Sept. 1, 1846. A wonderful thing has happened, Juna; so wonderful that you will be surprised that I have not told you before. We had a journey - never-to-be-forgotten - mother and Mark, Keren and I, to attend the anniversary exercises at Mt. Holyoke Seminary. Mark drove two horses to the double-seated carriage, and I sat in front with him, while mother and Keren had the back seat. We struck the main road at Suffield, drove to Springfield, to Holyoke and South Hadley, where the Seminary is situated. Mark went on to A----, and we remained to attend the Anniversary.
The little village lies in our own Connecticut valley, with blue mountains on either side - Mt. Tom and Mt. Holyoke - standing like ageless sentinels, to guard the majestic gateway, through which a noble river flows. It was so beautiful, the valley lying in the golden glow of the late afternoon sunshine, and the Seminary building, with girls coming and going on the walks, that I looked around at Keren. Her big brown eyes were full of tears, and I know that mine were wet.
We saw Miss Lyon that very night. She remembered mother, and was so sweet to me that I fell in love with her on the spot. She wears a white cap, has large blue eyes, sometimes merry, but often serious, a fair lovely skin and wavy auburn hair, with charming little curls that escape from under her cap. Her beautiful hands filled me with envy. I say I fell in love, but if I were a student here I don't think I should like to have her displeased with me (I'm going to be one some day, you will see).
She remembered about Keren right away, and said that she was glad there was a place for her next year. It sounds like a common thing to say, but when Miss Lyon says even ordinary things they seem to mean more, and Keren felt at home at once. Then something else happened that was not at all ordinary. She asked about Keren's mother, and found that they had been little girls together, and had attended the same district school.
"And you are the daughter of Anna Giles?" she said earnestly. "And your father and mother are both gone? I am very glad to have you as one of my daughters, my dear child," and she put her arms around Keren and kissed her. You may be sure that Keren fell in love with her, too.
The next day we saw the class of 1846 graduate. They were dressed in white, forty-two girls, as lovely as flowers. They marched in a procession after the teachers, with Miss Lyon at their head, to the Congregational Church, where they all sat together (I'm going to be one some day, Juna). We heard the Reverend J. D. Condit make a very learned address. When the diplomas were given to the forty-two, Miss Lyon's face fairly shone. She was beautiful. She wore a scarf of blue ribbons, and lace on her auburn hair, which was coiled high on her head, and her cheeks were pink with excitement. She looked at the young ladies as a mother does at her own daughters, with loving pride. Oh, Juna, I cannot tell you how wonderful Miss Mary Lyon is! One must see her to know.
Some one sitting near me said that he liked everything but having a woman so conspicuous at public exercises. He must be first cousin to our Mr. Mather in his ideas about "females."
The procession filed out of the church and marched back to the Seminary grounds. It was a beautiful sight, the girls looked so fair and sweet and yet so serious. They must be glad and sorry too that they have really finished their school life. We were told that many of them were already engaged as teachers in various schools for next year. The graduates of Mt. Holyoke are in great demand, and the teaching of girls is already improving all around South Hadley.
In the evening we went to the social gathering at the Seminary, and Keren and I talked with a number of the girls. The pupils do all the work of the house, and we were taken down to the basement to see the kitchen and dining-room. They say that everything is done by such a strict system that each girl works but one hour a day, and no one finds it too hard. This arrangement makes the expense much less, but no one is excused, no matter how rich she may be. I am sure that I shall like the fun of working in a "circle" when I go, for more than ever I want to go, but not now.
The girls told us that it is wonderful how Miss Lyon knows things, and yet never seems to be "spying" on them. One time a "pie circle" decided that it would be advisable to have a pie of their very own, so they saved a wee bit out of each one for the extra pie, and supposed that no one knew of their performance. One day each one of the circle received an invitation to Miss Lyon's room. There they found her waiting for them with a fine pumpkin pie on the table, which she graciously served to them. They ate with feelings that can be imagined better than described. Do you suppose, Juna, they ever did that again? Never, never!
I am going to copy something I found in the Boston Daily Mail, of August 15, describing the anniversary of the "distinguished institution at South Hadley, for the training of female minds."
"The stranger who looks at this institution, its splendid edifice, unsurpassed by any college building in the land, containing nearly one hundred neatly furnished rooms, with a large chapel, dining-hall and library, surrounded by extended gardens, could hardly believe that it had all resulted from the persevering efforts of one Female, enlisting the benevolent energies of others. Yet such is the fact, and it affords a striking illustration of the power of mind, stimulated by motives of philanthropy. The object of its originator was to furnish the means of a thorough education to promising daughters of the poor, as well as of the rich; and this object has been entirely realized."
Do you suppose, Juna, that I am a promising daughter of the poor?
Oct. 30. It takes a very short time, dear Juna, to make great changes. We are together, laughing, talking, working; we hold each other's hands, and in a few days or hours, one is here, another there, with miles and miles between. When we call there is no answer. . . . Oh, how do we bear such thingsl Mark is at A----. Mark! on whom he have leaned so long, and whom we miss everywhere! But with all our loneliness we are glad to have him go. We made him some beautiful shirts. I stitched and stitched on the wristbands and bosoms, determined that nobody should have nicer ones than he - two threads up and three threads left down. Mother said that the stitches were very nice and even. Nothing could be too fine for my Great Heart. Mother packed his trunk. It is new and covered with hairy skin, fastened on with bright brass nails. Mother put some gingerbread and sugar cookies in to surprise him. I don't know what he will do if he can't get enough gingerbread; he eats it by the yard here at home.
Keren is at Mt. Holyoke. Mrs. Jones helped her make her frocks, and gave her a new trunk like Mark's. I miss her very much - she is my dearest friend - but it does not hurt like his going. Well, I will work hard at my home duties and my books and try to comfort mother.
Those are the sorry things; now for the glad ones. Amelia, Charles and the twins are here to take care of the farm and of us. It is a comfort to have them, especially Amelia, for mother's sake. She is her oldest child, and is very dear. I need her too, since I always have a sense of security when she is around, for if anything unusual happens she knows exactly what to do. We are thankful, too, for Charles and the little boys - but I want my brother.
Nov. 15. My own room. I am going to make an announcement, Juna, and then explain; I am going to the district school. What, when I have studied Latin and Greek, to that little school? Yes; this is what has happened: This very minute there is a young lady downstairs who has come to board with us. Her name is Miss Sabrina Hurst. She is short and plump, with nice hazel eyes and black hair that is so smooth it shines like satin. She is a graduate of Mt. Holyoke and is going to teach the school here. There are too many scholars for one teacher, and not enough for two, so she has asked me to be a pupil teacher, and mother has consented. I was never good in Algebra, and I need a thorough review, so I am going to study that. I want to go over my English grammar again, and Miss Hurst suggests that I teach a class. She says it is an excellent way to review. Three of the oldest pupils will parse in Paradise Lost, and I shall join them, though it does not seem appreciative of Milton's poetry to parse such lines as these in reference to his blindness:
"Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer rose,
Or flocks, or birds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead and ever-during dark
Surrounds me."
How can one care what is subject and what is predicate in such majestic thought and rhythm?
I am going to teach two classes of the smallest children. My teaching days will begin much sooner than I expected. Miss Hurst has read Caesar and Virgil as I have, and some Cicero. She is anxious to go on with her Latin, and we shall read Cicero together at home. Of course, there will not be much time for it, but a little is better than nothing.
I felt afraid to leave mother, even with Amelia here, but she is so much better that she wants to work more than she has done. The doctor says that she must never weave again, as the loom is too heavy for her, and she has promised us that she will not. He says that if she will be careful not to overwork she may do what she pleases. I wish they would cut the old loom into kindling wood; the factories ought to do all the weaving in these days. I announced my opinion at the breakfast table this morning, and Charles said, in his pleasant, hearty way:
"Mother, you must not weave, and Amelia shall not; will you give me the old loom?"
"Certainly, Charles, if you want it. What will you do with it?"
"That is a secret," he answered, laughing.
Amelia has trained Jimmy and Johnny to be helpful, and I am surprised to see how much they can do. They are dear little fellows, for the most part obedient, and always affectionate. They are real boys and, of course, dreadfully naughty sometimes, but they are always dear. They will go to school with me. They adore "Grandma," as well they may, and their bright ways and clever sayings amuse us all. The other day mother sent Johnny to the loom-room, where she keeps her herbs, for a bag of thyme that hung by the window. He was gone a long while, and came back with his father's watch in his bag for marbles.
"Here, grandma," he said soberly, "is a bag of time."
"You rogue," she said sternly, "what would your father say? Put that where you found it this minute." But her eyes twinkled, and little scapegrace knew it. He obeyed, of course, and brought the herb at once, then lifted his shy, sweet eyes to her face and received a hearty kiss.
If nothing happens I shall go to my work with an easy mind, and as brother Charles is an excellent farmer and a strong worker, Mark need have no anxiety.
Nov. 20. This is the last time I shall write in my own dear room for a long while, for I have let Miss Hurst have it. mark has always slept downstairs in the bedroom next to mother's, and I have taken it that she may not be alone at night. The old trundle-bed has been brought out of the attic into the large west chamber; and Amelia and her family sleep there. Of course, I want to be near mother, Juna; but would you believe me capable of such meanness? I long to shut and lock the door of my room, and have it all to myself - my selfish self - whenever I want it.
January 15, 1847. How swiftly the weeks of busy winter are passing! School duties, home duties (for I cannot quite rid myself of anxiety about mother, and feel that I must spare her all I can) and as much home study as I can manage keep me as busy as a bee. It is well perhaps, since Mark is away and I miss him sorely. We have dear letters from him.
"I am studying hard," he writes, "and enjoy work. It is a great privilege to sit under these learned men, and every hour is precious, but home is on my heart, and you are always in my thoughts."
I am trying to be worthy of him. I send him what Greek translations I can, but shall barely finish four books of the Anabasis this year. Miss Hurst and I work well together. She is an even-tempered lady, and we are fond of each other in a quiet comfortable fashion. She is an excellent teacher, and carries Mt. Holyoke methods into our little school as far as may be, and I am learning much from her. She gives weekly talks to the older pupils, as Miss Grey did. I am always present and take notes.
"Never burn what a bird would open its bill to get," Miss Hurst quoted from Miss Lyon, in a talk on kindness to animals. She says she thinks they will some time have societies to protect birds. I will copy one more quotation here: that I may never forget it:
"The body and mind each strives to see which will rule. The body is like the brute, the mind ranges in eternity. . . . The master should have the place of the master. The mind should not sit down and wash the body's feet, but the body should obey the mind."
I can understand, since I have seen Miss Lyon, how impressive her talks must be, and what an influence she has over her pupils, and yet Miss Hurst says that she is often as merry as a girl. One day at table she asked the "silver circle" to bring teaspoons for the dessert, saying:
"To-day our dessert is like some young ladies, whom you may have known, very soft and very sweet, but lacking in consistency."
Miss Hurst says that ever afterward they treasured that word "consistency," and used it on all occasions, wise and otherwise.
March 1. Mother said to me this morning:
"You are growing old too fast, my child. I cannot have my merry little daughter so serious; go out and slide down hill with Jimmy and Johnny."
So out I went in my hood, warm blanket-shawl and mittens. We slid, we snowballed, we made a snow fort, we laughed and shouted, and came in so hungry, after a two hours' frolic, that mother was obliged to bring out a dish of her sugared (whitewashed, Jimmy calls them) doughnuts, to settle us.
"Aunt Doris ain't any bigger'n us, grandma," declared Johnny, with his mouth full, "an' she can throw a snowball quicker'n straighter'n lightnin'."
"Is she bigger than you in school?" asked grandma. "Do you mind her?"
"Yes, we has to mind 'er," said Jimmy, with a sigh. "If we don't, right off quick, she looks at us so it shivers us, and once she shook me awful hard."
"What did you do, Jimmy? I thought grandma's little boys were good in school."
"Yes'm, we're pretty good; but Johnny's better'n me. He looks awful funny when you tickle 'im," said Jimmy, with a gurgling laugh; "an' I tickled 'im, an' he made a face, an' wiggled an' wiggled, an' I laughed so't I hollered. Yes'm, right in school; an' Aunt Doris took me out an' shook an' shook me. She looked awful fierce. No'm, I ain't never goin' to do it again. Please gimme another doughnut, grandma?"
Jimmy looked up with an engaging smile, and mother gave him his third doughnut.
"Grandma," asked Johnny solemnly, "do you find it always easy to he good?"
"No, indeed, darling," she confessed heartily; "but we will all try harder than ever. Another doughnut, Johnny?"
March 30. There are many happenings that I cannot find time to tell you, Juna, during these busy days. Keren sends us dear letters, telling us of her school life. She has taken music, and greatly enjoys her piano practice, for she has been music hungry all her life. She is going on with her Latin too. She says the teachers make you feel that you must live up to your very best in study, and in all the other duties of life as well. They even tell them how they must lie in bed to get the most rest out of sleep. I shouldn't wonder if they had such things in a school course, some time, and why not? Why shouldn't they teach how to make a house healthful, and have good drains, and what kinds of food should be eaten together?
Miss Hurst and I get on slowly with our Cicero, but we are doing something. Cicero certainly had a great command of adjectives when he attempted to give his opinion of Catiline, and the "audacia effrenata" of the last-named gentleman has become a favorite expression with us. Mother is much interested too, and is able to give us a helpful hint, now and then, out of the storehouse of her memory. Amelia and Charles declare that they will stick to their live tongue at present, and leave the dead ones to Mark and me.
June 1. The spring vacation brought Mark to us for ten days, ten happy, happy days. He is much pleased with everything about the farm. Brother Charles is a treasure indeed, and sister is a double treasure. She was always quieter than I, and she fits into the home so sweetly that I do not see how we ever managed without her. She is as dear an older sister as can be, a wise and loving mother, and a great comfort to our mother. Mark says that he never could have left us if she had not been here, and she says that if her boys grow up like their father and Mark she will have nothing more to ask. You see, Juna, what a nice family we are, and how much we admire each other.
I have several letters in my box from John Allen, and I read them over and over. I cannot see why Mark dislikes him so. I think he is nice, and I should miss his letters very much if he did not write. Do you think he loves me, dear Juna? He always sends me verses that he has written, and they are beautiful, about the love of a knight for his lady fair. It would be beautiful to be loved as the old knights loved their ladies. I hope John will be my valiant knight, brave and true, ready to lay down his life for me, but you must never, never tell.