and died a few years after; that Mrs. Spaulding was living with Julia, the wife of a Mr. Stone of whom she'd heard very good things; that he was an excellent business man and of fine family. Carrie had as a child poise of manner and a curious cleverness, and now was doubly alluring. She seemed to have all her own adroitness which brought one quickly under her spell, and she was a brilliant product now of her environment. It was her training not her character that had changed her; Continental travel, foreign education, all making her a highly sophisticated woman of brains — She seemed strangely alluring, but the real Carrie emerged in a fashion that endeared her again, and proved that nothing had prematurely thinned her blood or could long keep ardent emotions under control. Yet hers was a cool, competent brain and not as impulsive as when we were in partnership in Newburyport. She was an essentially pretty American, who had realized that in the art of dress the French have nothing to learn — Her ease of bearing, the elegance of her toilette betrayed the wealth that seems in our world to give one a quality of precision, an assurance of manner, powers of judg- ment as to social rank and importance, and at times a caustic tongue. She rather daunted me at first but someway showed profound life pulsing within; her heart seemed to have awakened and something under her surface tranquility spoke even before the announcement of her approaching marriage. There remained something dominant in Carrie, and as strange to me as when she kicked the old black carpet-bag full of those concealed soiled clothes that she had saved from the wash to placate Mrs. Spaulding — who, by showing me that little pile tried to mortify me; comparing it with the heaped up evidence of my carelessness and unworthiness; the difference presumably between a thought- ful, watchful, nice, neat little girl and a reckless, extravagant, careless, untidy one. In that unequal battle of those days I was always beaten in advance. And now Carrie with her charming smile was dilating upon preparations on a large scale for the consummation of what she had stretched out her hand for — had claimed and appropriated, to crown her cleverly regulated, luxurious life. What- ever desires she was conscious of in that life she had secured. Marriage held for her attraction, and she calmly stated that she "decidedly preferred and did not propose to wait longer for a home of her own." She apparently had no dis- quieting fancies and was more than well satisfied with her prospects. I was in a mood as I listened to be betrayed by my own romantic weakness, my unrealized dream. I suddenly seemed ;to see that I did not practise or under- stand the fine art of fascination. In a sense I saw that to be a real success with Page 328 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood men, and to shine in the social world, one must be determined, and make it a goal. There was something so plainly about Carrie that could conquer conditions. Could I ever learn? I felt a bit reckless thinking these thoughts, but so far had never been tempted or willing to pay the price. Life had never seemed cruel, in that I could not establish claims to recognition or admiration on the utterly impermanent basis of beauty. Nevertheless I had learned that many hopes of happiness de- pended upon it — and I worshipped always at that Shrine — for love isn't at all really determined by the worthiness of the object. There was a sort of pathos in my own magnified reputation for indifference; in the absence I suppose of al- lure; of knowledge how to attract, how to draw and charm the opposite sex; the lack of which began to rob me of anticipation and threatened a sense of futility — as of something never to be reached in experience. The World as it is today — and the World that we look back upon through thought films! How the pictures flash and pass! The renewal of Youth — the Wine of Life — The magic mirror that shows up the past! Scenes and places come so clearly into the Sphere of consciousness — not dim but vivid and only vanishing to give place to others. The whole picture gallery is one of changing moving life. The thrill of independence and advancement never lessened. It quickened my pulses and stirred the deep waters of my soul in that brilliant en- tourage. I was eternally interested in the manifold drama going on about me. And curiously enough as I approach the climax of my experience during the War, fragments ghost-like and disjointed, incidents nebulous, colours shifting and kaleidoscopic confuse and elude me. Some of them refuse to be caught, although I can shut my eyes and feel sweep over me the thrilling sensations of actual experience. Mine was a vicarious excitement during those last days of War; as mine was more than a distant faint viewing of the struggle of moving forces, in my own awe-struck staring at the silent waiting Army encamped and waiting for final orders. General Grant, understanding the whole situation so soon to be settled, was reaching out for more than the stronghold in possessing Richmond. He wanted Lee's army, and it was the period when they feared or dreaded successful retreat, the Garrison escaping, and that the Army of the Po- tomac would awake to find themselves guarding nothing. The grim irresistible persistence of the great Commander had moved relentlessly forward and the doom of the Confederacy was already settled. He had been beleaguering Peters- burg, and was sure of taking Richmond. The bloody and incessant campaigns were over. Brilliant and important achievements had contributed in hand- fought battles and gallant deeds, and patient waiting had shattered forever the power of the Confederacy and reduced the grey uniformed Troopers to where they could no longer threaten. The great men of that era are only comprehensible upon broad lines, their powers or capacities cannot be agreed upon or expressed in formulas or distinct phrases. The striking prominence and magnificent character of Mr. Lincoln sets him apart. My Father's admiration had been aroused to reverence, and he wanted his children to have a picture of that man of greatness and profound faith,who seemed in the breadth and variety of his own individuality to have run through the whole gamut of human nature. To secure us the opportunity of close vision, and a special "introduction", he had joined me in Washington and had summoned my brother Horace from Andover to meet him on a specified date as soon as he arranged for that momentous interview. No sponge can pass over that slate where is written that experience. Perhaps I never knew, certainly I cannot remember, how later "The Pass" was secured for me, signed by Abraham Lincoln, or on what business for the Government it was that sent Mr. Benedict to and fro from the Front. Evidently he settled it all with the Authorities and my Father, to give me the realization in actual vision of the might of Armies, the sight and nearness of soldiers who had not ceased to struggle and suffer; who had borne and met, and not failed to realize, the tide so often stronger than they. And now emerges into prominence my one almost incredible experience — Page 22Q Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood my visit to The Front — my stay at City Point — my sight of the Army of the Potomac which I was told I was the last to visit before it moved toward Rich- mond to receive General Lee's surrender and sword. Such a little incident — such a mere trifle — a mistake — a blunder gave me the much coveted permission. How strange that things of moment hang by so slender a thread, and we gain or lose thereby and know not why. It was surely not the fault of Mr. Benedict's writing, which was unusually clear, but passing through intermediate and Official hands Nina G. Lunt had become Nina G. Sweet — pro- bably the first letter of my name twisted easily from L to S, and the two letters between L and T could easily be read wrong. The fact remains that when handed to Mr. Benedict his dismay was only equalled by his conviction that to get it corrected would involve delay and perhaps defeat. In his elaborate explanation he told us that he gravely doubted any possibility of rectifying that error, and soothed my annoyance by assuring me that on arrival I could claim and wear my own title to consideration as "O. Lunt's Daughter", which I still felt my chief honour, as certainly as I did in that first childish effort to write it proudly on a card — the tiny card my Father cherished and which is still intact — preserved as a memento of my very earliest days. So many gaps that memory cannot fill. I cannot, as I would like reconstruct that wonderful visit to City Point and the Army Headquarters — in a sense simple — exciting to me then — giving thrill on thrill, sensations different indeed from the ordered trammeled ways of life I was used to, but yet not fully aware of its epochal importance. Now my thoughts are not accurate enough after all the stretch of crowded years to do the scenes and time justice, but the ultimate certainty comes to me that however faint the outlines, or dim the pictures, it was the most unique, the most fascinating, the most exciting and the most amazing experience of my young life. The influence which, I never comprehended nor measured, had secured me shelter in the Barrack-like building, where the young wives of certain prominent Officers were allowed to wait at City Point for a season. The small rooms almost like cells, side by side, hardly I thought allowed desirable or necessary privacy, but it had all been divided off for a temporary and relatively convenient occupancy. Through all the mist of the years there comes back to me the lovely image of one fragile and appealing woman, so different from the gay young wives gathered there that she remains as of vivid variety of Spiritual Genius, yet far removed from any arts of fascination. Her delicate colouring, the very exquisite pallor of her face was arresting — her hair of pale gold, her eyes both light and dark, her figure tall, slim and straight; there was about her a sort of untouched per- fection, a luminous softness — rainbow tinted. There are people as well as things so indelibly printed upon the memory that they are permanent possessions not to be lost in the years. She has never dissolved like other experiences and pic- tures, and I look upon a few great moments of communion, irresistible, passionate; perhaps unrecognized yet formative, and shadowing possibilities that encouraged me in that strange world where the Soul wanders alone, and where one defends the Citadel of being. Mrs. Clendennin was the wife of the Chief of Staff. Intelligence, sincerity, fineness, mastery was on that Colonel's face, and his gallant life had marked him a soldier with no time his own for four full years. A life of strenuous days and constant action; and his eyes were sad with a sort of prophetic vision in them. Someway those two, I only saw them together once, satisfied all my tastes for they seemed doubly irradiated by light within and light without. And after her husband left the following morning she talked not as a new acquaintance, but almost as a friend to an understanding friend. And I felt keenly, suddenly the tragic despair of the War. There was about her an irrepressible sense of lost joys — as if the joy of life that one would die for was no more. "The War has been so horrible; you cannot imagine how horrible it is seen from the inside. War! War! and one's Treasure-Ship slipping out of harbour while one watches — sailing — sailing — sailing if not to dip down into darkness Page 230 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood yet storm-struck and dismantled. Out of sight so long, and never to return the same. At first I was so happy I could hardly bear it, and then before long I was made to see the unhappy side of life — the partings — the ending of the glad things that come with the beginning of new ones — our joy had been too great not to bring sorrow in its wake." Her words shone like a lamp revealing herself, and I never once woke up or thought I had involuntarily blundered into a Sanctuary. Eager, enthusiastic, and impassioned at that period, yet painfully blind to pro- found realities, how was I to know the quality of the gifts her personality and words bestowed? I was capable of extravagantly devoted moods, and for three days I sat at her feet, and listened to counsels and confidences that must have come from her absolute ultimate self. Imagination, insight did not tell me but those words which I have never forgotten, as well as features, gestures and looks, gave me a lasting impression of reverence, almost of awe. And now every faculty of my being rallies to description of that something beyond the reach of art — set off as a sort of special jewel — flower, rose or lily,which had bloomed and was ever so gently fading, and yet could never lose its supreme fairness. She was so removed from the others, and even in her silence there was a sort of vibrant significance, and her face wore a look I can never forget, the look of one, if I can express it, who has looked over the edge of life into its surrounding dark; and yet, sorrowful as it had struck me, I saw a glint of humour sometimes, as wearing her tired gallant smile she listened to me; an ignorant, unsophisticated confident young girl — not self-centred but in a subtle sense self-satisfied. One thing can be said in my favour then and always, I was not distinctly frivolous. In surging talk I told her what I had never breathed to others, all about my " Dream Prince", and my friend, Mr. Chandler, and Dr. Bevan, and she put her arms about me and said "No one could go through life without loving, that, in com- parison, being loved was nothing — it hardly counted." From that moment emo- tions quieted that I had encouraged. I thought of them as "Knights-Errant", never as possible lovers. "You must learn not to give divine irrelevant things to people. It is useless to strain fancy, by painting and desiring what after all are nothing but works of Art you have yourself created. You are aching to give or do things;" and she turned the full light of her intelligent sympathy upon me. She drew me out in a thousand ways, until reticence and shyness vanished, and with a sort of trembling eagerness all my incoherent dreams, my foolish hopes, my impossible ambitions just toppled out before her in a fervour of ardent conviction, confidence and desire, and we stepped immediately into a mutual understanding. Memories can fit words and feelings to those hours, as our last talk returns to move my tenderest feelings. "I used to watch," she said, "the bright face of dawn breaking through in glorified mornings and thank God in light-hearted exultant happiness. We were so gay, yet I suppose it must be that we were serious at bottom, but whatever happened how could we ever become so quiet and elderly? I was not born elderly, yet someway my very sense of humour has become so. This cruel War changing him — changing me — changing everything — only teaching of pain and death — cruel, ruthless, terrible death — Death rigid, implacable, mysterious — Death even in life. I find I cannot stand it much longer. I want to get away from the en- veloping coldness, the aloofness, the loss of warmth and confidence. I want to bury something deeper and deeper and forget myself — forget everything. Once I thought myself ready for anything — The danger? Why we would not let our- selves speak or think of it. It was all glory and drum-beating and music and patriotic voices. How could one care who lived or died then? And now it is enough to set one raving mad — the mere thought of that awful resistance to breathing — the awful wounds — the gasping anguish — the brutalities rampant — horrible realizations of horror — What is there in it of the Divine? And Oh! where is and how is it ever possible to save humanity from spiritual destruction." I have never gotten away in my long life from the memory of those words. And though we were never again together since that day I remember her with Page 231 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood gratitude for the honour paid me, and a peculiar tenderness appeals insistently as I think and write! — "Ships that pass in the night?" — Yes — but we had hailed each other! And I can neither forget nor cease to give thanks for the good for- tune that gave me in early youth that brief association, and all the magical ex- perience of the day that followed. The first Soldier of the North, General Grant, who had never taken a step backward, had his head-quarters within a stone's throw of the hastily constructed barracks where we were accommodated. I saw him often and remember his rather short, stocky, middle-sized yet martial figure, his uniform, his Stars, and the military hat low down over the eyes. He was always placidly pulling at the ever present cigar. He looked a Statue of calm wherever he moved. It was impossible to imagine nervousness in him. He seemed even stolid to the shallow observer — He, who incarnated might and the mastery of men! I recall him again, and I must step forward into the future to several years after when I was again in Washington, and for part of that Winter the guest of our friend, Airs. John H. Logan, the wife of the senior Senator from Illinois. Mrs. Logan was so popular, so wise, so diplomatic and accomplished, that she was admired, sought after, and considered as one of the most influential members of the inmost Official circle at the Capitol. More than once I was taken to the White House and witnessed the friendly almost confidential relations existing between my clever Hostess and the President's distinguished family. I met General Sherman, General Sheridan and many of the great men of that time frequently, and almost intimately at her house. I am tempted, you see, by rushing reminiscences to leap forward in point of time, but I must shut them back and return to where General Grant sat down before Richmond. The Army of the Potomac was having its Watch, General Meade in command, and Mr. Benedict was not encouraging, after the first day, as to any prospect of my visiting "The Front" as he had hoped and promised. The expected move of the Army, and the tremendous plans were all on too large a scale to, apparently, permit notice or assent to such an application. I had been led to believe that the request, passing from Mr. Benedict to Colonel Clendinnin, was even brought by the Chief of Staff to the Great Commander himself — but I doubt it — that was never substantiated; only I do know that all of them were made aware of the state of things which might be considered as an impasse. Some of the ladies said to me "that it was wholly out of the question, and they never would have thought that anyone would dream at such a period of expecting a favourable answer." But one day, when everything seemed extraordinary rather than natural, Mr. Benedict returned from the Front and joyfully announced his success. I was greatly excited and could not help joining in his amusement when he related the incident which he declared he verily believed had settled the mooted question. When General Meade held "The Pass" and scrutinized it — of course it was Mr. Lincoln's signature that did the business — as he handed it back he remarked, with a smile, "I don't see how we can ever refuse that name!" I fear Lunt, highly as I regard it, might not have appealed as succulently as "Sweet" to that gallant General! And with these recollections while pictures of the past cannot unroll them- selves as a whole and give all details, much can be recalled to reveal the vast difference in that day, as a climax to all the other days of the War; for "The Day" held a sort of glory — nothing of the prosaic — so much of the unexpected and the wonderful. I felt tremendously proud of my privilege and I could with no effort suitably express it. Some things transcend the magic of imagination. I was brimming with romance and ripe for adventure. Youth sees only that time and space are boundless, and shapes dreams and plans accordingly. That day with its beauty meant everything to me. I was to see our Army encamped. I was going to the Front. Now it was necessary for me to impress all I met with my own fortitude as well as loyalty. The soldiers who had dared and suffered and endured must feel no affront because of lack of appreciation, or of distinct and Page 232 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood demonstrated enthusiasm of loyalty. I hugged to my breast the thought of the victories of the Army of the Potomac. There was such vastness and joyousness in the experience. It was a proud joy and a proud pain. Mine had become a passionate, fierce preoccupation with the thoughts and feelings Mrs. Clendennin had aroused, and everything appealed to my sense of the fitness of things, the wonder of the vision as we neared the great Camp, and the sight swept before me, the long straight lines of white tents, a city of them! There were narrow lanes between the long stretches and spaces of that wide-spread "Tented Field". The remarkable, countless number of those low white covered shelters, (temporary homes while was being played the great and awful game of War) fairly awed me. It was a train of small cars carrying stores and needful things that took us to the Camp. Nothing but trucks or miniature enclosed baggage-cars — transports for the wounded. It was indeed a strange sensation to find our only place must needs be in the Engine-cab where we must make ourselves as small and incon- spicuous as possible. They lifted me up and inside, and someway I felt like a racing engine myself. My mind was preternaturally alert; anticipation, excitement and delight made every thought sharp-edged — distinct — fancies flashed and flickered one upon the heels of another, so that as we jogged along or raced along up and down, through fields and hollows, and over small hill sides I trembled in a sort of rapture. The road made hair-pin turns, the track closely paralleled, a curving bank at times, nothing precipitous until we sheered into a cut and the engineer called out a sudden warning, "Duck here — they sometimes get us — don't lean out — duck your heads, quick!" A sudden tightness, a queer deadly apprehension clutched at my chest. My whole body felt taut and strained, I was almost breathless as we passed the point, and I heard the engineer chuckle when I lifted my head to peer around with a gaze more physical than mental. Once more I heard the engineer cry out, "Be careful here, they may try to shell us." I quivered so, and had become conscious only of listening — listening again, straining eyes and ears for the attack. Danger really did not exist, but I had been envisaging it where always before and until then I had felt security. "You are pale," said Mr. Benedict with a laugh. "Don't you know the man is jesting? He wants to see you frightened a second time. I've been over this road more times than you can count, and I never heard of a disturbance but once." The fear that second cry had aroused was gruesome. I thought of the hosts of wounded soldiers who had come to death and suffering all about, of whom I had heard daily at City Point but happily had never seen. It was a queer singing in my ears for a second. But the sky was a tranquil blue. The sun poured a wash of gold over all the land, and the air was fresh and fine and smelled of Spring at its loveliest. It was all call and allure when at last the engineer handed me out of that little Cab. We had slipped and jolted quite long enough over rails on tires carelessly laid, seemingly with no bedding at all. At first it had seemed to me as if we were just slipping and crashing over the rough ground; up a slope, down a slope, sometimes almost plunging forward. But the sweet breath of the fields or near woods or far waters, of ferns and forests and masses of unknown • growths, mingled with and made me adore the flat surrounding landscape. We descended to meet Major Rhoades — a soldier from his spurs up, straight standing, almost as if on Parade when he saluted and welcomed us with such pronounced affability. He was distinguished if not strictly handsome, an Officer, a gentleman and a sportsman. He looked the true soldier, with a true soldier's ideal, as I saw him that first moment — and shall always see him. The picture comes back — dark hair, close-shaven, clean-cut features, goodly limbs and shoul- ders, faded sash, straight sword, and tall boots. About him there must have been a spiritual cleanliness although he was alight with humour. He impressed me as an embodiment of gallantry, courtesy, humour and a patriotic sentiment which was the true spirit of the Army. I had caught the half-appraising, distinctly curious glance with which he first uncovered, acknowledging Mr. Benedict's mention of my name, but as he conducted us to his tent I felt I was in the presence of one fine enough to be the Page 233 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood hero of some novel, and could pile item after item of praise for his looks, bearing, manner and cordial greeting. And I experienced an increased warmth of ad- miration as, with an indicated graceful compliment and congratulation over the arrival of their guest, he introduced me to a few companion Officers, who, hearing of the advent, and that the strange young lady was to be entertained by General Meade's Staff, had sauntered in. I suppose they had been invited to the Luncheon that was later to be set out in my honour. I tried not to be nervous, but looking at Major Rhoades' finely cut features I saw the slightly sarcastic curve to the lips, matching a sort of defiance in the eyes, and noticed a finished touch of arro- gance in manner, yet believed it to be unconscious and perfectly natural. Oh! what dullness in all other days compared to this! Fiction itself became a mirage in comparison. There was a sort of dare-devil air to some of the other chosen heroes who had been presented, and sat down with us to the early mid-day repast in his tent. They called it a feast, and drank to my health first, and then to eternal damnation of their enemies! Later they cut out from black paper a head to shoot at calling it Jeff Davis; I had never handled fire arms but they declared, laughing merrily, that "they could give directions easy to follow, and they were sure I would be tractable as they wanted me to put a bullet through the Confederacy." I looked aghast at the weapon, cocked and prepared and placed in my shaking hand, and heard my own voice in hasty words — "Why I couldn't shoot at Jefferson Davis; I've met some of his Officers and they were perfect gentlemen — They stood at salute." Their amazement was immense — "Why how is that? You can't fire at our arch enemy?" "So Jeff Davis has escaped again," said one of the group ironically. "Astonishing that we have a friend of his among us," interrupted another. I flushed with embarrassment, and I felt the cold blanket that was wrapping en- thusiasm as I tried to make playful retort and assurance of my perfect loyalty to our Cause. Their looks asked for explanation, and I began the tale of that evening encounter at the Sims in New York, and actually they all rose before I finished the description of friend and foes. "Another salute", said one pleasant voice, and they all bowed in an amused and half satirical fashion — "Clever, by Jove! to get out of that!" — "A tight place," and very kindly comments followed. "No wonder you don't want to kill their President; those were certainly fine chaps, but mind you, he's not of their sort — no ounce of chivalry in him." And such good stories as they told while we sat around, and so picturesque as they all looked, and so highly coloured is the scene for me to remember. The whole experience was bewitching, the actual visible marvelous illustration of martial reality, the abundance of romance in its ripest perfection made fiction needless and imperti- nent. Table talk and saddle talk was all I heard, no reference to War and its move- ments. I remember vividly their complete reserve in that respect with no escape valve. And I have since quite well understood that only my youth, my sex, the rarity of a guest and the boredom of their days, could account for or explain their evident interest, watchful attention, and open purpose to make the visit enjoy- able. I was not beautiful — I was not a Sport — I was not accomplished in their lines. I could neither ride nor shoot nor show my pent up thoughts, but a reck- less feeling pervaded me. I could dare anything, and when I heard my host's courteous voice say, as if in assured statement — "You ride, of course!" It was then that intense repressed excitement, that intense desire to please, that intense belief that in the nature of things I had no choice that but must be equal to all de- mands, explained and accounted for the swift but baseless affirmative. I had ridden a little in Chicago but had never received any real training or owned any Mounts of my own. I was naturally fearless but with no actual knowledge of horseman- ship. I suppose I had a fairly decent seat when riding on fairly decent roads, or moving slowly on some safe old beast. I did not falter when I overheard one protesting query, "You won't put her on Flirt?" — with the reply — "She says she can ride, the mare is tired enough to Page 234 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood be safe," and I let my pride or vanity or self love be flattered. "Now your foot, please?" and I was lifted (I fear not too light a weight) with a gallant show of martial courtesy. And a stirring Show indeed was soon to follow, of anything but the War's heroic reality! The others, four in all, sprang to saddle ready to take fences, hedges, road or ditch. Was ever anything crazier than for a complete novice in horsemanship to ride with seasoned Cavalry Officers? Everything began to happen as in a tornado. Ahead of us a series of rough open fields, partly given up to grass with criss-cross ditches, hummocks or water courses in the distant line of brakes or fences. Some low-lands and a creek or two visible and dust, dust, dust, a golden light across it all. Major Rhoades had a beautiful horse and they all started clattering along in a sort of rhythm. The talk among them the first moment we moved off was fluent, but immediately broken, I fancy, as they looked at my stiffened figure and heavy hold on the reins. I felt as if I was being dashed up and down in scales — but I would not flinch. The horses hoofs beat like drums as we were going giddily round the whole earth! I set my teeth and tried to answer the Major's pleasant question, as at a signal they had changed from trot to walk. How consummate that innate politeness must have been, which kept from me any suggestion even of the spectacle I was making; which kept me equally from knowing that my inexperience had instantly shown itself! The whole world seemed to have taken me for its centre and the flattery of the occasion had gone to my head. There was no bitter in the sweet, of being a young girl with all those smiling Officers ready for interchanges, which soon how- ever ended in unemotional friendliness that faded rapidly into abstraction — for I could not talk. I could only hold on, and I speedily found I could not realize any poetry in such movements. Shortly I saw that my companions began to look stiff and self-conscious when they glanced in my direction; I did not read the apprehension or curiosity in their eyes, but the keen watchfulness and readi- ness for service was very apparent. The place was pathless. I saw that every slightest turn had to be alertly chosen. Yet I was too hotly alive to care, only eager to prove fearlessness, and unaware that I had proved steadily a total lack of skill and experience. I someway felt myself invited to be violent, and though I clung to my saddle at every test, revealing ignorance of horsemanship, I was drawing my pride up from the depths — and the cord was slender and taut. I had panting moments catching, holding on, dropping, loosing the heavy hand on the poor horse's mouth, ludicrously unequal to any ease of management. Much riding in later life in the Rockies and in Cities; the teaching of two Sea- sons in excellent riding-schools under skillful masters; a few special lessons over- seas, and once or twice riding in the Bois in Paris, all left me appalled and humi- liated to remember my mad recklessness and display of audacity. Mettlesome and aspiring and half crazy they must have thought me, a transparent embodiment of determination to hide what never could be hidden — my inexperience and de- ficiencies. It was only the youth of those Officers that made them forgetful or defiant of danger. There might have been a Vidette looking at us from the edge of near or distant bushes, for they took no circuits. They seemed to have lost fear of my being thrown which surely they must have had at first, and continued to make straight for "Fort Hell" which as they explained was one of the outermost Posts. We galloped over a sort of road the Cavalry and Infantry had made in their rushes. There was no reconnoitering or walking the horses stealthily as if apprehending danger, which 1 felt like a stab when I heard the name of our destination. It had become a mad tearing gait most of the way and I felt half-blinded when the sharp command rang out, "Give rein — hold tight," and what was really crack or opening in the ground before us looked to me a great crevasse. Great Heavens! Only the flash of a second to think! Instinctively I obeyed, slackened and clung, my horse lifted and we plunged forward, and then all at once the situation was too much for me. I kept lips tight shut and fought fear — the same fear that came on me in mid Page 235 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood ocean when the frightful squall was upon us. But now as then there was no help, I must bide results. And with no guidance my horse swerved abruptly — perhaps a snake in the grass — I never knew what, and I never knew what saved me. Major Rhoades had sprung from his saddle and hurried to my horse's side. He spoke low words of encouragement as he grasped and returned to my cold hands the dropped reins. I have known since what he must have known and felt; and ap- preciate what I could not then recognize, the chivalry that hid it all from me. "After all it makes one a bit crumpy to ride too fast, but you know you're safe now, and we've gone far enough. It's an adventure for us to take out a young lady, and," with an engaging smile, "we've got to share our visitor. You will have to go to General Meade according to orders, so we must hasten — and about face." _ Major Rhoades was sharp as a needle, a man of relentless determination and tireless vigour, and he appeared as full of quick intelligence as of energy. Not one of those well trained soldiers had shown any amusement, in true kindness they all wanted to make comfortable their foolish young guest and strove to ap- pear easy and natural as they uttered polite compliments, helping me to recover poise and the assurance the ride had so nearly exhausted. "You've the Spirit of a Sport and no mistake; fearlessness must be your blood heritage", said my companion, and I rallied and tried to smile back," I don't know about that, but someone said laughter was my blood heritage", and I drew a great breath of relief as he continued — "Adventures after all are not what we're in search of. You're to meet the Staff and then to the General's tent, so our time is short." Two, three, perhaps four miles we had reckoned off, and then, doubling on ourselves, no longer galloping but cantering slowly and in comfort, we made good our return. I laughed under breath, as he handed me down safe at the Tent-opening, and repeated with friendly emphasis — "You are right; laughter as well as courage must be a blood heritage, and both are yours." The word laughter struck the true note, for I have laughed and laughed at myself, and again with others, when giving accounts of that day of days. I can vision myself always humping up and down — such an absurd sort of picture! I even remember the brown suit I wore, that short English jacket with the four great brown buttons of polished wood for front adorning, and that full plaited skirt which lent itself to the demand, and was so easily adapted to riding. The suit purchased in Havre had been greatly admired on ship-board, because when first appearing in it, they said I looked like "The Mistress of the Quarter Decks". The sense of humour that laughs longest and heartiest when one laughs at oneself, (which ability is one of the best features of its saving grace) is, as I have intimated and stated before in these pages, very fortunate for the possessor. They say that very few men can do it, and fewer women, but as I quoted earlier one who can laugh at himself and enjoy it can afford to! It is decidedly wholesome. Who could realize that upon those calm young men about me such tremendous issues hung. They were all instructed in the mysteries of terrible conflict and must have developed aptitude for it, judging by their rank and title. Celerity, valour and endurance marked them as soldiers of note however young. They had seen long service. They were all real, but I felt they all wore masks. I felt challenged also to show no self consciousness, no excitement in the face of their readiness, their complete calm courtesy. It was so wonderful to think how life and death hung in the balance, for their every hour, when the game of War was actually played; when courage, concentration, swiftness, unceasing skill, effort and daring must be kept up through everything, with havoc and horror of de- struction facing them. And some of them who came and went those hours of my visit were not particularly educated, nor particularly good looking; not exception- ally clever, not brilliant talkers, but genuine, honest and competent they must have been, for they were unpretentious and totally free from assumption. Who could believe as they so lightly talked and planned for my further pleasure how intensely serious those last hours, that my stay had broken into, must have been — expecting a call or movement any moment. Page 236 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood And indeed, what they called a scare or false alarm, ended my day in an ex- citement pressed down and running over! I feel dazed now to recall it. The sudden message sent and received at the door of the Tent — The Orderly's low voice — no swearing — no shouting — the quick orders given and understood — and all — all were gone. Nothing sensational or startling did I see even under such circumstances, for every one held his nerve, and at that call and response had remembered to bow a farewell; and in my role of spectator I was not for the moment afflicted with any sense of unimportance. The circumstances stimulated to a point of utter self forgetfulness. "Halt — Bang — Halt — Bang — " I had heard in the distance, as that Orderly rushed from the door, and each man sprang and was out of sight as if by magic! How keen they must all have been "in march", and what drastic attention to detail! That one picture of Major Rhoades showed me perfect sportsmanship in soldiering. A look of care on his features, low spoken orders to two men, that must have been picked men, to accompany the Ambulance and who later rode on each side of us even to the puffing little train waiting to start for City Point. Major Rhoades in that last sight of him looked stern, quiet, inflexible — no sign of unchecked emotion. By me never to be seen again, yet forever after my ideal of the young Commander. After his brief words of caution and quiet farewell I stood alone at the door of that tent, facing the vision of the Companies "Double Quick"; looking breath- lessly at the long lines in the distance, the streets of that City of Tents where the living units in close formation were moving swiftly to the supposed point of attack. There were shots that began to puff and crack in the distance; a shell or so left its track in the upper air, but the flashing and crackling of rifles was even more distant. Inside I almost heard the voice of command that seemed to say, hurry — hurry — hurry as I watched the serried ranks file out and start, ready at the sharp words for cheer and charge. The boom — "boom" was in my fancy, for I was on the edge of my nerves waiting, for the ordered Ambulance, yet with a sudden intense touch of irrepressible pride that I could be there; that I could see it — the soldiers starting for action, although those speeding columns so soon swallowed up and out of sight, were to be as speedily returned. The end — the end of the War was so near and had visioned itself to my startled gaze. To me from that time the whole question was more thoroughly understood as to its burdens and horrors. War was something else than seeing Regiment after Regiment march away to the music of drums and fifes. It brought up the long lists of killed and wounded, of prisoners, and of incurable sorrows and unspeakable woes. Drums beating, the sound of bands and waving of flags, was lost in the advance of troops and roar of battles. Before we really steamed away we learned the story of that little ambuscade, which had visioned itself to my startled gaze as a real encounter. It was the smallest sort of Scrimmage; a few wounded or slightly hurt, none killed outright — an everyday affair — and merely meant a brief but vain pursuit. There was laugh- ter, I heard, among those capable young Officers, whose force and dignity was broken by plenty of humour over the dash that deserted their guest, and over the whole situation which in fact was amusing to them. "Brisk work ahead," I had heard Mr. Benedict say as the clumsy Engineer boosted me in and climbed after, while I waved to the lumbering Ambulance turning Eastward into a by-road. That railroad, built for supplies to the Front, and constructed alone for the Army's use, ran parallel with its line of entrench- ments from City Point to the extreme left. It just followed the contour of the ground, not particular about grades or curves; the rails laid without tires, judg- ing from its roughness; and we bumped up and down worse than before. Sensa- tions as far as I was concerned, largely due to the effects upon the physical system of that remarkable horseback ride, one of the outstanding features of the day, but so great a day that exultation enabled me to ignore all bodily ills, and return to the Barracks and those surprised inmates in high spirit and open, if not boast- ful, pride. Page 237 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood I was conscious of cold shivers long after I learned the last exciting feature was only a false alarm, and I always think of it as a sudden roar; as suddenly no longer audible; and nothing discernible. Everything suddenly lying low once more; but imprinted forever on my mind the great "Tented Field"; the white Tents, row on row as far as I could see, and those little streets full of swiftly mov- ing lines of men; masses and masses of them appearing and disappearing. "Left into Line" ; I could hear that at first, as those nearest wheeled and marched. Vig- orous attacks were made at any point when any portion of the hostile forces ap- proached, and I was perfectly fascinated by my thoughts of such strength and manliness. They were all soldiers from their spurs up, as it looked to me, embodiments of chivalry — limitless chivalry that seemed the keynote of their characters. It is a supreme quality in the soldier. But there had been something hard and burning underneath all their apparent lightness. I sensed it when they dashed out, when Major Rhoades sprang into saddle, wheeled and at a bound was off like a deer — away off — all of those young heroes never to be seen again, marching with distant columns, while our Ambulance moved as if afloat in the dust that cut and curtained everything. There is nothing new under the Sun. The Old which was older then still is the younger today. Our Country has kept its freshness, withstood the stress of over sixty years since that day long gone yet fresh to me. It grows in power. It is tremendous in wealth; riotous in triumph; established in supremacy. Yet exists the unthinkable pit-falls, the noisome whirlpools, the threat of destructi- bility. Even like the old Empires reduced to dust for the chariot wheels of genera- tions to cover. Verily the Clock strikes' — up and down, round and round. There is nothing new under the Sun. a/'gt 238 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood THE LAST WORD The Scenes however small that I have scattered through these pages show what delight I took in the incidents and experiences to which I had access. I get vivid amusement in recording for you the odd or ordinary occurrences from the eager or hurried jumbo of more or less crowded days; from the medley where I derived satisfaction, with labour and privation and suffering always singularly absent. As to the finer spiritual sides and needs, I certainly was unquestionably sincere in believing I recognized them. My natural instinct was to play with deeper thoughts and aspirations and to purpose to satisfy them somehow. But the natural drift is towards the surface of things, although with the best will in the world to take them as substantial rather than petty. All my life I have been essentially incapable of considering my close relations with others as unimportant enough to shuffle off and forget. My own summary therefor is that these Remin- iscences, not profound, are yet veracious and not wholly unworthy the background against which larger things and larger people necessarily stand out. It may seem now a sort of endless comedy from the thinker's angle, but these Sketches are not for maturity — for youth as I was young — who will understand perhaps how I seized the best chances for enjoyment, how I avoided unhappiness by losing myself in what was purely personal. I had no dissatisfaction with life, only always a longing to pour out from treasures in deepest depths. I think if you delve under the surface you will find I had a fair opinion of my own capacity, that I loved my friends, adored my Mother, was loyal and devoted to my Father and brothers, which coloured my life, but is no credit and involved no self-sacri- ficing action. I repudiate the imputation that I have been responsible for calamities or disappointments, that have in later years fallen upon me, any more than for the felicities of my youth. The pity of it is that in age so largely, almost wholly, the fun, the sparkle of life has to be looked for in the past. What we have grown up with is what most counts. And travel in many lands, all with a wealth of imaginative suggestion; with constant renewals of opportunities as the years swept by; has enriched my experience and brought to me a pictur- esqueness that made me love existence for its own sake, that gave me some know- ledge of the wealth of art, and the treasures of inexhaustible beauty in all the many countries I have visited. I always found that what had entered into the tissues of my early life enabled me to dream over whatever I gathered, in my wanderings to and fro and up and down the earth. Flaubert reminds us of the profound truth — "It is only commonplaceness, well known countries, that have inexhaustible beauty." With me it is, and always has been, my own home and surroundings, and all the pageant of the laughing Lake that is before me as I write. The temperament of the sensitive, after youth and its dream, cannot it seems, always find life easy, for disillusionment has in it a sword. But I have always gone cheerfully on my way, not unaware of failures, but in age as in youth quite indifferent to and untrammeled by criticism. I have had no quarrels with my past, the present always held me, and the future always beckoned. Sometimes and frequently making false moves, holding no true solution of the puzzle, noting what was going on in the world and asking many questions, I have had violent seizures of mental activity and rebellion. And so with less and less certitude of power — for I have dimly guessed as we all must — I have been very gradually and often led backward instead of forward. I had no compre- hension of any issues, only the growing need of the stirring of courage and will- ingness to fight these relaxing sensations, that produce enervation and indifference. One has to learn to fight intellectual torpor through which so many have perished. I think slowly but steadily I grew someway co-operative in outlook, in a sense tolerant of the intolerant. I shook off certain prejudices early, and felt as if cer- tain scales in matters of judgment dropped from my eyes. With people of op- posing views, of widely different beliefs, I grew to feel less and less alienation; Page 239 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood more of curiosity and of interest. And with leaders of widely different faiths — Catholic, Jewish, Occultist, all in some measure appealed as vital and worthy of respect. Jew, Greek, Gentile, or Unbeliever, what difference does it make? All have something to teach and to give, and, as the philosophers say, nothing is wholly evil, it is our objection to the unknown that makes us think so — I have investigated in mild fashion, and attached myself to whatever offered the best returns of either profit or pleasure, and, fortunately in selecting the few that blessed and ennobled my life in love and friendship, I often found myself rich and happy in very short order. All my life I have enjoyed meeting people; the dif- ference between books and people is the difference between bottled water and running water. I have enjoyed entertaining, I think I may say that from in- heritance or habit I was almost a natural born hostess; certainly "talk does not flag in my neighbourhood", and I think a lack of self consciousness and a real interest in others, sets everyone at ease. The charm to me of characteristic in- dividuality never loses its force. What I don't like is cynicism and critical attitudes, and what I cannot disarm I ignore. My business in writing for you these Sketches has been rendering with ex- actitude what I could command. I have not invented or set going or adopted any devices. I have only tried convincingly to express feelings, and clearly de- scribe scenes, interviews and facts of experience — as far as possible I've held them up to view. But in the writing one rule I've kept before me, to show in all the words written the progress or deterioration made; for everything in every hour of life indicates growth or change, and points to loss or development, for the standing still is the impossible thing. I have written with the intensity of interest I've always felt. There must be continuity as well as coherence in description; in giving various incidents that carry the story forward; in getting what is true and worth while out of the subject, showing the quality of action, the intensity of thought or ardor of feeling, when pulses beat and excitement is at fever heat. In deciding the important epochs as life progresses one cannot retard action. It is the sum of reality that must stand, and the scenes I have recorded are real, neither complex nor tantalizing to render, only, as my life is and was, I tried to go straight to my point and not too self-centeredly. It is all an immense subject to tell how a thing is written; with a romance, anything fictional, you are free to choose your own style, your own character, and how to elaborate them by imaginary scenes and juxtapositions, and so com- bine and create the desired effects. I have created nothing but atmosphere in these Sketches; I repeat again as a "last word" that not one fact has been imagined to make things dramatic. They all occurred. They are all true. In a sense it was all simple living that I had to tell — hoping to interest the young members of our family by making the experiences clear, and speeches or communications natural and direct as they were; the conversations characteristic in their developed phases and phrases. I have always as a rule striven to write in the language naturally employed, as we talked the one to the other, mentally aiming to use just the words and phrases characteristic of the individual. It became almost involuntary, and very easy to employ and give the equivalent of the thought since we all talked simply enough. And this I assert and emphasize, that although I have dwelt on what happened so long ago, it happened not too long for the memory to be sure. Of course one cannot pretend that he could remember whole speeches, or render even a few words with perfect accuracy after six hours, to say nothing of sixty years! — that is simply absurd. The most that any human being can carry away of a conversation after a few days is just the telling sentences, and the mannerisms of the speaker. And an entire monologue or dialogue, or pages of interchange in speech, direct accounts in remembering and rendering words, naturally will set anyone who reads them to more than wonder how a narrator could truthfully record such elaborated expressions, even if speaking of the immediate present, or that the interchange had just existed. Of course I do not claim to recollect all the language I use. I 'mean the exact words witli which the different ones, who Page 240 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood come so close in incident or association, express themselves, but the incidents are, and all remain vivid in mind and heart; and I put down my story in substance, and literally, as far as possible. All that I know is that my life has been packed, full of emotions, of incidents, great and small, that held an imperishable place in memory. In quick succession as I have written Memory has turned the spot- light on individuals and scenes, and I could dig deep into consciousness and in intense concentration re-live it all, and so write as I've said with accuracy of de- tail. Sometimes in thrills the Past has become the Present, and nothing of it for- gotten. To the impulses of awakened memory every sense responds; sometimes with a startling sureness that gives off a fresh wave along that once traveled path of experience. From the very first the reporting or rendering speeches, is faced simply by characterizing, by intimate knowledge of those who are introduced, who worked on the writer so that, in their clear recall, in the direct telling of facts, of their influence and the effect wrought by such association, / am made manifest. If one stops to think he knows that his recollection of events if clearly stated must familiarize those who are to read, as he is familiar, with the personality and the peculiarities of those of whom he is writing. I know I have keen impres- sions of what occurred, and, knowing the participants, and the impressions pro- duced on me, I know what they were and meant, and almost exactly what was said, on the special occasions described or referred to. I have deliberately there- for been as accurately personal as possible. It is not merely acuteness or impossible recollection, it is merely perfect honesty of statement in the impressions produced. Of course I don't want to postulate myself as having a prodigious memory, for that I have not. I recall occurrences and occasions that mark my days without effort, and I have one unalterable rule for the rendering of any exchanges of thought, of interrogation or of replies, in fact for statements of any kind — that is, to strive to record their effects. I have simply purposed to illustrate individuals in snatches of speech, when the characters answer each other; and to hesitate or to compromise would be to lose the point of dramatic working up to vivify the individual, or to make live for you the persons who lived so largely for me. You could not otherwise arrive at animated life in colour or presentment, and nothing would be conveyed except a self-unguessed and self-engrossed human being. In trying to re-create the personalities of those who surrounded me, whose grace for me has never perished, there has been a tenderness in their revival be- yond all thinking. They were all real and never shadows — pictures in the back- ground of my life; and in the unfailing delight of those early days the fragrance of certain personalities can never be forgotten. They do not move in dreamland but vividly before my eyes as I write. I am quite awake in remembrance of child- hood and girlhood. Its comfort and warmth still surround me, and will to the very end, for therein do I know myself so richly blessed that no complaints can be allowed to age. I have had my day — and my days are nearly done. Often as I contemplate what it was I meant to say, and as I grope back among the shadows to the time when all preceding events had their beginning out of the silence which surrounds me, I catch the ring of gay laughter. Echoes of it roll ceaselessly out toward the empty sea. Thoughts are never quiet long. They are like the Gulls that keep circling about over the waves, dropping down, edging upward until they are like bits of cloud drift — live things — the tangible shape of a score of realized and unrealized aspirations — the embodiment of a score of con- cealed wills or actions. I wonder are they watching for the Ship that never came in? — that never sailed: the Ship, that clouds on the horizon forever hid from ac- tual vision? The Ship of Dreams, whose echoes roll ceaselessly on a land breeze? Wherever my glance turns I discover in my past objects that make associa- tion of ideas and thoughts, that seem to chatter like the squirrels in the trees of my Anchorfast. Life lies behind with such store of memory, such store of ex- periences, that I wish I could make a little of it of more value to the shining eyes and expectant hearts at the opposite end of this chain of my existence, coming Page 241 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood on with gladness and hope — thinking to find life easy — to bend their environment to their own purposes. The charming optimism of Youth! Optimism is an at- tractive state of mind, but it may be disastrous sometimes to others. Of course it is an old truth, an adage really, that the best lies always within ourselves; but in youth — how could it be otherwise — all our values seem to be material. Life is no pretty fairy tale. We are all of us, the noblest and the meanest, governed and directed by the pressure of our surroundings, by the conditions and circum- stances of our daily existence. Our environment largely controls us. There is a lot of happiness and serenity in life. Look for it — hold on to it my dear ones — forget what is disappointing while blissful happy youth remains. Life has to be lived, not as we choose or yearn for but as it comes. And we must — we must dedicate — make it a dedication to something greater than ourselves. I am not wise — but I am old — and I know we must hold fast to something above and beyond us; that there must be in us a supreme and driving force carrying us upward, or we can never make life a beautiful thing, for beautiful life consists of finely tempered impulses expressing themselves in finely tempered acts. In the morning of life what we think does not follow as truth, but disappoint- ments should not mean bitterness, if one could only keep balance of vision and not see things through a false perspective. Face life with gaiety as well as courage, and some measure of wisdom will follow. And be sure of one thing that few things can or ever will come to us as we dreamed. And happiness when it comes will not stay unless it lies within ourselves. Life does not fail us. It is we who fail. It never should break us because it is not cut to our pattern, or is full of discipline and seeming emptiness. Don't beat the air. We must face the inevitable courage- ously. We can win: and we must learn to find our happiness in a different way from our dreams. Staying power is the great need — abiding purpose — the use of the will to acquiesce, as well as to strive to circumvent or surmount. Courage as well as will — and patience — patience to wait, which finally gives the under- standing soul. It is essential that everyone should learn, and cease to be proud of his abysmal ignorance. It is profoundly unreasoning to judge of what can only be justly judged by time. We must have faith in our greatest weapons — education — the process which puts people in touch with abler minds and truer scientific facts. As I've read somewhere and devoutly believe the real fountain of youth is in our brain. If we keep up its activity it accelerates circulation of the blood, of the vital fluids. If we keep up interest in life we need not keep count of the years. It helps the best interests in life to preserve even suppleness of body, to hold off illness and old age, and perhaps that's the secret of not growing old. But the Country of the Young is a delectable country to remember, and so remembering it is natural sometimes to break down the barriers of the years. For me the Past has been accessible, as open as it is permanent, and it does not require imagination, only memory to mentally visualize and picture freely where I have once lived — and have lived now for you so much of it again. The possibilities of life are by no means exhausted because of our lack of ex- perience. Life holds many joys and victories I have found without that supreme blessing, that love and union which I had thought the only infinite adventure. And now I can safely say that if I never touched the depths and heights of emotional joy, I have preserved to the present my whole heartedness. The measure of my own ignorance, and temporary loss, was taken with infinite patience by the Powers above. The mysterious and disheartening elements could not trouble to any point my youth. The Great Arbiter of Life and Death has led me very gradually to comprehension of the issues bound to follow our own actions, and so has shifted me slowly to degrees perhaps a little higher spiritually and intellectually, for nothing ever turns somber for long — nothing can take the splendour from the sunshine and the Lake. I was always keyed up by changing scenes, by travel and environment, to move forward straight on to the climax of some inevitable action. I seemed made to take many steps instinctively and tentatively. The purposes of our life arc in youth vague and only dimly understood, but Page 242 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood at intervals in my'age it has seemed as if I almost glimpsed briefly an unrolled corner of God's gieat plan; the necessity of conquest, and that which accompanied it the necessity of growth, of progress, of service if one would stand before the Illimitable. It is natural that the nearer we draw to the end of our journey the more ardour we feel for our long lost Youth. Not that we would go back as we were, we would not choose to return unless we could recapture the freshness and wonder with which we looked upon life. - i There is a sad irony in longing looks cast backward, and disappointed as one may be by the sight of many things he had most longed to see or had never seen, whatever has been denied me, or consciously or unconsciously I have lost, I thank Heaven I have never in my own City or home known bitterness. My Anchorfast, my Lake a great miracle of light — sometimes delicate and rapturous— are passions of mine and as in youth so in age they give me unspeakable joy. The beauty of the Stars and the glory of Sunlight have deeper meanings than I can understand, even as the delights of youth had meanings vast and holy, but all uncomprehended by youth. Yes Life is a strange beautiful thing. At different times in it we are indeed as different beings. There are feelings that sweep over us and annihilate all sense of time. It is the goodness, the joy of the things we have lived through, that dwells forever with us. I think it is necessary only to comprehend a few great truths to live the life that is worth living, if we will. We have got to feel certain things behind and above us or it is all empty enough — the very verdant Earth itself, if we are not at peace. We have to live and do our best for that alone gives any answer to the problem of living. Looking back it seems an unbelievable thing that I who was ardent, restless, impressionable and craving adventure, should have found and still find my world so stable and so tranquil. And these hours I've re-lived in happiness for you, the old time when I did thus and so, went here and there, finally ends in these last words. I am thinking of you, Children, this lovely May morning of 1925 when I say farewell; and because I think of Youth, of the sparkling splendour of the sky, the sense impression in the lustrous blue dome above, the cool keen sweetness of our Inland Sea, the breeze that has blown over leagues of distance, the freshness of the air, the beauty of it all gets into the blood and makes me forget my present in the past, and a riot of joy seizes me even at fourscore and more! The commencing my life in that dim, dim past is now in the uneventful present reaching forward, reaching toward — God grant what God knows we all pray for — Eventual Union with The Highest — Immortality springing from our little heaps of ashes. It is true in a sense that there is no past that the Book is never closed. In the same sense the Past is no memory for the Past is in me now. As long as I can think, I am, and there is nothing yet that makes me cease to be. Everything in me moves and twists and is living — is flesh and nerves — because it is what I was, what I am, what I shall be. And I know that nothing, nothing has gone from me. As long as there comes no blackness that makes me cease to feel the past is no memory. It is in me now, and no matter how I turn the leaves the Book is never closed. "Sunset and Evening Star for me", and yet I am feeling the streaming sun- shine, and I lift my eyes to see from my windows the sparkling expanse of Lake- level stretching in a tumult of splendour to the far horizon. Sometimes as today I awake into clear sun-swept morning just after the dawn, with no reason for so early a waking. In the night I heard the music of waves breaking gently on the shore, the same music that in childhood was always breaking through my dreams. All these sense impressions are like some sounding of a Spring harbinger — a mes- sage of brightness. The living things are in me. So the Past is not the Past. It is the Present still. Mine is no fretted or fretful end. It is not Winter in my heart. I am thinking of you, Children. Oh! it is a boon to live! to breathe, to see, to feel and to tread the circle of happy thoughts; to wheel off into dreamland and talk to you across dividing immeasurable existence. Page 243 Sketches of Childhood and Girlhood Oh! to have Genius for the Art of living! Genius for being vital, for seeing and feeling and doing all that it is possible to see and feel and do in these years that are loaned us. The desire in us all is for life — superabundant, full, ample, abounding life. Life in ideal delights, in sensuous power, in spiritual exaltation, in uninterrupted impression — broad, free, mighty, lasting life — the great desire of every loving Soul. And the need of the Soul is to be roused to the renewal and exercise of its highest functions, the use of its highest powers in unclouded aspiration and vivid force. Harmony is the root of life. The sense of the Invisi- ble, the Infinite, the Omnipotent, the Everlasting levels human grief and comforts human pain. It's the great onward sweep of Time that is bearing us all on — old and young. Forget not that however many dreams are unrealized there is one Eternal com- pensating round. And if fulfilment comes not to us individually, there is waiting, for our beloved who come after, that which will lift and make the heart sing with the Psalmist — "Instead of thy Fathers shall be the Children whom Thou may- est make Princes in all the Earth" — for — "Before the Mountains were brought forth, or ever Thou hadst formed the Earth and the World, Even from Ever- lasting to Everlasting Thou art God." May 15, 1925 Cornelia G. Lunt Page 244 ^m \