Montpelier, Vermont.
Nov. 1, 1897.My dear Susie:-
If I succeed in making this letter to compare with your last in length, I must write it something like a journal; that is, I must begin it today and finish it some days hence. And first I want to thank ou so very much for your last epistle. It was packed full of interest, - just like yourself, Susie dear.
I was glad to know about Stella Smith. Has she begun her missionary work yet? What she said about answer to prayer reminded me of something I read in the Northfield Echoes. Mr. Moody's opening address last summer at the Conference was called, "Nothing too hard for God." The text was the prayer Jeremiah made when in prison; "Ah, Lord God, behold thou hast made the heaven and the earth by thy great power and by thy stretched out arm; there is nothing too hard for thee." Mr. Moody said that New Yorkers say their city is the hardest on the continent to reach; there are so many foreigners and so much whiskey that the obstacles seem insurmountable. "Let us fall back on Jeremiah's words. 'There is nothing too hard for God! Do you suppose that New York is as dark as Babylon was when Daniel was there And yet God used that man to illuminate the whole city & lead Nebuchadnezzar to the God of the Hebrews. It is a great mistake to be looking at obstacles when we have such a God to look at. Some think that their husbands or brothers are too far gone in unbelief to be reached. I believe that it is dishonoring God to talk in that way."
When I read the article I think I felt more strongly than ever the truth of the injunction that "men ought always to pray and not to faint." The article closed with these words. "Let us expect God to hear and answer our prayers because we have turned away from everything that is contrary to His will and because we believe that nothing is too hard for God."
I was delighted to learn that Janet led a Y.W.C.A. meeting. When Martha Hazen's father came home from New Haven, he sent us a New Haven "Palladium" containing Dr. Storrs farewell and an account of the Holyoke Alumnae meeting. Among the college students mentioned as being present was Miss Susie Lawson, a sister of Harvey Lawson the missionary, and one of the speakers. I did not see this till after your letter came, but I devoured with eagerness all I could find about Holyoke. Mr. Hazen spoke particularly of Mr. Mott's address, as well as of Dr. Barrow's. What a splendid time you must have had with your brothers, visiting the city &c! Weren't you thankful your brother was a missionary? I can imagine how you felt to have him among the band set apart." [sic] Sometimes I feel almost frantic because we know so little about missions and apparently pay so little attention to them, and then I drop back into the general rut. I am speaking of our people here. Did you hear or read what Dr. Storrs said about wishing his heavenly mansion might be near Vice Pres. Blatchford's? Was not that a beautiful expression of his friendship? I was glad you mentioned Dr. Strong. He is Father's own cousin and we like to hear him mentioned even in a casual way. He is a very genial man.
By this time, I trust your cold has decided to beat a retreat before such an array of medicines. You are getting along famously with the doctor. She must enjoy her new accommodations as much as Prof. Fletcher does his. You said you were taking Physiology. Tell me how you take it up, what subjects you study and how you like it. Dr. Lowell probably sees in you the possibilities of a fellow companion, either as doctor, pharmacist or a grand, good nurse. You ought to feel complimented.
How nice that you all like Political Economy so much! Elizabeth's case does promise to be serious. Even fudges! I suppose Elizabeth would calmly say "Fudge," to all our remonstrances. It will be a pleasure to me to know how you are doing to treat the subject of your essay. How soon is it due?
Does Miss Stevens teach the branch under which the essays come?
Do pickles appear every time you go to the Pomeroys? I wish I could learn Mr. P's secret for popping corn. Ours acts abominably.
This has been a rainy day and now it is so dark I can hardly see to write. This will do for a beginning on the journal.
Oct. 33rd or Nov. 2nd I wrote Oct. before I thought it was November and as I concluded not to scratch out the Oct. I invented a way out of my difficulty. Rather strained, isn't it?
We had such a moist time yesterday. I might say a humorous time in two senses of the word. On the second floor of the L to the house is a cistern of rain water which needed cleaning. We thought it was an excellent time to cleanse it as the water was rather low. So barrels were brought in and filled to the number of four. Still the tank was not empty. As this was all the water we could depend on we must save it. The question arose, "What shall we do with the rest?" At last my mother had a most brilliant idea. Why not wash out the bath tub and fill that? We could use the water for some things. No sooner thought that done! The tub was filled and the tank emptied. Into the tank climbed a man to get out the sediment in the bottom. Meanwhile the barrel of water left in the kitchen decided to emit some of its contents which it proceeded to do most persistently. About noon Miss True went down cellar and entering the furnace room was struck by the appearance of a gentle shower descending upon the coal as well as the brick floor. Of course it was the bath tub leaking under such a weight of water. We hurried and scurried to empty the tub saving a little of the water and throwing the rest away. During the morning the rain descended outside in a sprinkle and after the tank was cleaned, it rained hard enough to just about fill the cistern so our barrels of water are only a burden which we get rid of as fast as possible. We are very glad however to have the tank fill so soon.
We have a new neighbor whose name is Fred Putnam. He generally goes on four legs, but the other day when a friend and myself were walking past his house, he persisted in escorting my friend by standing on his hind legs beside her. He thinks the whole world is his friend. When the desire takes him, he comes on our back piazza and looks most earnestly at the door. If we start to open it or if he sees us through the window, his tail trembles with slight convulsions, then with very severe ones and then with a sudden and unexpected maneuver his front paws are on a level with your chest and his beseeching eyes looking into yours. Miss True actually let him in the other day. He climbed into a chair and laid his head against my side as I stood near. I was moved to pat him. Shades of Peterkin! I could almost see thy reproachful eyes. This wasn't Pete's murderer however. I never pat that dog. His name is Max. When he went across the walk one day, Mama was on the piazza and I on the lawn. I said to Mama, "Let me introduce you to Max. Wouldn't you like to see him?" She very hurriedly said, "No, No, I don't care to see him. No, I don't wish to have anything to do with him." But this other dog is really very, well, very interesting for a dog. I don't think Peterkin would object if he saw the dog as I do. Such a wag to his tail!
Speaking of dogs reminds me of two little puppies owned by a minister in town. One is called Tom and the other Jerry. A lady said to him, "You ought to have Bible names for your dogs, Moses and Pharaoh, for instance. Tom and Jerry are not dignified enough for a minister's dog." The minister replied that surely Thomas was the name of the doubting disciple and Jeremiah was one of the prophets." [sic] Did you ever suppose before that Jerry was short for Jeremiah?
The morning mail has just arrived bringing what I supposed was a wedding invitation till I discovered it was a notice of an Art Exhibit. I discovered also your handwriting in the corner of the envelope which made me want to finish this letter. Thank you for sending on the invitation.
Perhaps you will be interested in our plumber. The head plumber who came here two or three weeks ago to work was a very gentlemanly young man. The workmen called him Clark so we called him Mr. Clark. I thought he looked amused or at least some of the other workmen looked amused when we addressed him. One of our neighbors said his name was Mr. William Clark. So in all good faith we boldly addressed him accordingly. Later after had had gone, we discovered his name was Mr. Clark Fletcher. It made me so provoked to think with what unblushing, innocent, boldness I had said Mr.Clark, as if I had said Mr. John, or Mr. Ralph &c. We invited him to church and he did come the first Sunday and was absent the next. He would make such a strong Christian, if he becomes one.
Nov. 3rd. I have been practicing heroism after the Lawson-Pomeroy style. My father has been taking iron bitters so long that they make him sick to think of them. I volunteered to take them for him, and promised to do so the next morning. Nobody said anything about them in the morning so I decided to forget them also, but at noon Father said he wanted to see me take the medicine. I fixed a good dose and in presence of the whole family, proudly, though I must confess with some trepidation, drank the bitterest of bitter liquids with as composed a face as I could muster and ended in a sickly smile. I thought of the time Mr. Pomeroy and you took Nux Vomica so quietly. Bah! Nux V. is nothing to these puckering bitters. The only remark made to my mock heroes action was by Father who said, "It makes you blush anyway." I should think it would have made the blood come through in my effort to retain equilibrium.
If you aren't thoroughly tired of my chatter this time I shall hope to hear from you
againwhen the ball has run to you again. Give the family my best respects.Very lovingly,
Laura E. Smith. alias P.P.