IN Boston, your age is always carefully calculated in accordance with the year of your début in society and the sewing-circle to which you belong. In case of doubt, the maximum number of years are unfailingly attributed to you. I had the fortune, bad or good, to come half-way between two sets, and therefore to belong to neither of them. Our mother, who liked to give her daughters a little glimpse of society, took us to a few informal occasions while we were still at school. The exact Boston mind was therefore baffled in the very beginning as to our true age.
At school all the girls in my class were older than I, except my friend, Louise Darling. Sister Julia and I were so nearly of the same age that in our school-girl days, as in those of our childhood, we went to parties together. Hence, when she began to go into society it was rather hard for me to stay behind, although I was only seventeen and still at school. By this time the unwisdom of exaggerating your age had appealed to my Boston soul, which was greatly torn during that winter. The older set, a number of whose members had been classmates at school, were now in society. As by a flash of light, I saw the dangers of my position, and drew back before it was too late. I joined the dancing-class of the younger set—the girls not yet out—although at school there had been little commerce between us.
When a dance was given at our house, sister Julia should really have had all the honors. But she cared little for dancing, while I was very fond of it. One of my special friends, Charlie Longfellow, the poet’s eldest3 son, was my partner for the german. I carried a large bouquet4 and altogether had a royal time. Julia danced with Mr. Braggiotti, a Greek gentleman, and no doubt their conversation was less frivolous5 than ours. Charlie Longfellow ran away to the war not long afterward6.
When the time for my real entrance into society came, in the following year, there were only three other débutantes, namely, the Misses Sara P. Lowell, Cora Crowninshield, and Clara Gardner. Obviously no sewing-circle could be formed for us, so I joined that of the older set. Instead of the handsome lunch now customary at the meetings of these societies, we enjoyed a modest repast, consisting exclusively of bread and butter in endless variety—crumpets, brown bread, biscuits, etc., with tea or chocolate. It was served at eleven or twelve o’clock in the forenoon, dinner being at half past two.
With gold going always higher, the price of everything soared in the ’Sixties, as in the present war. The sad part of it was that they did not come down until years afterward. The highest point reached by gold was three hundred, but, although it dropped later, prices did not. They were so sensitive as to respond instantly to any rise, but were entirely7 unaffected by a fall of the precious metal. This seemed to me very unfair. With occasional help from my mother, I had bought my own clothes after reaching the age of fifteen, when I was given an allowance for dress.
It was indeed a problem for the girls of those days to dress suitably, when everything was so dear. Some of my friends bought braid and made their own straw hats. The price of kid gloves—even the short ones then usually worn—was so high that certain girls with skilful8 fingers made their own. We also made our own undersleeves and even a few linen9 collars. The enormous hoops11 of this period required a large amount of material for the skirts of gowns, especially as these were not gored12, the entire fullness being gathered or plaited at the waist-line. When certain girls first appeared at the Assemblies, it was said that their skirts were six yards in circumference13! Our hoops were not quite so large as this, but they were terrific in size, especially for evening dress. For a lady to enter an omnibus at that time was no easy matter. Fortunately, our wire cages were very light and elastic14. You had to be very careful, however, when you sat down in a crowded car, to pull up the hoop10 behind, as otherwise it would stick straight out in front! At one time these great bird-cages were arranged so that they teetered back and forth15 as you moved along. The skirts, which were long, were then looped up gracefully16 in scallops, when you walked abroad, showing your balmoral, or ornamental17 petticoat of woolen18 cloth. The balmorals were often pretty, and did prevent our skirts from trailing in the gutter20. They were much more economical, also, than the starched21 white skirts which preceded them.
But, oh, how sad it was when each succeeding year brought an expansion in the circumference of our gowns, obliging us to discard these before they were half worn out! It is my firm belief that the persons who set the fashions purposely change them in such a way as to promote as much as possible the casting away of half-worn garments and the purchase of new ones.
Fortunately, there were ingenious dressmakers in the ’Sixties who could do wonders in the way of combination, a fine new dress coming out of two old ones. The fashion of making evening dresses of tarlatan and similar diaphanous23 materials enabled young girls to have a number of gowns for a relatively24 small price. True, many layers of the stuff were necessary—but the construction, with a little help from the dressmaker, was easy, thus lessening25 the expense of labor26. You can take grand large stitches in tarlatan and they will not show!
We made many of our own bonnets27, also, some clever girls actually quilting the silk in diamonds instead of buying it ready made. It must have been a hideous28 material, but we admired it when it was in fashion. This reminds me that among my early memories are those of certain very old gentlemen in Boston wearing high hats and overcoats of quilted silk!
Our ball dresses were made with bodice cut moderately low, a long point in front and at the back and full sleeves reaching half-way to the elbow. The effect of these pointed29 waists over the full skirts was certainly elegant. Somebody had to lace you up behind, for obviously you could not do this yourself. If you were clever, you could undo30 the lacing on your return home from the ball. The Assemblies, usually held in Papanti’s Hall, were the backbone31 of the winter’s entertainments for the young set, although there were always private dances also.
In that primitive32 day a book was sent around to the families who were considered eligible33 as subscribers for the Assemblies. Boston was then extremely stern in its construction of who should and who should not have the privilege of entering their names on this sacred scroll34.
My mother, always generous in such matters, asked to have the book sent to certain people who had not hitherto been subscribers, although they were descendants of a good old family. Her request was not granted, probably because it was suspected that the husband had engaged in some financial transaction not altogether in accordance with the Puritan notions of uprightness.
The young people of the ’Sixties owed a debt of gratitude35, which they did not fully2 recognize, to Mrs. Jared Sparks, the wife of the historian. The unique form of her entertainments disturbed the conventionality of the youthful mind. The good lady’s motive36 was doubtless to prevent boredom37 by carrying out conceptions of striking originality38. As we did not live in Cambridge, we were not invited to the pencil party, nor to that where, all the chairs being removed, the guests sat on the floor. But I did go to the famous thé dansant which Boston discussed long and vigorously.
Mrs. Sparks thought it would be a pleasant thing to give a party early in the evening, where the young people could dance till midnight and then go home. So she asked us to a thé dansant at Papanti’s Hall to which we went, and had a very good time. Chocolate and cake were quite sufficient for the dancers, but Mrs. Sparks had not calculated the probable feelings of the dowagers. They found it hungry work to sit and watch other people dance and highly disapproved40 of the simple repast. As time went by, low and deep were the murmurings. Even the quality of the cake was unkindly called in question. Mrs. Sparks’s friends sent a sample, it was said, to a lady of the opposite faction42, so that the latter might see for herself the excellent quality of the butter and eggs. But she declared it was now so stale (for the controversy43 lasted for days or even weeks) she could tell nothing about the ingredients!
Mrs. Sparks’s original turn of mind also showed itself in the dealings with her children. One of the daughters had a will of her own and it was sometimes necessary to discipline her. This was done by taking a tuck in her dress, thus doubly punishing her; she had the mortification44 of appearing in childish array at an age when every girl desires to seem grown up, and she was obliged also to betray to all friends and acquaintances the fact that she had been naughty. You had only to look at her skirts to know what her behavior had been.
The historian himself sometimes came to dances. From the expression of his countenance46, I am sure he did not enjoy them. The top of his head was bald, yet the curly hair at the sides stood out in a way to show that it had once been thick. If you had any doubt of it, you had only to look at the tremendous crop of curly hair belonging to his son.
His harassed47 air made it evident that he had come in a spirit of parental48 resignation, not in one of joy. A legend of that time described Mr. and Mrs. Sparks driving together on a hot summer’s day. As the horse showed signs of fatigue49, Mr. Sparks suggested stopping. “Drive on, Mr. Sparks,” replied the lady, majestically50. After two or three similar stoppages the horse fell down dead!
Most of our dancing partners were Harvard students, with a sprinkling of older men and returned soldiers. Two of these, Col. Francis Palfrey and Capt. William Horton, had been wounded in the arm, so that the latter was held in a sling51. This did not prevent their dancing, however.
One of our amusements was going on board warships52, not only those of our own navy, but on Swedish and Russian vessels53 as well.
The visit of the latter to American waters was one of the political and social events of the day. Among the hostesses who gave dances for the officers were Mrs. Storer of Cambridge, our aunt, Mrs. Joseph N. Howe, and our mother. We were also invited to dances on board the Russian ships and to services of the Orthodox Church held there.
Uniforms are always attractive to young women. When worn by handsome young foreigners the charm is doubled. My special partner, being in the engineering department, wore silver instead of gold decorations. He was nicknamed “Cranberry Cheeks” by the family. As neither of us could speak the language of the other, our conversation was carried on entirely in French. Now my education in this language at school had not dwelt especially on the sentimental54 side, so that the explanation of words was occasionally necessary. However, I always succeeded in grasping the idea.
We were very sad when the Russian fleet sailed, taking away all our delightful55 friends.
Among the pleasant entertainments of the ’Sixties were those given by the Brain Club, as it was popularly called.
My mother’s position in it might fitly be described as “Queen of the Revels,” for she devised and helped carry out many of the programs. We of the younger generation were allowed to attend some of the meetings. William Hunt, the artist, took part in a most ridiculous burlesque56 of a tourney, where he and his competitor, Hamilton Wilde, mounted on pasteboard hobbyhorses, engaged in a deadly encounter, prancing57 meanwhile about the drawing-room. Mrs. Charles Homans, as the Queen of Love and Beauty, wore a wonderful wig58 made of raveled tow. Mr. Hunt, being overthrown59, toppled over, pretending to be mortally wounded, and a leech60 was summoned to prescribe for him. Mr. Jere Abbott, wearing a long false nose, took this part admirably, making many absurd inquiries61 of the patient: “Have any of your wife’s family suffered from this disease?” etc.
Another burlesque was that of the trio in the opera of “Lucrezia Borgia.” Mr. Otto Dresel played the air on the piano, while my mother enacted62 the title r?le. Hamilton Wilde represented her son, Gennaro, while the Duke’s part was taken by William Hunt, if I remember aright. All three joined hands in a line, keeping time to the music with exaggerated operatic motions. Mr. Wilde indicated his sufferings from poison, before the arrival of the antidote63. It was extremely funny.
At our house in Chestnut64 Street the Brain Club was entertained by two charades65 written by my mother, “Pandemonium” and “Catastrophe.”
For “Cat” a scene was adapted from the classic but terrible story of Atreus and Thyestes. The unfortunate owner of the animal has it served up to her in a pie. After she has eaten it the dreadful nature of the pasty is revealed to her!
For “Ass” the second syllable66, we acted the scene from “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” where Titania makes love to Bottom. Mr. James C. Davis took the latter part, wearing an ass’s head borrowed from the theater, while I took that of the Fairy Queen.
My mother was always proud of our small accomplishments67. Her journal says that Flossy looked beautiful. Doubtless I did—to her maternal68 eyes.
The President of the Brain Club was called Mrs. Josiah Quincy, Jr., because her husband’s father, a very old gentleman, was still living. The four generations, all having the same name, had their photographs taken in a group when the youngest was only a babe in arms. This carrying on of the family name appeals to sentiment, but is not convenient in practice. The third Josiah Quincy, finding unutterable confusion in his mail, adopted a middle initial in self-defense69. He thus became Josiah P. Quincy. His brother, Samuel Quincy, fought in the Civil War.
Their sister, Mary Quincy, had a fine contralto voice. We often saw her and her husband, Prof. B. A. Gould, as well as her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Quincy, Jr. I remember the former as a handsome man with beautiful snow-white hair and whiskers. These had turned prematurely70, as he was still a vigorous man who took the trouble to make himself agreeable to the young. Perhaps this was owing to his political experience, for he had been Mayor of Boston. The house in Park Street was one of a series of spacious71, pleasant residences, occupied by the Lowells, the Thomas Wards72, the Misses Quincy, and other worthies73 of Boston. The last-named ladies were sisters of the ex-Mayor. Both he and they had pleasant summer places in Quincy, one of which has now become the Quincy Mansion74 School for Girls.
Unitarianism, as all the world knows, became firmly intrenched in Boston in the early part of the nineteenth century. Many Puritan ideals still prevailed, however, especially with regard to the observance of Sunday. Certain persons adhered to the idea that no gay doings should take place on Saturday evening, that time being devoted75 to preparation for the Sabbath. These were usually plain people. Indeed, some individuals went so far as to disapprove41 of the celebration of Christmas. It was not uncommon76 to substitute New Year’s Day as the time to exchange presents. The students at Harvard College were obliged to go to all the services of whatever church they attended. Hence many of them selected our church, that of the Disciples77, since here there was only one service on Sunday. During the week, attendance at morning chapel78 was compulsory79, the hour being six and in later years seven o’clock. Small wonder that the undergraduate body learned to dress in a very short space of time, high boots and an ulster covering many deficiencies.
The young Howes were always taken to church in the morning, but were free to spend the rest of Sunday very much as they liked. We were not expected to practise on the piano, however, and we entertained the usual superstition80 about the impropriety, not to say evil, of sewing on Sunday. Our aunt, Mrs. Crawford, who lived during the greater part of her life in Italy, brought back to us more liberal ideas about the use of the needle.
While we often took a drive on Sunday afternoon, I went with the feeling that it was not quite right, so strong was the influence of the prevalent opinion in the community.
My father liked to have us read aloud from the Bible on Sunday evening, and we often did so while living in South Boston. The friends of the family found it pleasant and convenient to come to high tea on that day, so that at “Green Peace” we often had a tableful of guests. After the removal to Boston these Sunday teas developed into evening receptions of a pleasant and informal character. For these our mother was duly taken to task by a lady who held the old-fashioned view of the day. In spite of this rebuke82 our mother continued serenely83 on her way. To entertain her friends was as essential to her happiness as to read and study. My father once said that if she were alone on a desert island, with one old negro, she would manage to have a party!
It had, indeed, required effort on her part, and on that of her friends, to have entertainments in South Boston. At No. 13 Chestnut Street it was much easier. Among the pleasant people who came there were William Hunt, the artist, and his wife. Her handsome and intelligent face lit up with interest and animation84 as she talked. I remember a little dinner at the Hunt house where my mother and I were the only guests. Mr. Hunt told us various anecdotes85 of the French circus—then known as the Hippodrome; of an old woman of eighty who still danced on the tight rope. He showed us how the little old bowed figure looked as she came forward to take her part in the performance.
He related, too, the story of two men, one standing86 on the top of a tall staff, the second performing on a tight rope attached to it. One day, as the latter was testing the rope, it snapped in two! He never loosened his grasp on his balance-pole, never lost his erect87 position, falling, splendid as Lucifer, through the fifty or more feet of air, till his feet struck the ground. Both legs were broken.
Among the interesting guests at No. 13 Chestnut Street were Celia Thaxter and her husband. She was handsome and looked like the woman of spirit that she undoubtedly88 was. What she said I cannot, alas89! remember.
Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes was in those days the most brilliant and delightful of talkers. Not only did he talk without effort, but it seemed to require an effort on his part to maintain silence. His very mouth looked as if it were ready to overflow90 into brilliant conversation of its own accord, and one fancied that he was obliged to exercise a certain restraint over it.
I remember a dinner at our house where Ralph Waldo Emerson, Rev19. William R. Alger, John Weiss, and Doctor Holmes were the guests. The witty91 doctor became fairly launched on the stream of his own brilliant conversation, and let us into certain of his professional secrets by telling us something of his methods of composition and of the moods in which he wrote. I listened to this talk with a feeling akin22 to awe92 at being allowed to come so near to the sacred places of genius. The poet was inspired by his theme, and was led on, by the unfolding of his thought, to lay bare the secrets of his soul. It was a wonderful talk, and one could scarcely listen to it without emotion.
When Doctor Holmes went away he said to his hostess, by way of apology for having talked so much, “Well, I have told you a great deal about myself to-day.” Whereupon another member of the company, himself a literary man, but of a less expansive nature than the Doctor, said, with emphasis, “Others could have told of their experiences, too, Doctor, if you had given them a chance.”
During the Civil War my father and Doctor Holmes were among the medical men appointed to examine those who sought to escape the draft on the ground of physical disability. Among them was one very large young man who had evidently outgrown93 his strength. The Autocrat94 of the Breakfast Table was short and slight. There was such a contrast in the size of the two that the witty doctor thought it would be amusing if he, the little man, should examine the big one. So he called out, “Let me examine him, Doctor, let me examine him!” He accordingly proceeded to percuss the young giant.
Doctor Holmes liked better to talk than to listen, as the title which he assumed, “The Autocrat of the Breakfast Table,” plainly shows. When my mother decided95 to give a course of talks on philosophical96 subjects, in the parlors97 of our house, she invited Doctor Holmes to be one of the guests. Meeting her in the street one rainy day, he explained to her at length why he was not interested in hearing other people lecture, the pair meanwhile walking up and down under their umbrellas.
On another occasion, when both had been listening to an uninteresting lecture, Doctor Holmes said he would as lief hear potatoes poured from one barrel into another!
Ralph Waldo Emerson was from time to time a visitor at our house. He was of the tall, slender New England type, with blue eyes and the large nose which is thought to indicate force. At the time of the execution of John Brown he compared the gallows98 on which the old man perished to the cross. A little later he was in the company of some conservative people who were shocked at this comparison. They asked Mr. Emerson if he had made it, and, without attempting to palliate or explain, he replied that he had said something of the sort.
In my youth the following remarks were attributed to him.
“Church? What is church? I do not see church, I do not hear church, I do not smell church!” It is very possible that he did make them, yet he was a man essentially99 devout100, the descendant of a line of clergymen. When a distinguished101 clergyman of the Church of England came to America, some years later, he declared that, whoever occupied the pulpit, Emerson was always the preacher! Time thus brought to the latter a splendid revenge for the small satires102 of earlier days.
His table talk was fresh, quaint45 and delightful. Yet he was, on the whole, rather silent than talkative in company, as became the author of this passage:
“When people come to see us, we foolishly prattle104, lest we be inhospitable. But things said for conversation are chalk eggs. Don’t say things. What you are stands over you the while and thunders so that I cannot hear what you say to the contrary.”
If this saying bears too hard upon women, we may comfort ourselves with another dictum of his, “Woman, if not the queen, is the lawgiver of conversation.” While great men like Mr. Emerson may sit serenely silent, the feminine instinct bids us try, at least, to be agreeable!
The Sage103 of Concord105, as he was called, staying one night at a hotel in Boston, received a long visit from a literary man who, rising to go at a late hour, said, “I am to give a lecture on Plato to-morrow and I haven’t written the first word of it yet.” To which Mr. Emerson, horrified106 at such carelessness, replied, “Good God!” This gentleman was Emanuel Scherb, a habitué of our house at one time. His negligence107 perhaps arose from the fact that he had once been insane. He then imagined that he was a monkey. A knowledge of this lingered in my mother’s subconscious108 mind. She once talked with him about monkeys, until she suddenly remembered his former delusion109!
Mr. Emerson did not answer the persons who wrote to him asking for his autograph, even if they generously enclosed a stamp. It was said that his family found these stamps useful for their correspondence. Mrs. Emerson foresaw, at the beginning of the Civil War, that there would be a great rise in the price of cotton cloth. Hence she wisely laid in a closetful of this important commodity.
Rev. William Rounceville Alger was one of the “intellectuals” of whom we saw a good deal. For a time he occupied Theodore Parker’s pulpit in Music Hall, where sister Maud enjoyed hearing him preach. I fear that we classed him as one of “mamma’s owls.” We so called, in a general way, the men of literary taste with whom she liked to converse110. Among the persons of note who dined with us at 13 Chestnut Street was Mr. Olcott, vegetarian111 and reformer, now best known as the father of Louisa Olcott. He spoke112 of his poetic113 views about foodstuffs114, declaring that grains were to be preferred to roots, since the former grew above the ground, hence nourished our higher faculties115, whereas the latter, being of the earth, must be earthy. This singular theory did not appeal to my father, nor, indeed, to any of us, Carlyle said of it, “Olcott and his potato gospel won’t go down here.”
He held “conversations,” at one of which he observed, apropos116 of cannibalism117, that if we were to eat flesh at all, he did not see why we should not eat the best. Whereupon Mr. Coolidge, a gentleman of a literal turn of mind, was so horrified that he made a bee-line for the door. Mr. Olcott kept a school at one time where punishment was vicarious: if the children did wrong they were to punish him. For the offenses118 of one of Mr. Olcott’s daughters, L—— L——, a very good little girl, received correction. One of the many stories told of this gentleman was that he believed persons of fair hair and blue eyes were children of light who need not labor, whereas dark-haired individuals were children of darkness appointed to perform the work of the world. Mr. Olcott himself had fair hair and blue eyes, but his wife was dark!
My father gave some breakfasts for gentlemen at the Chestnut Street house. I remember one where Alexander Hamilton, son of the great Federalist, was present and told various interesting stories. Among the family relics119 we have found a tiny lock of the hair of the statesman, sent by his son to my father.
My mother was away from home when one of these breakfasts took place, and I sat at the head of the table as lady of the house. I appreciated the honor, although it was rather overpowering to be the only woman present.
To No. 13 Chestnut Street, as well as to “Green Peace,” came clever and delightful women. The most original and brilliant of these was Mrs. Helen Bell, wife of Joseph Bell and the daughter of Rufus Choate, a famous lawyer of that day and a relative of Joseph H. Choate. She and her sister, Mrs. Ellerton Pratt, were a most charming and unique couple. They kept up a running fire of absurd sayings in which Yankee exaggeration played its part.
Thus when some one declared that a certain German gentleman had objectionable manners at table, Mrs. Bell exclaimed: “What do you suppose he does? Do his feet fly up over his head, after every mouthful, or does he throw the tender vegetables about!”
She had clear-cut features and a beautiful head, with wavy120 hair of a reddish tint121. After crimping came into fashion, she remarked, “I put my hair up on lamp-wicks overnight, and people say I look like a Roman emperor.” Mrs. Pratt, with her fair hair and blue eyes, was very pretty and had a certain childlike expression of countenance that was very attractive. I never was so fortunate as to hear Mrs. Bell sing. Since her death, a few months ago, an old friend has thus described her singing, “To listen to the deep tones of that pathetic voice, song after song coming through the twilight122, was an emotional experience never to be forgotten.” Mrs. Bell also played very well on the piano. Our master, Otto Dresel, once arranged that we should play together a concerto123 of Bach’s for three pianos, Miss Charlotte Heminway playing on the third, while he took the part of the orchestra on the fourth. We were obliged to practise in Chickering’s music-rooms, no private house containing so many instruments. I took much pleasure and pride in the performance, which was simply for our own gratification and improvement.
It may have been apropos of this concerto of Bach’s that Mr. Dresel said to my mother, “I have created Flossy.” I greatly enjoyed my music and it was cordially appreciated by our friends. In these days I often played—usually duets with Mr. Dresel—at our informal parties. A young friend, Miss Emily Appleton, gave a musical evening where each of us played some piece on the piano. Mr. Dresel’s constant drill, and a flexibility124 of fingering inherited from my mother, gave me an advantage over the others. The young friends were surprised, but generously praised my performance of a piece which called for rapid and constant motion of the fingers.
The express horses of the ’Sixties must have been very lively animals, for they managed to run away with our grand piano and to damage it materially. The instrument belonging to our friends, the Sam G. Wards, needed repairing at the same time. Mr. Dresel used to say jokingly that at the Chickering factory they had simply exchanged the actions of the two pianos!
Charlotte Heminway was the eldest daughter of Augustus Heminway and Mrs. Mary Heminway, whose memory is revered125 on account of her noble charities. Charlotte herself, a friend of sister Julia, was a young woman of fine character and promise. One day in New York, being in haste to reach the station, she and a party of friends hailed a passing hack126. After entering it they noticed a peculiar127 odor. On her return to Boston this eldest and especially beloved daughter of the house died of a virulent128 fever, supposed to be typhus.
Among the clever and agreeable women who came to No. 13 Chestnut Street were two daughters of the Rev. Mr. Greenwood—Mrs. James Lodge129 and Mrs. William Howe. A third was Mrs. Charles Homans, daughter of our opposite neighbor, Rev. Samuel K. Lothrop. A handsome woman to the end of her days, she was then young, albeit130 her hair was turning gray.
In the ’Sixties Boston observed New Year’s Day as a fitting time to take account of stock. A few people followed the custom, then prevalent in New York, of receiving callers. Our mother, remembering the customs of her youth, was one of the first to do this, inviting131 a number of gentlemen to call. Mrs. Homans helped us receive one New Year’s Day, adding to the pleasure of the occasion by her presence and conversation.
Although she and my mother took opposite views of the suffrage132 question, they always maintained a cordial friendship. Mrs. Homans was active in public work of a charitable nature, interesting herself especially in prisoners.
Sister Julia and I enjoyed the intellectual society of our elders, yet we also had friends of our own age. Among these were two young men of promise, William Washburn and William James, well known later as the psychologist. The latter was a most genial133 and delightful person. When the question came up, possibly apropos of the Mormons, of the propriety81 of polygamy, he was inclined to think it might be a good thing to have more than one wife. I suggested that from the woman’s side of the question it would not be desirable.
When he returned from Brazil he told us that the inhabitants beckoned134 with the whole hand, instead of with extended forefinger135, as was then the custom in America. Finding it difficult to make out prices, he confidingly136 extended a handful of silver, allowing the Brazilians to pick out the proper amount.
William Washburn, who was a friend of William James, wrote a book of stories about Harvard, but did not make literature his profession. Henry James the younger, as he then was, came to see us occasionally, but we never knew him well. The coldness of his temperament137 was in strong contrast to the warmth and geniality138 of his brother’s. He was then pale, and looked, as I thought, like the great Napoleon. I believe that he was not in good health at that time, and possibly he was shy. Great was our surprise when he declared that some one was a hog139. Who this selfish person was I cannot remember, but Henry James was ordinarily so calm that this forcible denunciation was startling. At a later period my mother grew to know him better and had real affection for him.
We knew also the two younger brothers, Wilkie and Robertson, who were pleasant fellows. Both fought in the Civil War, Wilkie being badly wounded.
Henry James, Sr., was a man of as much talent as his distinguished sons, although never so well known. He was a follower140 of Swedenborg, but did not consider that the Swedenborgian Church interpreted correctly the writings of the great mystic. I read with interest one of his books, Substance and Shadow, in which he expressed himself with vigor39 and originality. Mr. James knew that I was interested in his writings. Hence, when he saw me at the conclusion of his address at the Radical141 Club he exclaimed, reproachfully:
“You here, Flossy!”
“Why, Mr. James, I came to hear you!”
With the delightful inconsequence of the Irish mind, he regretted seeing me at so unorthodox a meeting, not reflecting that he was the magnet which brought me there!
My father’s experience as the head of two large institutions had shown him that, through changes in fortune, many women who never expected to earn their own living are obliged to do so. He thought all should be so educated as to be able to support themselves. Hence I was taught bookkeeping, and kept, for some years, the books of the School for Idiotic142 and Feeble-minded Youth. These included a ledger143 on the double-entry system, and obliged me to take from time to time a trial balance. On one occasion I carelessly overdrew144 the bank-account. The check went to protest, causing me an expense of two dollars or more and some mortification. The father of one of the inmates145, finding that his correspondent was “Madam” and not “Sir,” wrote me in rather gallant146 style. Otherwise the work was calm and uneventful. I was paid a small salary, which helped out my allowance for dress. “The Town of Lee” was one of the headings in my ledger, this town being responsible for the maintenance of Charles Keep, who had a genius for catching147 rats without any trap. Why they did not bite his fingers is a mystery. At one time the authorities at the school were puzzled by a shortage in the milk. It was discovered that the feeble-minded boys who brought the cans from the Institution for the Blind, finding the load rather heavy, lightened it by pouring out part of the milk on the road!
Usually these poor children did not display special talent. I remember one who was proud of having only a single hand—a pride not more unreasonable148 than that often shown by persons of intelligence in matters for which they can not justly claim any credit. Another boy had such an exaggerated fear of Sabbath-breaking that his teacher was in despair on Sunday afternoons. If she proposed any occupation with the slightest tinge149 of secularity150, Charlie would reject it with the simple explanation, “Hell!” The parents in many cases wrote an illiterate151 hand. The postal152 authorities were wont153 to indorse on letters bearing a cryptic154 address, “Try Doctor Howe.” Everybody who wanted help did “try Doctor Howe”—the rich as well as the poor. Thus while few of the mentally deficient155 children of the well-to-do came to the Institution, many were brought to his office in Bromfield Street for examination and advice. These he gave gladly, never charging any fee for his services.
Sister Julia, soon after leaving school, took up as her work teaching at the Institution for the Blind. For this she never received any remuneration, nor did she wish any. She was one of the most unworldly persons whom I have ever seen. While enjoying, in a natural, healthy way, the pleasures of this life as they came to her, the things of the mind and of the spirit were to her the true realities. The bond of affection between her and my father was especially strong. “Darlingest, Firstest, and Best Born” he calls her in one of his letters. It was a pleasure to see them start together for the daily trip to the Institution for the Blind at South Boston. Having special talent for languages, she here taught Latin, German and French. She also read aloud in English to some of the inmates.
A few years later, Mr. (afterward “Sir”) Francis Campbell, who had held a responsible position under my father, founded and carried on with much success “Norwood College” near London. This was the first school for the blind in England conducted on modern principles. My father did all in his power to help on the new enterprise, lending several teachers from the institution under his charge to start it. Among them was Miss Faulkner, who later became Lady Campbell.
Some of the American teachers were blind and had been sister Julia’s pupils. It was reported to us that, when traveling on the Continent of Europe, they found her instruction of real help.
In the late ’Sixties Boston was stirred by a ludicrous incident which ended in a tragedy. Three commuters, society men, had turned over a seat on a railway train and were chatting together when a stranger approached and took the vacant place. He was a large man, cumbered with a toy baby-carriage, and his presence disturbed the group of friends, who plainly showed their annoyance156. When the interloper arose to go he said to one of the group, “Sir, you are no gentleman!” According to the masculine code, there is only one answer to this remark, although to a mere157 woman striking a man is a strange argument to prove that you are a gentleman. Mr. X., a small man with a quick temper, delivered the answer on the nose of the offender158, knocking off and breaking his glasses. The bearer of the baby-carriage was a pacifist. He did not retort in kind, but brought suit against Mr. X. for assault and battery. The case was complicated by the fact that the three friends, of whom one at least was a director of the railroad, were thought by some of the traveling public to behave too much as if they owned the railway. It was a sort of town-and-gown affair. Hence when the lawyer for the defense made the mistake of treating the whole as a pure joke, the judge was angered and condemned159 Mr. X. to three months in prison. Having served this severe sentence, Mr. X. and his family left the United States, never to return.
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1
owls
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| n.猫头鹰( owl的名词复数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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bouquet
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| n.花束，酒香 | |
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frivolous
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| adj.轻薄的；轻率的 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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linen
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| n.亚麻布，亚麻线，亚麻制品；adj.亚麻布制的，亚麻的 | |
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hoop
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| n.（篮球）篮圈，篮 | |
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hoops
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| n.箍( hoop的名词复数 )；（篮球）篮圈；（旧时儿童玩的）大环子；（两端埋在地里的）小铁弓 | |
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gored
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| v.（动物）用角撞伤，用牙刺破( gore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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circumference
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| n.圆周，周长，圆周线 | |
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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gracefully
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| ad.大大方方地；优美地 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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gutter
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| n.沟，街沟，水槽，檐槽，贫民窟 | |
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starched
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| adj.浆硬的，硬挺的，拘泥刻板的v.把（衣服、床单等）浆一浆( starch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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akin
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| adj.同族的，类似的 | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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relatively
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| adv.比较...地，相对地 | |
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lessening
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| 减轻，减少，变小 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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27
bonnets
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| n.童帽( bonnet的名词复数 )；（烟囱等的）覆盖物；（苏格兰男子的）无边呢帽；（女子戴的）任何一种帽子 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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undo
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| vt.解开，松开；取消，撤销 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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eligible
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| adj.有条件被选中的；(尤指婚姻等)合适(意)的 | |
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scroll
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| n.卷轴，纸卷；(石刻上的)漩涡 | |
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gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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motive
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| n.动机，目的；adv.发动的，运动的 | |
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boredom
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| n.厌烦，厌倦，乏味，无聊 | |
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originality
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| n.创造力，独创性；新颖 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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disapproved
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| v.不赞成( disapprove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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disapprove
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| v.不赞成，不同意，不批准 | |
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42
faction
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| n.宗派，小集团；派别；派系斗争 | |
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43
controversy
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| n.争论，辩论，争吵 | |
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mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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46
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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harassed
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| adj. 疲倦的，厌烦的 动词harass的过去式和过去分词 | |
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48
parental
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| adj.父母的；父的；母的 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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50
majestically
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| 雄伟地； 庄重地； 威严地； 崇高地 | |
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51
sling
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| vt.扔；悬挂；n.挂带；吊索，吊兜；弹弓 | |
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52
warships
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| 军舰，战舰( warship的名词复数 )； 舰只 | |
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53
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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54
sentimental
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| adj.多愁善感的，感伤的 | |
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55
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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56
burlesque
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| v.嘲弄，戏仿；n.嘲弄，取笑，滑稽模仿 | |
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57
prancing
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| v.（马）腾跃( prance的现在分词 ) | |
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58
wig
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| n.假发 | |
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59
overthrown
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| adj. 打翻的，推倒的，倾覆的 动词overthrow的过去分词 | |
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60
leech
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| n.水蛭，吸血鬼，榨取他人利益的人；vt.以水蛭吸血；vi.依附于别人 | |
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61
inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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62
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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63
antidote
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| n.解毒药，解毒剂 | |
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chestnut
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| n.栗树，栗子 | |
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charades
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| n.伪装( charade的名词复数 )；猜字游戏 | |
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syllable
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| n.音节；vt.分音节 | |
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67
accomplishments
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| n.造诣；完成( accomplishment的名词复数 )；技能；成绩；成就 | |
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68
maternal
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| adj.母亲的，母亲般的，母系的，母方的 | |
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69
defense
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| n.防御，保卫；[pl.]防务工事；辩护，答辩 | |
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70
prematurely
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| adv.过早地，贸然地 | |
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71
spacious
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| adj.广阔的，宽敞的 | |
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72
wards
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| 区( ward的名词复数 )； 病房； 受监护的未成年者； 被人照顾或控制的状态 | |
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73
worthies
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| 应得某事物( worthy的名词复数 )； 值得做某事； 可尊敬的； 有（某人或事物）的典型特征 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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disciples
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| n.信徒( disciple的名词复数 )；门徒；耶稣的信徒；（尤指）耶稣十二门徒之一 | |
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chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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compulsory
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| n.强制的，必修的；规定的，义务的 | |
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superstition
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| n.迷信，迷信行为 | |
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81
propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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82
rebuke
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| v.指责，非难，斥责 [反]praise | |
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83
serenely
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| adv.安详地，宁静地，平静地 | |
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84
animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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anecdotes
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| n.掌故，趣闻，轶事( anecdote的名词复数 ) | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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erect
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| n./v.树立，建立，使竖立；adj.直立的，垂直的 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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witty
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| adj.机智的，风趣的 | |
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92
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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outgrown
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| 长[发展] 得超过（某物）的范围( outgrow的过去分词 )； 长[发展]得不能再要（某物）； 长得比…快； 生长速度超过 | |
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autocrat
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| n.独裁者；专横的人 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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parlors
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| 客厅( parlor的名词复数 )； 起居室； （旅馆中的）休息室； （通常用来构成合成词）店 | |
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gallows
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| n.绞刑架，绞台 | |
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essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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distinguished
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| adj.卓越的，杰出的，著名的 | |
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satires
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| 讽刺，讥讽( satire的名词复数 )； 讽刺作品 | |
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103
sage
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| n.圣人，哲人；adj.贤明的，明智的 | |
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104
prattle
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| n.闲谈；v.（小孩般）天真无邪地说话；发出连续而无意义的声音 | |
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concord
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| n.和谐；协调 | |
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horrified
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| a.(表现出)恐惧的 | |
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negligence
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| n.疏忽，玩忽，粗心大意 | |
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108
subconscious
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| n./adj.潜意识(的)，下意识(的) | |
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109
delusion
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| n.谬见，欺骗，幻觉，迷惑 | |
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110
converse
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| vi.谈话，谈天，闲聊；adv.相反的，相反 | |
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111
vegetarian
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| n.素食者；adj.素食的 | |
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112
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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poetic
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| adj.富有诗意的，有诗人气质的，善于抒情的 | |
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foodstuffs
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| 食物，食品( foodstuff的名词复数 ) | |
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115
faculties
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| n.能力( faculty的名词复数 )；全体教职员；技巧；院 | |
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apropos
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| adv.恰好地；adj.恰当的；关于 | |
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cannibalism
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| n.同类相食；吃人肉 | |
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118
offenses
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| n.进攻( offense的名词复数 )；（球队的）前锋；进攻方法；攻势 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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wavy
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| adj.有波浪的，多浪的，波浪状的，波动的，不稳定的 | |
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tint
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| n.淡色，浅色；染发剂；vt.着以淡淡的颜色 | |
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122
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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concerto
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| n.协奏曲 | |
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flexibility
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| n.柔韧性，弹性，（光的）折射性，灵活性 | |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hack
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| n.劈，砍，出租马车；v.劈，砍，干咳 | |
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127
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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128
virulent
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| adj.有毒的，有恶意的，充满敌意的 | |
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129
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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albeit
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| conj.即使；纵使；虽然 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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suffrage
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| n.投票，选举权，参政权 | |
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genial
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| adj.亲切的，和蔼的，愉快的，脾气好的 | |
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134
beckoned
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| v.（用头或手的动作）示意，召唤( beckon的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forefinger
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| n.食指 | |
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136
confidingly
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| adv.信任地 | |
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temperament
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| n.气质，性格，性情 | |
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geniality
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| n.和蔼，诚恳；愉快 | |
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139
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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140
follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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radical
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| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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idiotic
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| adj.白痴的 | |
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143
ledger
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| n.总帐，分类帐；帐簿 | |
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144
overdrew
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| 透支( overdraw的过去式 ) | |
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inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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tinge
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| vt.(较淡)着色于，染色；使带有…气息；n.淡淡色彩，些微的气息 | |
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150
secularity
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| n.世俗主义，凡俗之心，烦恼 | |
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151
illiterate
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| adj.文盲的；无知的；n.文盲 | |
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152
postal
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| adj.邮政的，邮局的 | |
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153
wont
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| adj.习惯于；v.习惯；n.习惯 | |
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154
cryptic
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| adj.秘密的，神秘的，含义模糊的 | |
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155
deficient
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| adj.不足的，不充份的，有缺陷的 | |
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156
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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157
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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158
offender
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| n.冒犯者，违反者，犯罪者 | |
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159
condemned
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| adj. 被责难的, 被宣告有罪的 动词condemn的过去式和过去分词 | |
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