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-X"

LUCY HOWARD S

JOURNAL.

BY MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.

We want a history of firesides."

WEBSTER.

UNIVERSITY

NEW YORK:

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

FBANKLIN 6QTJABE.

1858.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand eight
hundred and fifty-seven, by

HARPER & BROTHERS,

in the Clerk s Office of trfbSstJRct Court ofthe Southern District of
New York.

PREFACE,

THE rush of progress in our native clime is
without parallel in its transforming and effacing
power. The sound of the woodman s axe yields
to the hum of the village springing amid fallen
trunks. The city forgets the primeval forest
over whose roots it rises. Every generation
takes with it to the grave some trait or treasure
which it might be curious to restore or useful to
cherish.

The inner habitudes of the last half century
are already becoming matters of tradition. Yet,
as far as they are mingled with the domestic nur
ture of females, it is well to preserve their sem
blance ; for if obsolete as precedents, they will
become points of historic interest. Those ele
mentary details which, from their simplicity or
minuteness, seem to need excuse, involve princi
ples or affections which have given to New En
gland homes stability and comfort, as well as that
affluence of virtue which has enabled them to cast
freely to the young West germs that cause its
wilderness to blossom as the rose.
Hartford, Conn., Sept. 1st, 1857.

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL

Wednesday, August 1st, 1810.

THEY have given me a nice blank-book for a
journal. I ve written my name and the date as
well as I possibly could. What more to put in
it I m sure I don t know.

The schoolmistress says we must all keep jour
nals. She gives several good reasons for it. But
what a child of ten years, unless she s wiser than
I, can find that s worth writing down, I can t for
my life see. I think nobody would care to read
it after it was written.

There has been a great storm to-day, with
thunder and lightning. I ve got nothing else to
say. I wish I could get along without this jour
nal, as I used to do ; but mamma says I must
obey my teacher always.

6 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Somebody has called a journal a map of life.
A rude outline I am afraid mine will be. An ir
regular coast ; an island uninhabited ; Mountains
of the Moon; rivers rising nowhere and emp
tying nowhere ; " Great cry and little wool."
Never mind. Let me try to do as well as I can.

I had a grand time in the arithmetic hour this
morning at school. I did so many sums, and so
fast, that my hand trembled, and my heart beat
quick ; but it made me happy. I do like those
studies that one is sure of. You have only to go
straight ahead, and work, and take pains, and all
will come right.

My teacher says
"No day without a line."
I wish to keep her rule
While I am in her school ;
So here is mine.

If I kept school, I think I d try to make every
body have a good time ; for if children get mad,
they won t learn. If they are very cold, or very
warm, or very tired, and you say to them " study ,
study r and look cross all the time, they are apt

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 7

to think hard. Then there is no doing them any
good till they get into a better mood. If teach
ers would only just look pleasant, and speak
pleasant, and not get mad themselves, what a nice
place school would be !

I hope I did not write unkindly yesterday.
When I read it over this morning it seemed just
like a slap of slander. I am afraid I did not feel
pleasant myself, and that made me think others
were not so. An old lady used to say, When you
complain of things around, most likely something
goes wrong within. I ll try to carry a sunbeam
in my heart to school to-day, and see what that
will do.

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Tuesday, January 1st, 1811.

Here is a New Year s day, and my birth-day,
too. I should suppose I might have some decent
thoughts on these two events. So I have, but
tis such an awful trouble to write them down.
As soon as I take a pen away they fly. My
strongest impression at present is, that it s terri
bly cold. I was half frozen in going to school
this morning, and not much better off after I got
there. We took turns, indeed, in standing at the
fire, but the wood was green, and the sap ran out
in streams upon the hearth, and the chimney
smoked so fiercely that we all shed tears.

They have sent me to a man s school. My
mother was induced to believe that it was more
thorough, and would be better for me in the end.
I m sure I hope it will. But I love to be taught
by ladies, because I always have been. I am
awfully afraid here to look up. The gentleman
is said to be very learned, and has not been long
out of college. It seems so strange to hear him
calling me Miss Howard, seeing my name in
school has always been Lucy. At first I did

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 9

not know who lie meant, and did not answer, and
looked all round the seats to see who Miss How
ard was.

There are twenty-five of us scholars, most of
them older than I, and about half are of the other
sex. I miss the needle-work in the afternoons
very much. It was so pleasant to employ our
selves that way a part of the time, while one read
aloud in history; and then to be able to carry
home a garment neatly made to mother. That
was a very great pleasure, peculiar to us girls,
and it seems a pity to lay it aside. But there is
more time for study, and I ll try to learn as fast
and much as I can, to pay dear mother for the
expense of my education. This is a very order
ly and strict school, and so still that it is much
easier to learn. I think pupils like a strict school
best, and are prouder of it, though they may some
times complain.

That short bench of boys who have entered
college, I wonder they don t go there. Why
need they be studying a year at home ? To save
expense, I suppose. Well, that is praiseworthy
enough. But it would be much more agreeable
A2

10 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

to us younger scholars if they were away. Their
room would be vastly better than their company.
Mighty grand are they, because they happen to
be in the fourth book of the .Jilneid. It will not
be long ere we catch up with them, I trust. But
the worst of it is, that every time we open our
mouths to recite, they watch, and carp, and criti
cise. I only hesitated once to-day in a long les
son in Philosophy, and yesterday in the conjuga
tion of a French verb, and heard them whisper to
each other, "There! that s a most a mistake."
It was not, neither. I knew what to say, and
should have said it as glib as ever, if they had
not been looking straight at me with lynx-eyes.
Judges, indeed, they set themselves up to be,
without any jury. I wish they had to wear wigs
and sit upon a woolsack.

I studied all my lessons thoroughly last even
ing. I repeated them after I lay down in bed.
I put my books under my pillow. In my sound
est sleep I knew they were there. In one of my
dreams I thought they had changed into grap
pling-irons, and said, "Hold the knowledge fast."
When it grew light, I peeped at some of the
worst places, and said all the easy ones to my
self. While I was dressing, Memory showed me

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 11

that she had got the whole all right and clear.
So now I will go bravely to school, and that
bench of Scribes and Pharisees may take notes
as fierce as they please ; but they sha ivt have a
chance to whisper again, "There! there! ain t
that a most a mistake ?"

I hear them talk a good deal about the cold
Friday of last winter. Some of the old people
say they scarcely remember any thing like it.
What made it felt more was, that the previous
day was unusually warm, so as to make the dif
ference of some sixty degrees in less than twen
ty-four hours. For my part, I scarcely recollect
any thing at all about it, though I went to school
all day. I dare say my fingers ached, but I forget
about it. Yet it would be easy for me to remem
ber the date, if I wanted to, there are so many tens
about it. For instance, on the 10th of January,
1810, when I was just ten years and 10 days old,
it was 10 degrees below zero, with a sharp wind.
I can not help thinking it makes people feel both
the cold and heat more to be always studying
thermometers. I reckon it s better to keep busy,
and not mind whether the quicksilver rises or
Mis.

12 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL.

I do love to parse in Milton. It is so enter
taining to have to chase after a nominative for
your verb, back and back through so many lines,
like a needle in a hay-mow. Then there s idiom
enough to keep your mind awake. It would be
pleasanter, though, if we did not have to go through
all the descriptions just as they come, with those
students glowering at us, and amused if there
happens to come any new bright color into our
cheeks.

Eain ! rain ! For three days I have gone to
school like one of the " amphibia," as our Natural
History says. Never mind. I would not stay
at home for any thing, and let others get before
me in the lessons. It is a nice way to draw
the head of your cloak up over your bonnet. It
saves that, and keeps the back of your neck dry.
Mother was so good as to let me carry my din
ner to-day. Several of the girls did, and I think
we made too much noise. Then, as the clouds
grew a little lighter between schools, we took a
walk for exercise five times as far as to have gone
home. I wonder what our careful mothers would
have said to have heard of us so far away, and in
strange places where we never went before. But
it was right pleasant to explore new regions, and

LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 13

our leader proposed that at present nothing should
"be said about it.

Our next neighbor s little boy, Johnny, is a
good-tempered child, and smart. I often play
with him when I can get a chance. His mother
said yesterday, " How awfully it rains ! We can
not get our clothes dry ; they hang flapping on the
wet lines ever since Monday." " Mamma," asked
he, with a bright smile on his red lips, " will not
the rains bring out the fifth leaf on my cabbage ?"
So he was as happy as he could be, while the
grown-up people were complaining. I should
like such a little brother, or, indeed, any kind of
a brother, if it had pleased God to have given me
one.

The girls have come to a conclusion to call our
teacher Preceptor. For my part, I do not exact
ly discover any added glory in the title. But
then there s a good deal in names. I am sure he
deserves all the honor we can give him, so faith
fully does he seek our good. And I think he has
an excellent system with us, and that it is not
just to get money that he keeps school. No, in
deed ! He tries to improve our conduct and char-

14 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

acter, as well as to make us recite well. Those
are the right kind of folks to teach the young.
He takes pains to improve our memories. Twice
a week he reads to us from books of history, or
other sciences, that we can t get a chance to look
over, in a very slow, distinct manner. He chooses
such parts as he thinks are important, and^ closing
the book, questions us. Then we write afterward
what we recollect, in our own language, and show
it to him. He corrects what is wrong, and on
Saturday we copy it fairly in a manuscript book,
which we call our Remembrancer. To this we
add any other recollections of our studies during
the week. A regular omnium-gatherum mine is.
At the end of the year a medal is to be given to
the most perfect scholar I don t know whether
of silver or gold. The pedantic bench of wisea
cres expect to have it, members of college as they
are, and old withal. Let s see a little to that,
though.

I wonder if it is wrong to write poetry. Some
wise people say it is a waste of time, and that
poets are always poor. I do not wish to waste
time, which is so precious ; and I am not willing
to be poor and beg. But when any thought keeps
singing in my ear, just like a bee, I do write it

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 15

down, and it comes in rhyme. If I try to drive
it away, it flies round my head, as if it meant to
sting me. I have quite a pile of such things hid
away. I hope mother will not find them. I nev
er tried to conceal any thing from her before.

I am glad I have to knit my own stockings.
I used to think it was hard, but now I take pleas
ure in shaping them right, and seeing them grow
a little every day. Besides, I am much more
careful not to hurt or lose them, since I know
what a great quantity of stitches they take, and
how slow it is to knit heel. I asked my mother
to teach me to mend a pair neatly that were a lit
tle worn, and permit me to give them to a poor
girl whom I met without any, and who has no
time to knit. She kindly consented ; and when
I saw the blue ankles comfortably covered from
the cold, and the downcast eyes looking glad, I
felt such a lifting up of the heart that I could
not help saying softly to myself, "Thank God!
thank God!"

I love to go to school in a snow-storm. It
makes me jump about, and feel so light and gay.
I am not philosopher enough to tell the reason.

16 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

A school-girl s party. My first one. I doubt
ed whether my mother would let me accept the
invitation. But she willingly consented. So we
went early on Saturday afternoon, dressed in our
best. Entering the parlor gravely, we courtesied
to our schoolmate. I think I should have laugh
ed in her face, but I espied her dignified mamma
seated in the corner, and made a still lower obei
sance.

We sat upright and folded our hands. We
talked about the weather, and the babies at home,
as ladies do. I longed to jump up and play
" Puss in the corner." But no ; it was a party.
We looked at each other, and thought of some of
the tricks at school. One or two of the oldest
giggled a little ; but that would not do. It was
a party.

It seemed longer than a whole day at school
before the tea came in. Two large trays one
with cups, cream, and sugar, the other with bis
cuits and cakes. I never drank a cup of tea in
my life ; but it would not do to ask for milk, be
cause it was a party. So I stirred mine, and put
it to my lips, as the others did. But it tasted
just like motherwort, or some hateful doctor s
trade, and I should have been glad to throw it
out the window. I wonder, when I grow old, if

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 17

I shall love to go to parties and drink this horrid
Chinese weed.

Just as I was wondering what to do with my
plate, and cup, and saucer, not being used to hold
my supper in my lap, in came my friend s stately
father. Up I jumped to make my manners, and
down went my bread and butter upon the carpet.
He was very kind to us, and I soon forgot that
he was such a great man. But, worst of all, in
came our Preceptor, who boards there. I was in
an awful fright, and slank into a corner, hoping
he would not observe me. It seemed so queer to
hear him talking about common things. I expect
ed every minute that he would call on me to con
strue a passage in Sallust, or tell the genealogy of
George the Third back through all the old Saxon
kings.

Then I was afraid to see him eat, and would
not look up. Methought it would lower him from
his high estate in my mind to be swallowing food
like the pupils he instructed. So much above
other mortals did he seem, that I did not wish to
see him subject to their common wants. But he
was fortunately called away, and I was saved
from my foolish fear, if foolish it be to count the
teachers of knowledge superior beings.

After tea we took a polite leave, thanking our
entertainer and her parents, and escaped home,

18 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

running a little when we got out of sight of the
house. We arrived at sunset, as we had been
told to do ; for Saturday evening is considered as
belonging to the Sabbath, and kept sacred. Par
ties are, I dare say, very nice things when people
have once learned to like them.

I so love little children. Their smiles and gay
voices seem to put new life into one s heart.
They say such queer things too. I think the
wit of the world is with them. I know almost
all that belong to the neighborhood. One baby-
boy I like to hold in my arms when his mother
is busy. I stole in so lightly the other morning
he did not hear me. He was talking to himself.

"How do you do, boy?" said he.

" How do you do, Kobby ?"

"Pretty bad, I thank oo."

Learning to walk, he came boldly down stairs
to meet me, without touching the banisters.

"Look! see! I came holdin on by no thin."

He learns words nobody seems to know how.
Yesterday I stopped to speak to him as I went
to school, and a lady came, who had several teeth
taken out by the dentist to prepare for a set of
artificial ones. He noticed the change at once,
and fixing his eyes on her mouth, said,

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 19

"Ma am, you re a natural curosity."
If he lives to grow up, I think he ll be some
thing more than a common man.

Sunday is a good day, though I do not find so
much resTm it as people talk about. To remem
ber the texts and a good part of both the sermons,
to recite in school on Monday, keeps my mind
pretty busy. Then I say, after church at night,
the Assembly of Divines Shorter Catechism
through, with all the Scripture proofs. If there
is any longer catechism, I wonder what it is. I
stand up through the whole of this, and my moth
er and grandfather wish me to repeat every an
swer slowly and distinctly, so that I am quite
willing to sit down when it is done. It is a good
exercise for memory, and I suppose, when I grow
older, it may help my understanding. Grandfa
ther says he could repeat it throughout, and ask
himself the questions, before he was as old as I
am. He has not forgotten it now, though he is
aged. If he feels wakeful at night, he begins to
repeat it to himself, and soon falls into a sweet
sleep. I should think it would be far more like
ly to keep one awake.

20 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL.

I have such a lovely time on the Sabbath med
itating in my own little room. No one to dis
turb me. So quiet. I_speak to the angels,
who the Bible says are near us. They do not
answer me in words, but sweet thoughts come
into my soul. I seem to hear the rustle of their
wings. I speak to God our Father. The whole
earth is full of His goodness. I thank Him that
I live, and move, and have a being. And the
blessed Sunday, like a wreath of love, girds up
my heart for the whole week.

Saturday afternoon is the only period of the
week not devoted to school. On all the other
six days we go at nine A.M., and return at twelve ;
and at two, after dinner, and return at five. This,
with our evening studies, very pleasantly covers
the time, so that we have little chance for idle
ness. At the close of every quarter, which com
prises twelve weeks, we have a vacation of one
week. At first we think only how glad we are ;
but at last how tedious it grows, and how de
lighted we are to get back to our teacher and
companions. Even Saturday afternoon would
seem long, were it not that I have usually some
necessary needle-work for myself or my mother.

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNA

This afternoon mamma kindly permitted me to
join my schoolmates in the amusement of sliding
on the ice. Oh, it was so exhilarating! The
pond was smoothly frozen, and by taking hold of
hands we could go such long courses. The boys
of our class attended us, and were very polite.
When it was nearly time to go home, some of the
most mirthful took it into their heads to run down
a very steep hill partly covered with snow. Down
they came, rushing like avalanches, a boy and
girl, hand in hand. I thought it looked a little
bold and hoydenish, though Henry Howard press-
ingly invited me to go down with him. I be
lieved my mother would not approve of such wild
sports, and refused. Then one of the girls, who
came flying past me, exclaimed, shortening one
of Pope s couplets,

"What can ennoble slaves or cowards?
Not all the blood of all the Howards."

I thought it rather ugly of her, but could not
help laughing. Then, not wishing to set myself
up for too precise an example, I accepted Henry s
hand, and we ran down as swift as any of them.

What a delightful season winter is ! The air
is so pure, and every body s cheeks and lips are
so red. How imperfect the year would be with-

22 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

out it. I wonder why the poets need to be al
ways saying evil things about it. I suspect they
mope too much by the fire, and do not run about
to quicken their blood. Then they fall into the
dumps, and blame the weather, when the fault is
in themselves. If we wrap up properly, and
brave the cold, and keep winter out of our hearts,
I suspect all would be well enough.

Our Preceptor says there are many kinds of
fraud besides taking money, and that one of them
is writing so as not to be read. It is a theft of
time and eyesight, both of which are precious
things. Now I will certainly take pains not to
deceive and trouble my fellow-creatures in this
way. I will endeavor to write with a copper
plate plainness, and not indulge myself in care
less chirography, because I am in a hurry, for that
will help to establish a bad habit.

Wednesday, January 1st, 1812.

My birth-day and the new year meet me at the
same time. This double visit makes both more
interesting. The girls say that none of them
have such a grand date as mine, the beginning of
a century. Yes, on the 1st of January, 1800, I
was a ISTew Year s gift to my mother.

Four thousand three hundred and eighty days
and nights have I lived in this world, each com
prising 24 hours. What an immense stretch of
time ! More days, by three hundred and sev
enty-six, than there are years from the creation
to the Christian era. If I had done all the good
in my power every one of those days, it would
be quite an amount now. To be sure, in my
babyhood I could not have done much more than
learn to live ; but since I have known good from
evil I have been often forgetful and idle.

My dear grandfather mentioned me in his fam
ily prayer this morning so tenderly that tears
filled my eyes. I think I saw them in his also.
May the heavenly Father whom he loves and
serves bless him.

My sweet mother folded me closely to her bo
som, and said, " My daughter, try to make this

24 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

the best year of your life." I will, God being my
helper.

I heard two little boys talking. Said the small
est one,

" I ve got a beautiful house to live in when I m
out doors. It has a green carpet, and a blue and
silver roof."

"Yes," answered the other, "and its builder
is God."

What a hateful thing is bad spelling ! It ruins
the looks of the best writing. Our teacher (I
meant to say Preceptor) thinks so too. He re
quires us to be accurate in every word, but helps
us as much as he can, because he knows the or
thography of our language is difficult, and defies
all rules.

Sometimes he permits us, by way of reward,
to choose sides. That s grand! Just before
school is out at night, two whom he appoints
come forward and choose alternately, just as they
please, from among the scholars. They select
first those who are known as the best spellers,
until the whole are ranged under their leaders
like two hosts going to battle.

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 25

Then, having a difficult lesson, each leader
gives out the words to his regiment, which are to
be spelled distinctly, and without waiting a mo
ment. All hesitation is fatal. Down the dis
comfited one has to sit ! The leader who has
the greatest number left standing when the con
flict is over has the victory. There s sometimes
a little boasting ; and I suppose twould not do
to have this pleasure too often. But it helps us
mightily over hard places, and I dare say that
is the object, as a driver gives his horses a
cheery chirrup when about to draw their load up
a steep hill.

"I wish I could have my own way sometimes,"
said one of the girls as we were coming along
home from school ; " but I can t, because mother
will have hers."

" Is not your mother s way the best ?"
" She thinks so ; but it is different from mine."
" Can t you make your own way the same as
your mother s? Then you d always have your
own way."

"I declare that s smart. Why, no! Don t
you see that would be only just to be ruled al

ways ?"

What if your were traveling in the new coun-
B

26 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL.

tries, and did not know the way, and one who
did was kind enough to show you would not
it be better to follow the guide than to set off by
yourself and get lost ?"

" I don t like your philosophy, madam," said
she ; and so she ran away home.

Now I do most earnestly give thanks that my
mother s will has been always mine, and that I
never think of any thing different. I dare say it
is because she brought me up so, and perhaps
there may have been a time when I would have
liked to battle for my own way ; but if there was,
I can t remember it. The praise is hers, and I
have had the comfort. If I were thinking how I
might rule her, or hide things from her, I should
be miserable. It seems to me one of our greatest
blessings to obey, and rely lovingly on. those who
are wise, and willing to guide us. I would have
repeated the fifth commandment to my school
mate if she had not got so angry and flown
away.

A neighbor said that her two little ones were
going to bed, and, looking at the window, saw it
was dark.

"Where are the stars?" said one.

" Tired with shining," answered the other ;

LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 27

"so ^he cool clouds drew their curtains round,
and they went to sleep."

" Did they go to sleep with the spirits of the
just made perfect ?"

These children had heard their father read the
Bible every morning, and laid up some of its lan
guage.

We have a delightful school-exercise for every
other week instead of a written composition. It
is to collect passages of Scripture on some sub
ject which is given us. We arrange them in the
order they are found in the Bible, and copy them
neatly, and hand them to our Preceptor. If we
happen to select one which does not exactly be
long to the subject, he points it out to us and ex
plains, and his talk is like holy music.

Each one tries to get the greatest number of
texts, and we have a book on purpose to copy
them in, and nothing else. Our last theme was
the prophecies of the coming of our Lord. I was
not aware there were so many, and some of them
are the grandest poetry.

We placed them according to the year in which
they were written. What a wonderful descrip
tion is that in the fifty-third of Isaiah ! It would
seem as if the prophet had looked upon him and
followed his life. "A man of sorrows and ac-

28 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

quainted with grief; despised and rejected of men ;
led as a lamb to the slaughter, and as a sheep be
fore her shearers is dumb, so he opened not his
mouth."

I have learned that sublime chapter by heart,
and love to repeat it silently to myself when I
lie down to sleep.

One of our schoolmates has lost a dear little
brother. When she came back again to school,
looking so sad, and telling us of his last sickness,
we all mourned with her. He was patient in his
pain, and tried to kiss them when his lips were
white and cold in death.

One of the last things that he said was, lifting
up his poor, thin hands, " Oh, pray ! pray, deal-
Lord, don t let poor mamma cry so much, so
much /" There stole a sweet smile over his face
when he left off to speak, as if the angels took
him in their blessed arms.

Owls ! Now what strange creatures they are !
Faces like cats, and round, unwinking eyes. I
wonder why the Athenians chose them as sym
bols of wisdom. Because they look so grave ?
People may be grave and stupid too, I think.

LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 29

But I never can help looking at an owl as long
as I can see him. He is so queer and mysteri
ous, as if his great, fixed stare would turn you
into stone. I used to wish to have one of my
own. Since that, I have heard some things against
them.

I guess they are cruel and hard-natured. They
feed upon living things, and are greedily fond of
little birds. How frightened the poor nurslings
must be, who, expecting their pleasant mother,
see a pair of great, evil eyes looking over the edge
of their nest, and, instead of food, a greedy mon
ster going to cat them !

They catch mice that is not so bad. I hear
they have been seen flying with a snake in their
claws, which they let fall to hurt it the more, and
then, swooping down, clutch it again. Perhaps
that is one of their plays, like their cousin-cats
plaguing a mouse they are going to devour.

I am told they can dive and get fish. I won
der at that, if they can see only in the night. But
a man who had lived where there are many said
he found in a large hollow tree an old owl, with
several fishes he had laid up for his private eating.
So, if he provides beforehand for winter, or any
time of want, he is as wise as the ants.

Gray says, in that beautiful Elegy, which I
have just learned, and shall repeat in school,

30 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

" Save thajt from yonder ivy-mantled tower
The moping owl doth to the moon complain,"

perhaps of some mischievous boy who came to
steal her preserved fish. Who knows but she
had parties sometimes, and made mouse pasties,
and a dessert of dried serpents ? What a terrible
hooting there must be if they had ever a concert !
After all, I wish I knew more of the nature
and habits of owls, and of all the winged crea
tures that God has made.

Our worshipful bench of collegians don t im
prove in the grace of humility. At our usual
Saturday s review of all the weekly studies, they
take much more note of other people s mistakes
than their own. They are so mighty self-satis
fied, too, and boastful. I could not help yester
day just saying to them as they came out of
school, "Va3 vobis ;" whereupon they were ex
ceedingly mad. Drawing together in close con
clave, they seemed to be concocting some venge
ful plan. I hope there s no branch of the Inqui
sition existing among them.

We greatly enjoy our Ancient History. In
some respects, it is our pleasantest study. Our

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 31

recitations give so much to think about, and ask
questions too, which our Preceptor is very kind
to answer when there is time.

How long it was before men learned to go forth
boldly on the waters ! The Bible mentions the
ships of Solomon, almost a thousand years before
Christ, that went to Tarshish, and brought back
"gold and silver, ivory, apes, and peacocks."
Siclon, and Tyre, and Carthage were among the
first of the nations who ventured out upon the
deep. I guess, however, they did not go very far
out of sight of their own coasts, for they had no
compass to guide them, and I doubt whether their
vessels would stand storms.

What a grand description is given of the Tyrian
ships by the Prophet Ezekiel, almost six hundred
years before the birth of Christ ! Masts from the
cedars of Lebanon; benches of ivory; "fine linen,
with broidered work from Egypt, spread forth to
be the sails."

But I should not think any of these beautiful
things would help them in a tempest. They
could not have been strong enough to plow the
great ocean waves.

It was the mariner s compass, in 1322, that in
troduced the world to itself. Then distant climes
knocked for the first time at each other s doors.
Face to face they stood, bringing what they could

32 LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL.

spare, and buying what they wanted. Then com
merce grew up and flourished like a great tree,
shedding golden fruit upon all the nations.

I fancied I heard some talk among my flowers
this morning, and hastily wrote it down :

The Poppy to the Violet spoke,

There in my garden-bed,
" Stoop down," said she, "you noteless thing,

And hide your homely head :"
So, then, to drink the sunbeams up,

Her broad red gown she spread.

But lo ! a beauteous youth went by,

And laid the Poppy low,
Disgusted at her sleepy eye,

And at her flaunting show,
But mark d the modest Violet

Among the grass-blades blow :

And first he touch d it with his lips,

Then laid it on his breast,
And then, between his Bible leaves,

The fragrant flower he pressed,
For the sweet lady whom he loved

Of all the world the best.

We have got just the queerest little child in the
neighborhood, and, I think, the smartest. Her
mother died when she was very young, and she
lives with her grandmother. Both of them were

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL^ 33

highly educated, and have trained her carefully
from the beginning. She has not been much with
other children, so her talk is like a little old wom
an. She seems to have a great idea of the pre
cise meaning of words.

One day she was playing on the carpet with a
book of pictures. A gentleman said to her,

" I hope you ll Tbe careful and not hurt that
nice book."

Fixing her eyes on him, she replied,

" Sir, you should not say hurt. Don t you
know a book can t feel? The right words are,
You must not injure that book."

She had been a good deal annoyed by the cry
ing of a baby that had visited there, and on be
ing asked if she liked children, answered sharply,

"Children? By no means! They are my
decided aversion."

She has a white kitten of which she is very
fond, and a doll that she takes great care of, un
dressing and putting it in its little bed at night,
and dressing it every morning. She was told
she must not wash it, for it would take the paint
from its cheeks. This rather troubles her, for
she says "it would be more beautiful if it was
daily bathed."

Her grandmother asked her which she loved
best, her doll or her cat. She looked from one
B 2

34 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

to the other several times, as if it was a hard
question ; then, wrapping up her doll n a large
shawl, as if to prevent its overhearing, she hug
ged her kitten closely, and, running to her grand
mother, whispered in her ear,

" I do love my cat best ; but, please, don t tell
dolly."

"Why not?"

" I would not for the world hurt her feelings."

What a blessing it is to have such health as
to be able to attend school in all weathers. I
fear that I am not sufficiently grateful for never
being kept at home by sickness. What we al
ways enjoy, like the light, and the air, and the
: water, we sometimes forget to thank God for.
/ We should praise Him continually, that He never
[ forgets us, though we take His blessed gifts with
so little gratitude.

I heard a nice story about one of my school
mates from her aunt. She had been accustomed
to hear her father ask a blessing at the table, and
to be still and reverent during the exercise. When
scarcely three years old she was taken abroad to
spend the day, where they sat down at a table

LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAI 35

loaded with many nice things, and began to eat.
She was bountifully helped, but did not touch the
food, and looked wonderingly and sorrowfully
around. Something had been omitted which she
thought necessary to every repast. Then she
said to the master of the house, "jPeaze, sir, pease
pay" meaning please to pray. Perhaps he did
not understand her broken language, so he took
no notice. Then she folded her little hands, and
bowed her head till the bright curls fell over her
plate, and said distinctly the prayer that her
mother had taught her :

"Now I lay me down to sleep."

There was silence for a few minutes after the
baby-chaplain had done speaking. Then a gray-
haired man who was in the company said,

" Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings
hast Thou ordained praise."

The last day of the year. It seems as if a
good old friend was going away. Many blessed
things did it bring me, for which I praise the
Great Giver, my Father in Heaven.

36 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Friday, January 1st, 1813.

My birth-day again my thirteenth. That
used to be a great era among the ancient Ro
mans, who then gave their sons the toga virilis,
receiving them into the ranks of men. I do not
read that they conferred any distinction on their
daughters when they reached that age. For my
part, I should not consider it any favor to be hur
ried into womanhood before the time. I like girl
hood better ; for, if you don t have as much liber
ty, there is more chance to learn, and I want to get
all the knowledge I can, it makes one so happy.

I wonder if I could not find thirteen events or
facts worth remembering to distinguish my birth
day. I take such pleasure in dates and corre
spondent numbers. Let s see :

1. At thirteen the Jewish youth were accus
tomed to make public resolutions of good conduct
amid the prayers of righteous men.

2. At thirteen the garment of manhood was be
stowed on the boys of ancient Eome.

3. There are thirteen clauses in the creed of
the Jews.

4. Thirteen states which, thirty-seven years
since, formed an alliance to resist British power,

LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL. 37

and bravely persisted till they won the liberties
of our united and happy country.

5. Thirteen kings there were in England from
the fall of the Saxon dynasty to the forcible ac
cession of the house of York, under Edward IV.

6. Cranmer was thirteen years old when he
entered Cambridge University, a good scholar,
afterward an archbishop and a martyr.

7. Thirteen years was King Solomon in build
ing his own palace.

8. In the thirteenth year of the reign of Josiah,
Jeremiah commenced his prophecy.

9. Thirteen cubits was the length of the gate
of the grand temple described in the vision of
Ezekiel.

10. There are thirteen pieces in the ancient
game of hazard or bowls, at which our Indians,
in the early settlement of the country, used to
play madly till they lost every thing.

11. Thirteen lunar months to the year.

12. Thirteen to a baker s dozen, I ve been told,
but don t know why.

13. Here I m put to my trumps for the thir
teenth date ; so I ll add my own thirteenth birth
day on this first day of January, 1813, it being
three hundred and twenty-one years from the
discovery of America by Christopher Columbus,
and twenty-four since the establishment of the

38 LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL.

government of these United States. His Excel
lency James Madison is our fourth president,
being now in the fourth year of his administra
tion.

May Heaven guide our happy country, and
make us a firmly united and Christian people.

Methinks I wrote somewhat flippantly on my

birth-day. God forgive me if it was so. I ought

to be humble, for- I am very far from the high

standard that I hope to reach. But oh ! I am so

happy ! This world is so beautiful ; my friends

f are so kind ; my mind is so thankful for the new

! ideas that enter and flow through it like a great

well-spring of delight. What can I do but bless

my dear Father in Heaven, and rejoice in his

mercy !

The class in Butler s Analogy having nearly
finished their last" review of that good and very
deep book, our Preceptor rewards us for attention
to it by sometimes reading to us in Locke s Es
say on the Human Understanding. He explains
it, and examines us in what we think about it,
so we are obliged to fix our minds closely on
what he reads. He makes it interesting, as, in-

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 39

deed, lie does every thing that he teaches us. It
seems this was a favorite book with President
Edwards when he was a little boy. I suppose
it gave its character to his mind and his future
remarkable writings. He was born in 1703, en
tered Yale College at twelve, and graduated at
sixteen, the age at which young men nowadays
begin their college studies.

It was a good reply which one of our soldiers
made to a British general in the war of 1776.
He was taken prisoner after one of our battles,
and carried into the presence of Lord Cornwallis,
a proud and pompous man. Looking on the fall
en foe with a frowning brow, he asked haugh
tily,

" Where is the baggage of your party ?"

" Out of your reach, sir."

" What do you mean ?"

" I mean that the Americans are between you
and that."

This is something like the spirit of the ancient
Spartans, who said, when their enemies required
them to lay down their arms, "Come and take
them."

40

Our Preceptor says distinguished people almost
always keep journals, and that, to feel the full ben
efit of the habit, we should never omit a day. I
have no prospect of belonging to the distingue,
and as for writing every single day in a journal,
it is quite out of the question. I think the ad
vantage, if there is any, must be in the writ
ing part alone, for to read the daily record of our
proceedings would be but too tedious and stu
pid.

We often have company in our school, and who
ever comes is sure to notice one thing. By the
side of the Preceptor, at his desk on the raised
platform, sits a pupil, to whom he turns with def
erence, and sometimes consults in a low voice.
In the morning, after prayers, when he reads aloud
to us the Hules, so that none may say they did
not know them, this same personage pronounces
from a written paper the annexed penalties for
breaking each separate one. During the day he
watches with Argus-eyes every misdemeanor, and
if any heedless creature leaves a seat without lib
erty, whispers to another, etc., out comes the cab
alistic pencil, and on a large slate, containing the
list of all the names in the order they stood the
preceding day, down goes the offender in the class

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 41

one, two, or three, or to the bottom, according to
the degree of guilt. The scholars, at entering
and leaving the room, must "bow or courtesy to
this remarkable viceroy as much as to the Prin
cipal.

Now how came they to this place of honor?
This is the way. One of our daily lessons is a
page in the Dictionary, with the orthography,
meaning, and grammatical character of each word.
The last exercise, before the prayer that dismisses
us to our homes, is this lesson. We all stand in
a row, being called one by one, according to the
order on the Monitor s slate. If any scholar miss
es, either in spelling or definition, the word is
passed onward, and the successful one goes above
the rest. Whoever is at the head of the class
when the lesson is over is Monitor for the next
day. The last office of the one in power is to
write the order of the class on the large slate,
placing his or her own the last.

Oh, but to go down and get up again is so fine !
Good scholarship and good conduct help you
along mighty fast ; and then, if there should hap
pen to be no failure any where, which is hardly
to be expected, you will be at the head in twenty-
five nights by regular rotation. Yet I usually
get up a precious deal faster than that ; and then
at the end of the term the pupil who has been

42 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Monitor the greatest number of times is to have
a nice book for a premium.

Whoever should continue this course two or
three years would stand a chance to know the
true meaning of a good many words in our lan
guage. I think this is a right cunning plan ; for
though the orthographical lessons, going into the
structure and root of words as they do, are hard,
every scholar is fierce to learn them ; and it is
quite wise, too, that the magisterial office of Mon
itor can be held but a single day. The power
and honor are so great that they would puff us
up, very likely, as "Mistress Gilpin, careful soul,"
when she went to ride, would not let the carriage
come within three doors of her house, "lest folks
should say that she was proud."

A beautijul_legend-o-the Turks our Preceptor
toldus in one of his pleasant talks, where we al
ways get instruction. He indulges us in them
when the business of the day is over, if we have
pleased him by our conduct.

Every man, say they, is attended by two an-
onTns right hand, the other on his left.

When he does a good action, the angel looking
over the right shoulder smiles on him, writes it
down, and seals it with rose-colored wax. When

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 43

he commits a fault, the angel on the left writes it
down, but does not seal it. He lingers with a
sorrowful face. He waits until sunset ; then, if
the man repents if he says, " O Allah! I have
done wrong," and gives alms to the poor, the an
gel washes out the writing with perfumed water,
and presses on his forehead the kiss of peace.

But if he does not repent if the daylight fades
away and the darkness comes, and he has not
prayed Allah to pardon him, nor given bread to
the hungry, or water to the thirsty, or garments
to the naked, the record is sealed up for the judg
ment.

I am sure we Christians might be made better,
if we would, by this Moslem moral.

It is an interesting tradition of the ancient As
syrians, that Semiramis, when she was cast out
in the woods a helpless babe, was surrounded by
doves, who pitied and cooed over her, and were
wondering what food they could go and get the
poor infant, when a shepherd came and took her
to his own hut.

She did not show any very dovelike proper
ties after she became a queen and a warrior,
though Romulus always resembled his wolf-nurse.
I wonder if the ballad of the robins covering the

44 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

children in the woods with leaves did not come
in the beginning from this old fable of the doves
and baby.

Somebody had given our boy-neighbor a small
bow and arrow. He was perfectly delighted.
As I passed to school, I saw him on the door
step trying to take aim.

" Whom are you going to shoot, Johnny ?"

"You."

" Me ! Then you could not come to see me
any more Saturday afternoons."

" Well, I sha n t shoot you ; but I wish Satan
would just heave in sight."

"Why?"

4 < Cause then I d shoot him dead, and he couldn t
do any more evil."

Methought the child had a patriotism as large
as the world to wish to rid it of its great enemy.

He had been a good deal troubled by the rain
a while since, which had kept him from his out
door plays. His mother was reading aloud in
the Bible, not long after, the passage that speaks
of sending rain both upon the good and the un
thankful.

"I don t think much of that," said he, inter
rupting her with his commentary. " I expect to

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 45

be one of the good people myself, but I don t want
to be washed away by the rain."

I have had a party. Can it be possible ? I m
sure I never expected to ; but my sweet mother
proposed it herself. She thought it proper that
I should pay this attention to my friends, several
of whom had invited me, and that it would please
my grandfather, who loves the young. She said
the entertainment must be simple, and break up
at nine o clock.

Of course, we were to have an early tea, and our
old colored woman was delighted at the thought
of serving it round. How kind and busy was my
dear mother to see that the biscuits, cake, and
sliced ham should be nice and in the best order.

All the scholars were invited, and scarcely any
failed to come. How well and neatly they look
ed, dressed in their very best. Excellent man
ners, too, most of them had. At this I was sur
prised, having seen some behave very differently
in school. It pleased me much that, after enter
ing the room, they each went up and bowed and
courtesied to my good grandfather. He looked
beautifully, seated in his arm-chair, his hair, which
is not very white for his years, brushed so smooth
and shining.

46 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL.

" I like to see young people," said lie,, as he
took them by the hand; U I don t know why
they should not like to see me too."

" Indeed, we do, sir," they answered with one
voice. Then some of them gathered round him,
and asked for stories of the Revolution and of
Washington. After gratifying them a while, he
requested them to sing a song or tell a story.
That used to be the way in the circles of old times.

They tried to do as well as they could, out of
respect to his wishes, but soon fell back into a
variety of pleasant games. We played similes,
and history characters, and "what s my thought
like ?" and made words out of letters printed on
little squares of pasteboard, which we gave to
each other to find out, having the right to ask
three questions about the word when it was dis
covered, and whoever made a mistake in answer
ing must pay a forfeit. That s a right good game
to review studies by. There s fun in it too.

Then we took to telling riddles and conun
drums. I am not very good at deciphering them,
but some of the girls are as quick as the light.

"What is it," said Henry Howard, " that gives
a cold, cures a cold, and pays the doctor ?"

When some one answered "a draught" or
" draft," I wondered I could not have thought of
it myself. My mother asked, "Why is a woman

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 47

diligent at her needle like the great enemy of
souls mentioned in the parable of the sower?"
The right answer was, "Because she sews tears
(tares) while others sleep."

" What said the cat when she came out of the
ark?" was another. And a great laugh there
was when Henry Howard replied in the Irish
brogue,

"E er a rat here," sounding broadly like Ar
arat. So swiftly fled the evening that we were
amazed when the church bell began to ring for
nine o clock. Then all took a respectful leave of
grandfather and mother, and told me how much
they had enjoyed their visit.

I could not but feel ashamed that I had so often
been displeased and satirical at our class of col
lege students when I saw how dignified they could
appear. Quite a number of the pupils, too, who
had never been distinguished for scholarship, I
found, were so by fine manners and attention to
older people. So I felt more strongly than ever
that there are various kinds of goodness in the
world, and that we should try to do justice to all,
and not expect every body to follow one pattern.

When I kissed and bade my precious mother
good-night, I thanked her for her indulgence and
thoughtful care to make me happy, and was de
lighted that she and my grandfather both express-

48 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

ed their approval of my conduct and manners
throughout the evening.

"Social feelings and virtues," said he, "are
essential to every well-balanced character."

Truly does he exemplify his own precept. He
loves all mankind, and so enters into the pleasures
of the young that there is no shadow of the cold
ness or crossness of age about him.

The examination at the close of our scholastic
year is soon to take place. Four terms we have,
of twelve weeks each, with a vacation of one week
between. I think that is a nice division of time,
keeping us close to our studies, but allowing a
little rest. Our Principal always takes care not
to press the mind too much, and to make it pleas
ant to get knowledge, so that we do not grow
weary in it or of it. We love his gentle rule,
and love to be together, so that even our short
vacations seem long enough, and too long.

At the end of every term is a review of our
studies, at which the parents are present, but at
the completion of the year is a more thorough ex
amination. Then every pupil has liberty to in
vite three friends, and the Preceptor ad libif m,
so we shall expect a full audience, though a se
lect one. We shall adorn our room with vases

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 49

and garlands of flowers. Our Preceptor says we
must not spend too much time in arranging them,
but simply present them as a sweet welcome to
our friends, and make the principal entertainment
our own faultless recitations, and good conduct
and manners. How earnest he is for our improve
ment, and how his fine, expressive face lights up
with smiles when we do well.

What a glorious chapter is the fifteenth of the
first of Corinthians ! When I read it by myself
in my chamber, slowly, and musing upon every
word, it lifts up my soul as if an angel spoke.
Portions of it have been committed to memory
from time to time, and last Sunday I finished
learning the whole. I felt happier for it through
the day. Now, when I lie down at night, I can
repeat it to myself, provided I do not fall asleep
before I reach the end ; so I take holy thoughts
with me into my dreams.

What a beautiful effect it has in the burial serv
ice of the Episcopal Church ! After that fine train
of reasoning, and the terrific assertion, "Then
are all that have fallen asleep in Christ perished,"
like "what a music-strain it breaks forth, " But
now is Christ risen from the dead, and become
the first fruits of them that slept." Christian

50

faith and resolve gather new strength from its
grand close, "Wherefore, my beloved brethren,
be ye steadfast, immovable, always abounding in
the work of the Lord, forasmuch as ye know that
your labor is not in vain in .the Lord."

We school-girls have been talking about how
far back we can remember. There are a variety
of opinions. Some say till four years of age,
others three, and others even earlier. It is diffi
cult to distinguish between what has been told
us and what is entirely the work of memory.
Strange or terrifying things may make a very
early impression.

Snatches of scenes and glimpses of persons I
remember when a very young child ; but they are
vague, and mixed up like a dream. Besides, I
am not certain that some of them were not de
scribed to me. Of one thing, however, I am sure,
and that is a clear remembrance of the great total
eclipse of the sun when I was six years, five
months, and sixteen days old.

It took place on Monday morning, June 17th,
1806. The washer- woman, at her tub in the
kitchen, was rather cross because I wanted to
smoke pieces of glass at her fire.

" Miss Lucy, you re a gettin in my way every

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 51

minute. My clothes is on a bilin, as you see,
arid it s ten o clock, and I can t be hindered so."

"Please just let me smoke this last piece a
little more, to look at the eclipse with."

" Clipse! What a fuss starin arter clipses!
I ve seen em ever since I was as high as a hen."

But my controversy soon ceased, for the won^
derful sight began. The moon moved slowly be
fore the face of her master, and, as she proceeded,
the trees and grass assumed a melancholy hue.
A ring of brightness was preserved, but growing
narrower and narrower, until the usurping satel
lite wholly covered the great, blessed sun. Then
the earth looked dismal, and the birds hushed
their song ; the herds left off grazing, and stood
in solemn silence ; my chickens flew upon their
roost ; the summer air grew chill, and a strange
vapor floated over the ground. Here and there
might be seen a pale, frightened-looking star, as
if it knew it had no business there.

Oh, how sad it seemed, and yet sublime ! But
the parent sun pitied the earth, and suddenly
broke forth, methought much faster than he dis
appeared. Madam Moon fell into her right place
again, and took the stars with her. All Xaturc
rejoiced at the recovered noon-day. Astronomers
say that such an eclipse will not take place again
for many hundred years.

52 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Friends of mine, who were traveling, passed at
this time through the settlement of a tribe of In
dians. They all came forth to gaze on this sud
den change, not knowing that it was to take place ;
but the pride of their race withheld them from ex
pressing fear, or even surprise. Though they
could not turn their eyes away from it, they just
said in the coldest, haughtiest way, " They d seen
such things before" which, of course, was not the
case.

We are through with the great yearly exami
nation of all our studies. It was not as bad a
time as I expected. We all appeared in the neat
est dresses, and the school-room and halls were
beautifully clean. When the people first began
to come was the worst time. The minister, and
the deacons, and the doctor looked so grave, I
thought I should suffocate if I had to speak be
fore them ; but when my sweet mother, and my
grandfather in his serene old age, took their seats
and turned their eyes toward me, I said to my
self, "I ll die before I put you to shame."

So I determined to speak distinctly whatever
I had to say, and not plague any who took the
trouble to come and hear us. After we begun,
every study brought zeal with it, and we forgot

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 53

ourselves. The questions were given and an
swered rapidly. If any one hesitated a moment
it was passed to the next. I inly prayed that
the hateful word " the next" might not be spoken
to me, and God granted my prayer.

I firmly "believe that no man on earth besides
our Preceptor could have gone thoroughly through
such a variety of studies in so short a time. Be
ing himself the sole teacher in every one, and ac
customed in our weekly reviews to examine us
without a book, and having always trained us to
promptness of reply, and to feel it disgraceful to
have a question passed, he went on with a clear
ness of mind and rapidity that seemed to be
shared or imitated by the scholars. He took not
up a moment of time with remarks to the au
dience, but simply said to them, with his pecul
iarly graceful, courteous bow, " Ladies and gen
tlemen, we welcome you, and will all do our best."

The hardest part of the whole was to rise and
read our own compositions. I do not know why
we should not learn to do difficult things as well
as agreeable ones, for life is not always to be fill
ed with easy lessons. I remembered that dear
grandfather did not hear perfectly unless one
spoke slowly and distinctly. I thought it a pity
if I could not take a little trouble for him, and
was gratified, when we got home, to be told that

54 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

lie heard every syllable. A portion only were se
lected for this exercise, and a few of the boys to
declaim, lest the audience might be wearied.
They did not appear to be, and our close was
beautiful. Hand in hand, like a circle of twenty-
five brothers and sisters, we sang, "Lord, dismiss
us with thy blessing."

To-morrow morning we meet for a little while
to take leave and receive prizes. How sorrowful
it is that our Preceptor returns no more. He bids
us farewell, to commence his theological course in
a distant city. He does not know of the gifts
we have prepared for him. All of us have united
and bought him a fine edition of Shakspeare, his
favorite poet, and a -large, beautiful Bible, having
in gold letters upon its cover his name, as the
gift of his grateful pupils. So hereafter, in his
own home and his family devotions, lie will re
member us.

We have met and parted, and I hold in my
hand the medal toward which our efforts for a
year have turned. It seems as if I were not
writing the truth. Have I deserved this prize ?
Indeed, I have tried for it, but have thought for
some time past that two or three others had a bet
ter chance of obtaining it. I supposed I should

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 55

have the Monitor s premium, having filled that of
fice the greatest number of times during the last
term, but had requested it might be given to my
dear friend Mary Ann, who was next me on the
list, because I had received it before. I believed
myself a competitor for the credit-mark premium,
but this we never know until the final counting
of our Preceptor, who gives us a mark for ev
ery correct and audible answer in all our studies,
copying them from the Monitor s slate at night,
and placing their amount every Saturday in his
book opposite our names. But, then, every in
fraction of the rules sweeps off a number of these
marks, so that we can seldom tell how we stand
in this matter till quite the last. However, I had
about settled down that I had as good a pros
pect here as any one, and that the medal would
be of difficult decision between two or three older
pupils.

When it was suddenly announced to be mine
by undoubted merit, a strange feeling came over
me a mingled shock of embarrassment and grati
tude. I did not see clearly, and when it was my
duty to go forward and receive it, a sort of night
mare seized my limbs, and it seemed impossible
to move. I believed I could not speak, but by
some means or other my thought became a mur
mur that I did not deserve it; whereupon our

56 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Preceptor cried "A vote," and every hand was
raised. Then he kindly came toward me, and
threw the chain of the medal around my neck
while I was blind with tears.

But oh ! the parting with him ; it was so bit
ter to us all. He tenderly counseled us about
our future conduct, and that we should early and
firmly give our hearts to our Father in Heaven.
We shall not soon forget his beautiful quotation
from Cicero: "I can not think any one in his
right mind who is destitute of religion." To the
precept of the heathen he added the impressive
words of the Psalmist, "Tp-day, if ye will hear
His voice, harden not your hearts." Thon he
read the twenty-second of Acts, that affecting
parting of St. Paul with the flock at Miletus,
and, kneeling down, committed us all in prayer
to Almighty God for the last time.

The last time ! And now he is gone, and we
shall see him no more, all of us together as a fam
ily, in this world. The Lord bless him whereso
ever he shall go. He has done a good work for
us, and been faithful. When we come to die, I
believe w r e shall count him among our best, truest
benefactors. The Lord bless him and his teach
ings to us.

57

I am so pleased that the scholars are not angry
at me for having the medal. I felt almost afraid
to meet them after the school was broken up. I
think in my own private mind that Harriette
should have had it. She writes better composi
tions ; and there are two of the older boys who
are certainly more thorough classics. I have
taken rather more pains, perhaps, to be diligent
and obedient, and, I suppose, all such things were
taken into view in according the reward for a
whole year. But as to the matter of talents and
scholarship, I do not believe I stood first, and I
guess others think so too.

But they are all so good. It brings tears into
my eyes to think of it. Several have called on
purpose to express their satisfaction, and others
that I have met crossed the street to take me by
the hand and say they were glad. Especially
Harriette, who is in so many respects my superior,
said, " Sweet Lucy, it is your right, for I am old
er than you, and if I happen to know a few more
things, that don t alter the case ; so come here and
kiss me."

Then Henry Howard must needs call out, in
his own queer way, " Lady mine ! you have fair
ly won."

I do feel happy, though in a measure humbled,
by this reward, and truly thankful to Plim from
C 2

58 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

whom cometh every good gift, for enabling me to
obtain it, if, indeed, I have in any measure de
served it.

Sadness gathers over me when I think of the
farewell of our kind Instructor to his pupils.
Very strong are the ties that bind our hearts to
those who lead us in the paths of knowledge. He
was not content with just imparting to us what
we find in books. He called into action all our
better powers, and tried to fit us to do our duty
in the sight of God. He wished us to love each
other, and to love all mankind. He taught us to
reverence the Sabbath, and, while we enlarged our
minds with new ideas, to feed the heart with right
affections, and the soul with the bread that came
down from heaven.

Therefore we so loved him, because he daily
made us wiser and happier. Methinks I shall
never cease to mourn the loss of such a teacher
and friend.

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 59

Saturday, January 1st, 1SH.

The vanishing week brings me a birth-day.
Methinks it throws it at my head, like a snow
ball, with an icy hand. But I receive it gladly,
as a token of good, from Him who, sitting above
the clouds and the cold, sends it to me.

Though Winter ranges o er the plains,

And strips their verdure bare,
And with a withering touch congeals

What once was bright and fair,
And strikes the little songsters mu;o,

Or drives them far away,
And seals the brooklet s fringed lip

That sang at summer s day,
He shall not touch my simple strain

That flows devoid of art,
There is no frost-work on my lyre,

No winter in my heart.

I am perusing the Sacred Volume by myself,
in course, and was struck with the great beauty
of a passage that occurred in the one hundred and
sixth Psalm, my portion for this morning: "Re
member me, O Lord, with the favor that Thou
bearest unto thy people : oh ! visit rs.Q with Thy
salvation ; that I may see the good of Thy cho-

60 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

sen, that I may rejoice in the gladness of Thy na
tion, that I may glory with Thine inheritance."

I have great comfort with my friend Mary Ann.
We are side by side in most of our studies, and
always one in heart. I have seen her more than
usual during this vacation, and love her better
than ever. She is like a sister, as far as I know
what a sister would be ; at any rate, she is one
to me. When we enter school, as our seats are
not together, we always smile upon each other ;
and if any thing goes hard in our lessons, we look
into each other s loving eyes, and seem to get
light and strength. After school, if we are not
obliged to hasten home, I walk with her to her
door one day, and she with me the next. She is
so beautiful, and her thick, raven hair so glossy.
Sometimes I think she is an angel. I wish we
might go to school together all the days of our
lives.

Some of the girls laugh at us. Others say,
they wonder what we find in each other so very
remarkable. They wish" to give us names sig
nificant of our preference. One of the boys said
that neither sacred or classic story gave an in
stance of female friendship, so that the only way
would be to form a feminine to David and Jona-

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 61

than, or Castor and Pollux, or Beaumont and
Fletcher. So, thinking himself very witty, he
exclaimed, "For the present, we can do no bet
ter than to call them Miss David and Miss Jon
athan. But which of them, do you suppose, will
brandish the sling and stone ? for I don t believe
either, for all they re such famous scholars, would
have the pluck to kill Goliath."

Alas ! alas ! what shall I do ? It is decided
that I must not go to school any more. How
can I write such words ? How can I believe
them ?

People have been talking to mother. They
say I am a good scholar in French and in Latin,
in Algebra, History, and all the common branch
es, and that there s no more for me to learn. Tis
not true. I am just a beginner. To be sure, I ve
taken pains to get my lessons well. I wish I had
not. I wish I had made mistakes at the public
examination. I wish I had mumbled when I read
or spoke, so that they could not have heard me.

I wonder if this does not come from getting
the medal. I d rather never have had it, nor any
of my other prizes.

Grandfather says, when he was young, the
women did not go to school so much, and were

62 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL.

better housekeepers, and had better health. I
don t see why their housekeeping, or their health
either, should be helped by being dunces. " You
polish and polish," he says to mother, when talk
ing about my education, "but will the founda
tion be stronger ?" Oh dear I I don t wish to
hear any of their arguments to this end. I ex
pected to have been a pupil much longer. I feel
as if I knew nothing yet as I ought to know.

Every thing has two sides. A clear mind
ought to look upon both. Now about this mis
erable matter of leaving school so young. I have
fully bemoaned myself. Is not there comfort to
be found somewhere ? " If a bee has stung us,"
says an old writer, "we may as well hunt after
the honey."

Our adored Preceptor is going away. He un
derstood all our characters and loved us. Per
haps some one will take his place who may do
neither. It would be sad to see a stranger in his
seat. So it is a good time to leave when he
leaves.

I need not forsake studying. Is not the whole
world of books before me ? Besides, I have some
thing new to learn, the domestic science of mak
ing home happy. It belongs to my sex, and

JOURNAL. 63

has many details and an unending scope. One
need not be ashamed of it, for it well employs
both mind and heart.

Now I can have time to help my darling mother.
There is the strong consolation. If I can relieve
her from the slighest care if I can come with my
young arm to the aid of that which so -tenderly
embraced me when a helpless infant if I can see
her, when sad or weary, turning to me as a useful
assistant, I shall be grateful and grieve no more.

Many stories of the Revolutionary War my
good grandfather knows, which are much more
interesting for his having borne a part in those
stirring times. Love of country seemed then to
fill every bosom. He belonged to the first com
pany in his native state that sprang up and left
their homes at the news that blood was shed at
Lexington.

In one of the neighboring villages an aged ne
gro servant came into the house, saying,

"What for e drum beat? No trainin-day,
no town-meetin, but e drum beat."

Some doubt being expressed of the fact, he
went out again, and, returning hastily, exclaimed,

" I wish Pompey drop down dead if e great
drum don t beat."

64 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL.

In his steps came the son, the sole hope of the
family.

"Father, please to reach me down the gun.
Mother, put me up some bread and cheese. The
regulars have shot down our people at Lexing
ton. I must go."

There was no holding back of their treasure.
The lips of the parents pronounced the words of
blessing, and he set off on his journey of more
than a hundred miles to peril his young life in the
"high places of the field."

Once, while "Washington was engaged in su
perintending the building of a fort, a flag of truce
was sent from the British. He left the timbers,
and stones, and toiling soldiers, to take the mes
sage of the envoy.

The time of dinner arrived, and the stranger
was invited to partake. It was simply boiled
pork, with the vegetables of the country, brought
on in a large tub. No apology was made. Each
man was requested to seek out a clean chip for
his plate, and partake. This they did cheerfully,
and with hearty appetite.

He who bore the flag of truce said on his re
turn, "I thought, until now, that the rebels would
be easily subdued; but men who are willing to
do as I saw them do can never be conquered."

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 65

There was something of the spirit of Rome in
her best days, and, what was better still, that
Christian reliance on the God of battles, and that
belief in the righteousness of their cause, that led
on through every hardship to victory. So said
my venerable grandfather, and so I believe.

Dear mother says the spirit of order is essen
tial to all good housekeeping. I wish to begin
at the right end, and learn it like any other sci
ence. " Order is Heaven s first law," said Pope.
Then it ought to be ours, if we expect to get to
heaven, and feel at home there.

I am to have certain departments in the house
committed to my care. Simple enough they
seem, and when I am quite au fait in them I
shall go higher. Besides the regular work of the
family, my mother has a particular employment
assigned for each day of the week, and our clever
colored woman has thus become quite systematic.

I shall try, also, to fix my own hours in con
formity with her plans, and my seasons for read
ing, writing, needle-work, and social intercourse.
It will be beautiful, I am sure. Thus, every
day, I hope to see that something useful has been
done ; every week, that something new has been
learned ; every month, that a good advance has

66 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

been made ; every season and year, that I become
more what I ought to be what I shall wish I
had been when I make up the account of life.
My heavenly Father, I look to Thee for wisdom
and strength to persevere.

What funny mistakes children make about
words ! A little sister of one of my friends had
been taught to say at night, as a religious exer
cise,

" Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord my soul to keep," &c.

She had heard some animals described, and
among them the lama, and, from resemblance in
the sound of the tfiird and fourth words in the
first line, thought it was the name of this quad
ruped. So, after a while, says she, when going to
bed, "Mamma, I m awful tired of always saying
Now I lamaf won t it do once in a while to say,
" Now I camel down to sleep? "

I begin to like knitting very much. I find I
can knit and read at the same time. It is mighty
interesting to do two things at once. In the long
evening, by a bright fire, I knit at my mother s
side, and learn of her to shape a stocking, which

LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL^ \ <>7

is quite an art. Grandfather says there was an
old adage that " they who knit their own stock
ings never came to poverty." I suppose it meant
that the habits of industry and economy thus
cherished would be a protection against beggary
and want.

I have a great desire to know something about
cookery, not because the French call it a fine art,
but because it makes people happy at the table,
and has a great deal to do with health. Heavy
bread and puddings, meat half roasted, or fried up
like shot, I am sure hurt people s stomachs, and
temper too. There shall be no such things in my
house when I have one ; so I must learn now
how long different kinds of meat, fish, and vege
tables require to be exposed to heat, that I may
teach others. Mamma says she will instruct me
how various favorite dishes are composed, and I
am to have a book of my own, in which to write
the rules and recipes of all that I make with my
own hands. I don t see why it won t be as nice
as learning a new language, and about as exten
sive too, if one only gives their mind to it. In
one way it seems to be better, for you might de
cline nouns, and conjugate verbs, and interest no
body but yourself ; whereas, if you bring forward

68 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

a light cake or a well-browned chicken, there will
likely be pleasant words and smiles to repay you.

A new thing has been learned to-day. It
makes me very happy. There was a large wheel
in the garret, and grandfather said he wished me
to spin upon it, for it made a peculiar kind of
music, which in early days was pleasant to his
ear. Then I began turning it round at a great
rate, but he said "not so." My mother produced
some long, white rolls of wool, like the softest
silk, and instructed me how to draw out a thread
evenly from them, turning the wheel with judg
ment to give it consistence ; then, when two or
three threads are put together, and slightly twist
ed, it is in a fit state to make durable stockings.
It would please me very much to knit a pair or
two for dear grandfather of my own spinning.
The exercise is so exhilarating, too. As soon as
I was able to manage the machine, I sang invol
untarily from lightness of heart. It is said that
people have been cured of pulmonary weakness
by spinning at the great wheel, so salutary is its
action to the chest, as well as other sets of mus
cles. Some old writer has christened it " Hy-
geia s harp." I do not intend to be ashamed of
its use, though it may be rather out of fashion ;

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 69

and, if my mother consents, should like to keep it
in action an hour in each day, provided I can find
enough to spin. Flannel sheets are thus made,
which old and feeble people find comfortable in
the winter ; also cotton may be spun upon it, as
well as what is hatcheled out of flax, which is
economically converted, I am told, into table
cloths and towels for the kitchen, with other
coarse and durable fabrics.

I have now more time to get acquainted with
mother s pensioners. Old Mrs. Dean lives in a
very small, cold house. She is more than seventy.
All the family have to support them is what is
earned by her daughter, who goes out to washing,
scouring, and the hardest work. While she is
away, the grandmother takes care of the children
as well as she can. The oldest, Nancy, nine
years old, lost the use of her lower limbs by the
scarlet fever, and is able only to help a little with
her poor, thin hands. Then there are two boys,
three and four years old, full of health, and just
as rude as they can be. A tight thing it is for
the old person and the feeble girl to keep them in
any sort of order. Their father went away two
years ago, and has not been heard from since.
Perhaps he was no great comfort to the family

70 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL.

when he was with them, as he liked drinking bet
ter than work, and used sometimes to come home
as bad and fierce as a grizzly bear, and drive them
all out of the house. Mamma said I might take
a nice, nourishing soup to them if I would make
it myself. This was a double pleasure, and so,
asking directions of her and the colored woman,
I proceeded as follows :

A large piece of beef containing a marrow-bone,
and which is, I believe, called a hock, was boiled
the whole afternoon, carefully taking off whatever
rose to the top ; then it was poured out to cool.
In the morning the oleaginous part was removed,
and likewise the sediment at the bottom, in which
were small .fragments of bone. Returning it to
the vessel, which had been nicely cleansed, it was
permitted to boil gently and steadily until about
an hour before it was to be used. The bones
were then taken out, a quantity of carrots, turnips,
and potatoes, cut like dice, added, with a little
cabbage and celery cut small ; some flour, brown
ed at the fire, and mixed evenly without lumps,
put in, to thicken and give it color, with salt and
pepper sufficient to flavor it. It was a real cold
day when Amy went to help me carry it, taking
also a couple of loaves of her nice bread. Poor
Mrs. Dean sat shivering when we went in, for
there was but little fire. When she had tasted

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 71

two or three spoonfuls of the nutritious food, light
came to her eye, and she said, " God bless you,
my dear young lady." I could scarcely help cry
ing for joy. Feeble Nancy received a large saucer
full, for the distance was so short that we got it
there quite warm, and seemed comforted as she
cowered over the hearth, where were a few embers.
The two little ragamuffins, who had been pitch
ing each other into the snow, came in for a plen
tiful share, dispatching soup and bread in a mar
velous manner. " That s right good," said they,
smacking their lips; "give us some more on t."
I told them to make a bow to their grandmother,
and thank her for their dinner. " Ta n t her n,"
said they. But I insisted that they should make
her a bow, and showed them how to bend their
stiff backs, at which they seemed, in the end,
mightily entertained. I am going over once or
twice a week to teach Nancy to read, she having
never had health to go to school, and then I se
cretly contemplate instructing these semi-barba
rians a little, at least in the alphabet of civiliza
tion.

Though grandfather is very much pleased with
my interest in household matters, he does not
wish me to lay aside my studies. He expressed

72 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

a fear lest I should forget what I had acquired at
school, especially the languages ; so I have trans
lated for him to-day a part of one of the Georgics,
and some passages from the ^Eneid. I could not
but observe that he gave more entire attention to
the former than to the latter, though it was a
stirring portion of the second book, describing
the conflagration of Troy. This convinced me
that, though he had been so long a military man,
his tastes were peaceful. Doubtless he became
a soldier from duty, when his country struggled
for life, but his heart was with Nature and rural
tilings. He was delighted with this little clas
sical exercise, and desired me to repeat it three
times a week, appointing the hour. His own ex
cellent memory seems to remain unimpaired ; but
I see that he takes pains to keep it in action, not
only by recurring to what he learned in youth,
but by committing something verbatim almost
every day, if only a few lines of poetry. If every
aged person would be equally careful in exercis
ing their memory, I think they might prevent its
decay. After the reading, when we had talked a
little about Virgil, he repeated to me one of the
versions of his epitaph, which pleased him by its
concise narration of facts :

"I sang flocks, heroes, tillage : Mantua gave
Me life ; Brundusium, death ; Naples, a grave."

73

I never much liked William tlie Conqueror,
nor, indeed, any of the Norman line. My sym
pathies have been with the Saxons. It was ty
rannical in the new lords to tear down their
houses and plant great forests to hunt in, and let
the growling wild beasts in where the children
grew. Then they guarded their selfish pleasures
by such severe laws, putting out the eyes of who
ever pursued any game without permission, though
they had so little idea of justice that he who kill
ed one of his fellow-creatures might get off by pay
ing a fine. William laid waste the country for
some thirty miles, to make the new forest near his
palace at Winchester ; drove the poor inhabitants
from their dwellings, and gave them no compen
sation. I always thought it was right that his
son, William Rufus, should have been slain in
that very wilderness they were so proud of, in
stead of the deer that he was himself hunting.
Those Norman kings ! those Norman kings !

With their stern and haughty port,
They crush d the life from a thousand homes

For the sake of their savage, sport.
For the sake of hunting the boar and hare,

With uproar of horns and cries,
They put out the fire from a thousand hearths,

That thickets and dells might rise.
No more those humble roof-trees smiled,
Nor the mead like amber flow d

D

74 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

But the conquer d Saxon shuddering wept
O er the wreck of his loved abode.

I was glad to find that old Mrs. Dean had a
comfortable fire. Somebody had sent a good
quantity of wood, she did not know who. I
think grandfather may, who, in his alms, observes
the divine rule not to "let the right hand know
what the left doeth." She was much pleased
with some coarse yarn I brought her, of my own
spinning, from gray wool which mother had giv
en me. With this, she said, she could knit stock
ings for them all, and teach Nancy to help her.
I was delighted to find how much the latter had
improved in reading, for she practices in the sim
ple books I left with her during the intervals of
teaching. She is able now to read one of the
short psalms to the family in the morning, and
before they go to bed at night. " That s such a
comfort," said the grandmother, "and seems so
much like a prayer." Strange as it was, the two
wild boys stood still, listening, while she read to
me. Then the oldest twitched my sleeve, vocif
erating, "I want to use them ere books as well
as Nance." I asked him if he would learn to
read, and he answered, " Yes, I will ;" so I gave
him a lesson, and, to my great surprise, he attend-

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 75

ed earnestly, and promised to learn another "be
fore I came again. Then I told him if I taught
him to read he must mind his mother and grand
mother, and wait upon his sick sister, for the great
end of knowledge was to make people good. So
he promised that he would, to my great amaze
ment ; and when I gave him a little book, remem
bering my former lesson in manners, he made a
low bow, and said, " Thank you, ma am, for my
dinner," that being the phrase which was at first
taught him.

My grandfather said that in the olden time a
variety of domestic cordials were compounded for
the weak and weary, especially during seasons of
severe cold. One of these he mentioned as wor
thy of a place among my practical recipes, where
upon my mother immediately provided me with
the materials, viz., one ounce and a half of white
ginger in the root, four pounds of loaf sugar, and
two large, fine lemons. It is better to have the
ginger unpulverized, that it may leave no sedi
ment, and white rather than yellow, if you wish
the cordial colorless. Macerate the root ; mix it
with the sugar and juice of the lemons ; pour
upon them six quarts of water; add two large
spoonfuls of fresh yeast ; stir the whole in some

76

deep vessel, and allow it to stand two days with
out moving. When the fermentation is complete,
pour off the cordial ; add enough pure white
spirit to prevent its acidulating ; strain it through
a flannel bag ; bottle, and cork it with care. When
well made, it is very clear, and has sometimes, at
first opening, as much fixed air as Champagne.
It is better to put it in pint bottles, as, after being
once uncorked, it loses a portion of its life. It is
agreeable to the taste, and also a cheap and use
ful gift to the invalid poor, who frequently, in
their convalescence, suffer for the want of a sim
ple restorative, and are thus tempted to the un
safe search of stimulants and the formation of
ruinous habits.

I wonder if I could not write a novel. ,1 think
I might, though I have never read one. Mamma
has not been willing that I should occupy my
time with them. I suppose I must take Earls
and Countesses, and several singular people, and
beauty and love, and dangers and escapes, and
perils and quarrels, and shake all up together,
and the end would be matrimony. A great deal
of uncommon action to arrive at a common con
dition. And then, I understand, all the romance
vanishes.

LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 77

Emily, Mary Ann s handsome cousin, has some
young brothers and sisters who are bright, and
say queer, funny things. One of them had a
slight touch of fever not long since. Having
heard it said that people were sometimes delirious
with such complaints, he seemed to be looking
out for that condition. One day, growing rather
tired with sitting up, he cried out suddenly, "Lay
me on the bed ! lay me on the bed ! my head is
getting affected! my reputation is gone!" But
the panic, which was half serious, half in laugh
ter, soon passed away.

Dear mother likes the sound of the French ; so
I have been reading her, by little and little, the
two sacred dramas of Racine, Esther and Athalic.
It seems he was induced to write them by the re
quest of Madame de Maintenon, who wished some
thing drawn from Scripture history to be recited
by the young ladies under her charge at St. Cyr.
Thus Miss Hannah More composed her sacred
dramas, as a similar exercise for the pupils of the
school conducted by her elder sisters.

78 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Adieu to the first volume of my journal. Ev
ery possible space in it is covered. I began it
with reluctance, as we are sometimes forced into
an acquaintance with a stranger whom we do not
expect to like. But it has been quite a comfort,
on the whole. I have formed such a habit of
gossiping with it that it seems like a sort of in
telligent companion. At all events, it is a good
listener. More than this, I believe it is a good
friend ; and if I make a right use of its friend
ship, it will be the means of aiding my improve
ment here and my happiness hereafter.

79

Sunday, January 1st, 1815.

Three forms, with this brightly rising sun,
seem to stand before me. OneJaears a scroll, K
and at her girdle a writer s ink-horn. One, with
a brow of beauty and mystery, takes my hand
and leads onward. The other kneels and points
upward, saying, "Worship God."

I know them to be a New Journal, with un
stained pages, a New Year, and a New Sabbath.
All meet me together. I give them welcome. I
yield myself to their teachings.

Methought I heard tones of singular sweetness,
like a blended song :

Twas the voice of the New Year : it spake to me
With a lip of frost and a smile of glee,
"Be happy! be happy!" and then it pass d,
With a shower of snow, on the wing of the blast.
The voice of my birth-day ! It fell on my ear,
And the heart rose up from its cell to hear,
While Vanity listen d with drooping crest,
" These fifteen times have I been thy guest ;
Monitions and gifts I have brought frofn the skies ;
Hast thou learn d to be useful, and pious, and wise ?
For those alone can be happy that fear
And love the Being who placed them here."

80 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL.

To-day, January 8th, completes a century since
the death of Fenelon. Biding in a retired part
of his estate, his horses took fright and overturn
ed the carriage, so injuring him as eventually to
terminate his life at the age of sixty-four. I ad
mire the simplicity of his writings, the patience
with which he met ill treatment, and his great
benevolence. So well did he balance his income
and his expenses, that, when he died, he left
neither debts to pay nor wealth to be disposed
of. Once, when his valuable and beloved library
was destroyed by fire, he said, " God be praised
that it was not the cottage of some poor family."
He was often found in the abode of the humblest
peasants, tasting their coarse fare, instructing their
ignorance, or comforting them in affliction. Long
after his decease they pointed out with veneration
the chair beneath the trees on which the "good
Archbishop of Cambray" sat and talked with them
and their children. I think a true Christian ex
ample should be revered, wherever it is seen, or
to whatever sect it belongs.

I saw last evening, February 15th, a novel and
most exciting scene an illumination for the re
turn of peace. I had no idea it could be so su
perb. Window after window lighted up, and hill-

LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 81

top threw to hill-top its signal of joy. When the
panes were small, with a candle, or a part of one,
placed at each, the effect was beautiful. They
had a tremulous motion, as the air swept over
them, like twinkling stars. Some were so placed
as to form words, such as "Welcome, Peace!"
"Hail to the men of Ghent!" alluding to the
city where the treaty was signed. Snow upon
the roofs of the houses, and trodden in a firm
pavement upon the streets, added contrast to the
brilliance. There was fine martial music, and the
bells rang as if they had souls. Throngs pass
ing and repassing spoke words of greeting, and
strangers seemed to love each other. Such de
light has the termination of a war caused which
never had the approbation of the people ; so dif
ferent from that in which they stood for life and
liberty, and all that was dear.

Never have I witnessed such enthusiasm.
When the appointed time for extinguishing the
lights came, it seemed to be done in a moment.
Then the darkness was so mournful. Yet it was
very pleasant to see with what regularity and
quietness all returned to their homes, as if they
knew how to rejoice like a wise people. We
three, with dear Mary Ann and Henry Howard,
who was at home from college, walked up and
down the streets while the spectacle lasted. We
D 2

82

felt no fatigue; it seemed as if we were in a
dream.

Last night it was long after returning ere I fell
asleep. Then methought I saw an angelic be
ing with an olive-branch, 1 who said,

" My white wings enfolded the globe when it

C first came from its Creator s hand. I lingered

f -; among the green shades and bright dews of Eden.

I tuned the harps that on the plain of Bethlehem

sang Peace on earth, and good-will to men.

"But my permanent abode is not here. War
is loved better than peace. To earth I must be
a transient visitant. I find my best shelter in
"the breast of the humble followers of Jesus.
There I speak, and am answered, and leave gifts
that the world can not take away."

My mother s birth-day gift was a beautifully-
bound blank book, with clasps, and my name and
the date in gold letters upon the cover. It is for
accounts ; and on one page is to be written what
ever income I receive, and on the opposite one all
my expenditures. At the close of the year the
whole amount of each is to be cast up, before a
now one begins. She recommends also that this

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 83

should be done at the end of every month, by
way of turning more attention to the subject ;
for, if the amount should be small at present, it
will probably increase in future, and the habit is
of consequence to every woman. Mamma says
it is like a map to a traveler, and she does not see
how any housekeeper can do her duty without it.
She wishes me to have the writing very neat, and
the figures plain and clear, that I may take more
pleasure hereafter in looking it over, and says she
has found it a good way to keep the daily accounts
upon a separate piece of paper, and copy them at
the close of each week in her book. The ladies
of England have the credit of being much more
attentive to the keeping of these household books
than we are ; so my dear mother, knowing its im
portance to the economical and correct manage
ment of every family, wishes to form the habit
now, and early instruct me in whatever apper
tains to woman s sphere.

She also gave me a smaller blank book, bound
like a pocket-book, with compartments for money,
to contain the items of charity. There is a quiet
look of secrecy about it, and it might be stowed
away in any little private nook.

The object is not to make a display of that
which our dear Savior says should "not be done
to be seen of men," but to serve as a guide in

84 LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL.

distribution, and to assure you of what might
sometimes be forgotten whether stated contri
butions have been paid or not. A certain pro
portion of whatever I receive is here to be record
ed, with the proper date, and the sum placed in
the pocket-book, to be ready for any claim of be
nevolence. She suggests that a tenth be always
devoted to the poor, as a sacred offering of grati
tude to Him who has committed them to our care,
and connected the duty of relieving them with
such hallowed pleasure. She would not limit me
to a tenth, but desires me always to be regular
in making at least that consecration of all sources
of income, however small, as soon as they come
into my hands.

But oh ! she said to me so many loving and
blessed words when she gave me this counsel,
never shall I forget them, nor the affection that
moistened her eyes when she folded me to her
bosom. How can I be grateful enough to her,
or to the God who gave her ? What can I do for
either to testify my devotion ? My poor efforts,
my best duties are so inadequate. My mother !
I will keep all thy words in my heart of hearts.
Methinks I could lay down my life for thy sake.
But of Him from whom cometh all we enjoy or
hope for, what can we say ?

" For oh ! Eternity s too short
To utter all His praise."

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 85

My course of Ancient History I take pleasure
in reading aloud, that my dearest ones may enjoy
it with me. Eollin seems to interest them as
much as a romance. Indeed, some of his descrip
tions, especially those of Assyria and Egypt, have
in their grand and peculiar features an air of fic
tion. Grandfather is often drawing parallels or
contrasts between the heroes of old and those of
our own Revolution, which amuse himself and us
all. They are usually in our favor, and always
so when Washington is concerned, who to him
seems as a god among men. I was reading last
evening of the attack of Agathocles upon Car
thage, when, finding his inferiority of numbers,
and that he had not arms enough for his men, he
ingeniously contrived some that were counterfeit
to deceive the enemy ; then, to raise the despond
ing spirits of his soldiers, he let fly among them
some owls, which he had taken pains to procure,
that their own favorite bird of wisdom might be
to them an omen of victory.

" So did the brave General Putnam at Bunker s
Hill," said grandfather, " when ammunition grew
low, have barrels drawn up filled with sand, to
give the impression that powder was plentiful.
He did not let any owls loose, for our people
would not have regarded them as the ancient

86 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Greeks did. But the English were the owls after
that battle, and had to stoop to the new-fledged
eagle."

r- I am convinced that a journal is an assistant
to intellectual improvement. I think also it aids
in the formation of character. I should not be

"""surprised if it made life seem longer ; for the timo
that I review, even by my very imperfect one, re
minds me of a road where there are waymarks
and milestones. Every line that is written re
calls events and feelings that cluster about it, and
might else have been forgotten. It strings the
pearls that otherwise, lying loose, might be trod
den upon and swept away. I was unwilling to
begin it from ignorance, but now, if it were taken
away, I should feel as if something had been lost
that was important and appreciated.

A journal, to have its full value, should be kept
sacred. The thought that it is to be scanned by
other eyes destroys its use. It ceases then to be
a means of self-improvement, of solitary commu
nion. The moment you cogitate how to make
what you record there agreeable or witty, you are
tcmipted to represent yourself better or wiser than

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 87

you really are, and its end is frustrated. If van
ity or display have any thing to do with a journal,
they will uproot all its usefulness. I speak of its
moral influence, which should always have the
highest place. Setting this aside, it might still
have a sort of statistical value as a register of
passing events.

My dear Mary Ann joins in our historical read
ings when she can get time from her school, where
she still continues. It is delightful when she
comes, for then we question each other about the
substance of what we have been reading together,
and sometimes I recapitulate what I have read
in the interval, so that she may have the advan
tage of all. It seems a little, too, like an exer
cise in classics, which vastly pleases me, for my
heart still turns back to school-days with a hank
ering love, notwithstanding I am so very happy
in my housekeeping.

She was asking me about my progress in it,
and praising some jellies of my making, of which
she begged me to give her the recipe. Being in
her debt for a poetical morceau or two, I thought
I would write it in rhyme :

Cut in pieces four calves feet,
Put four quarts of water to them.

88 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL.

Make them subject to a heat,

That to two quart! shall subdue them.
Strain the fluid ; let it rest

All night long from toil and trouble j
Then from foot and forehead take

Sediment and oily bubble ;
Lay it in the pan once more,

With a pint of wine to boot,
Acid juice of lemons four,

Sugar that your taste shall suit ;
Beat the whites of twice four eggs

To a snowy froth ; and then,
Watchful at your kitchen range,

Boil for minutes three times ten ;
Take it off, and add a cup

Of cold water to restore it,
Pass it through a flannel bag,

And in crystal glasses pour it.

When you compound this jelly, friend,

I d simply hint to you,
From motives of economy,

To make a custard too,
For there are yolks of eggs, you know,
Which twere not well away to throw.

So beat them all with sugar fine,

A quart of boil d milk use,
And when tis tepid, stir them in,

With flavoring as you choose ;
Then in small cups of china bake it,
Or in deep dish a pudding make it.

LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 89

I told mamma that poor old Mrs. Dean sat on
a hard wooden seat, which did not look comfort
able, and asked her permission to buy a stuffed
chair. She replied that ingenuity and economy
were very interesting features of charity, and that
this might be a good opportunity to practice them.
So, by her advice, I proceeded, with such help as
was needed.

A nice and rather tall flour-barrel was cut in
the side, at the right height from the floor, for a
seat, the head serving for the bottom, on which
two or three castors were placed. The remain
der was shaped by the saw of the workman into
arms and a back; and, as I fancied the latter
scarcely high enough, I contrived to have a little
frame added, and then covered it with coarse
brown cloth, stuffing it with cotton to such thick
ness and shape as I chose. Mamma gave me
dark calico to make an outside cover and cushion,
the latter resting on strong pieces of webbing,
crossing each other, and nailed firmly within.
Ideally, when it was done, I was surprised as
much at its good appearance as at its cheapness,
and, moved by the same motives, went still far
ther in the career of constructiveness. Remem
bering lame Nancy upon her block of wood, and
having some calico left, I made a cushion for a
good-sized tea-chest, with a drapery of the same

90 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

around the sides. The cavity also made a nice
little repository for her books and work. Satis
fied with these labors, and the thought of the com
fort they would give, I thanked my beloved moth
er, who was the author of both.

I never could have imagined such a terrible
storm as I have seen. A violent northeast wind,
coming in blasts, did the work of a tornado. The
sky was dark at noonday, and rain fell in great
white sheets. I thought of what is said in Gen
esis, that the "windows of heaven were opened."
A wrecking sound was among the trees, and
away went the fences like a pipe-stem. Barns
and light buildings were unroofed or swept from
their places.

In full view of our dining-room window was
an immense old pearmain-tree, encircled by a
heavy grape-vine. I looked out, but it had gone.
Where was it? At some distance, prostrate in
a field, its rich red fruit and the purple clusters
looking aghast. The mass of roots, with the
earth carried on them, was higher than my head.

The tempest extended to a great distance.
Miles of woodland were laid low, and streets ob
structed by fallen trunks and branches. On the
coast, up came the sea and rolled where it never

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 91

was before. A family who lived several miles
from it, and whose house was blown over, ran
into the fields, and said the torrents of spray that
covered them were salt as the ocean. Great
damage was done to shipping and by inunda
tions. The oldest persons remember nothing like
it, and I am sure this storm of September 23d,
1815, will not soon be forgotten in New England.

This morning I found old Mrs. Dean and Nan
cy seated in state, and more grateful for their
comfortable chairs than I can describe. I carried
the latter the fragments of the calico that had
covered them, cut into squares for patchwork,
recommending to her to sew them neatly, and
persevere until she should get enough for a bed-
quilt. Then came the oldest boy, wishing to
learn to sew too ; and, thinking it might help to
amuse and keep him out of mischief, I instructed
him a little, and promised to give him a thimble
if he would work with his sister and mind her.
I asked if he should not like to knit on a stock
ing for his mother, to keep her feet warm when
she went out to work to get bread for him. He
said promptly, " Yes, ma am, I will, if you ll give
me a new book with pictures in t." I heard him
read, and was pleased with his improvement. It

92 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

seemed as if a desire for knowledge had tamed
him. He stood like a lamb before his teacher,
ready to do whatever he was told, though so late
ly he was as a wild bear from the woods.

While pleasantly busied with him and his sis
ter, I observed the youngest boy standing in a
corner, with his back to us, now and then repeat
ing in a kind of recitative, " Old Tom and old
Nance." Supposing it one of his usual tantrums,
I went on with my teaching, till at length, no
ticing that his face was distorted with , emotion,
and tears gushed out to the tune of " Old Tom
and old Nance," I asked his mother, who chanced
to be at home, what was the matter. She said
he was jealous. At first I felt provoked ; but,
after considering a moment, pitied him, and asked
if he would like to come and read to me. At
first there was a crab-like movement; then he
slowly approached in zigzag lines, as if alter
nately attracted and repelled by contradictory
forces. Perceiving that he gained on the dis
tance between us, I told him to go first and wash
his face and hands, and have his hair brushed.
With astonishing quickness he achieved these
changes, and stood at my side. He read the al
phabet three times at the top of his voice, and
when I gave him a lesson to learn before I should
come again, looked up with a clear eye, as if de-

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 93

livered from a demon, and said, "Now I guess
I m as good as Nance and Tom."

Poor little heart of childhood! who can read
aright all thy trials save Him who made thee ?

" A place for every thing, and every thing in
its place." Homely adage, "but most important.
A kind of keystone to every orderly household.
Daily I make it the rule of my practice. It re
quires close observation and a good memory ; so
it is an intellectual exercise of value. Mother
tells me, when I go to the kitchen for cookery, to
put back in its place, and in a neat condition,
every utensil that I have used. It is due to serv
ants not to disturb the policy of their empire
when we enter it for the furtherance of our own
designs.

In meeting the varied wants of the poor, we
find it a good plan to mend thoroughly any gar
ments we may have done wearing, and lay them
in a repository to be ready for applicants. Though
they are not so useful for those who labor hard,
yet there are almost always some sick or old peo
ple who are gratified with clothing of a finer tex
ture. I begin to like to mend since we have had

94

this object in view. There is a sort of friendly
satisfaction in prolonging the existence of what
has faithfully served us ; and, in repairing its de
cays, we can imagine how the nurse or physician
feels when the invalid patient is built up again,
or the lame walks. My mother excels in that
ingenious industry by which materials for the
wardrobe, or household use, receive new life, or
pass through transmigrations. Like the cotter s
wife of Burns,

" She makes auld claithes look amaist as well as new."
She gave me last week several partly-worn
sheets, and told me to use them as I pleased.
Taking the strongest portion, and making the
others double, black Amy was kind enough to
dye them for me, with a little Spanish arnatto, a
good salmon-color ; then, cutting them of a prop
er size, and filling them with cotton batting, I
passed a needle with strong thread through and
through, at equal distances, and made thick and
good comfortables, in which, I hope, some poor
people who have nightly shivered will greatly re
joice. But a long time must it be, if ever, before
I can hope to equal my mother in the economy
of charity. When I see her so ingenious in de
vising and executing, I often think of two lines
in the quaint old version of the Psalms :

"Blessed is he who wisely doth
The poor man s state consider."

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL

Vv L

I have always been cheerful, and liave had ev
ery thing to make me so ; but I never imagined
such a flow of spirits as come over me continual
ly since I have begun to learn housekeeping.
Like a bird, I can not restrain my song. Grand
father wished me yesterday to sing to an old
friend of his. I did as well as I was able. "It
is not equal," said he, "to what I hear from you
up stairs when you ply the broom and duster."

I wonder any young girl should be unwilling
to learn cookery. She misses a positive pleasure.
The French ladies are said to be very skillful in
this science, and not to consider it inconsistent
with a position of elegance. Since it has so much
to do with health, I wonder why it should be
wholly trusted to ignorant and wasteful servants.
As yet, I know but little of this accomplishment,
but am anxious to learn more. To-day we had
unexpectedly some company to dinner. Mamma
always makes it a rule on such occasions to give
a cordial welcome, to produce the best she has,
and make no excuses. Yet I fancied that a shade
of thought passed over her mind on the subject
of dessert, for which we happened to Ibe unpre
pared. It was then rather late, but, hastening to
the kitchen, I asked Amy to give me a quart of
milk. While it was preparing to boil, I mixed

96 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

four spoonfuls of flour with some cold milk, tak
ing care that there were no lumps, and at the full
boiling-point stirred it in, with a cup of sugar,
and half that quantity of butter. When all was
well incorporated, I took it off, and, letting it cool,
added six eggs well beaten, four drops of essence
of lemon, and a cup of raisins, a quantity of which
we usually keep stoned, to be ready for any emer
gency. The pudding was baked in a deep dish,
and when it came on the table, well browned, and
rising lightly up, the silent look of approving de
light from my loved mother more than repaid me.
Besides, I was conscious that it was not only an ac
ceptable addition to the repast, but one that might
be eaten without injury, and not like some of the
rich sauces and confectioner s compounds, which
cause the doctor to come at the heels of the cook.

We have had some company at tea, and it was
the wish of my mother that I should prepare,
with my own hands, all the entertainment, and
preside at the table. It was a simple matter, yet
I felt some responsibility. Mary Ann was in
vited, and her cousin Emily, a very handsome
girl, and Henry Howard, to wait upon them home.
Mamma thought it would be a good time also to
ask Ensign Conant, who was in a part of the

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 97

Revolutionary War, and sometimes calls to see
grandfather ; and Miss Keziah, his daughter, a
rather ancient lady, who keeps his house, and
prides herself upon her speckless neatness, is
quite critical in household matters, and addicted
to keen remark. I, however, felt no anxiety about
any of the eatables, except the cake, which I fear
ed might not be quite as light as usual. The
biscuits were fine, I had stamped the yellow but
ter beautifully, cut the dried beef as thin as pos
sible, arranged the sweetmeats unexceptionably,
and had an eye to the making of the tea and set
tling of the coffee. We formed a glad circle
around the pleasant board. Miss Keziah sat up
as straight as a pikestaff, tasted every thing, and
praised nothing. With her long bony arms, cov
ered to the knuckles with the tight sleeves of her
dove-colored silk, she reached the cups as fast as
I poured them, so that Amy, in her smart turban,
ready to help with her small silver waiter, found
herself superseded. Finding that I took pains to
ask each one if their tea and coffee was agreeably
mingled, or if I should alter it, she said, " Twas
a much better way to push round the sugar and
cream, and then every body would stand a chance
to get suited." I found this quite a valuable sug
gestion. By-and-by, says she, in her usual sharp
tone, "Miss Lucy, what s your rule for that cake?"
E

98 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Having a secret consciousness that this might be
a weak point, and she had fixed upon it, I was
aghast for a moment ; but, as it happened, the
cake was really nice, and being assured by a
smile from my mother, I proceeded laconically to
answer her inquiry. " Five cups of light dough,
ma am, four and a half of sugar, two and a half
of butter, and four eggs, mixed well together, and
suffered to rise a little before putting in the pans
to bake." "Don t ye put in no seasonin ?" "Yes,
ma am, spices and raisins as you choose, and a
glass of wine, if you like it." "Well, I declare,
if this ain t just the best cake I ve eat these many
a day." A load was lifted from my shoulders.
Miss Keziah had approved. I think she felt hap
pier through the rest of the visit for having been
so amiable as to praise any thing.

A pleasant evening we had. Songs were sung
and stories told. Henry Howard, who is al
ways so polite as to put every body at their ease,
pleased Ensign Conant vastly by asking infor
mation about the encampment of his regiment at
Eye, New York, in the early part of the war, where
they suffered from the dysentery. It gave me
pleasure to see the warm social feelings of the
aged gentlemen, and that they received such mark
ed attention and respect from my young friends.
On the whole, all passed off well. Miss Keziah

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 99

was mollified, her father pleased with the atten
tion of being invited and the opportunity of talk
ing about old times, the young people cheered by
making others more cheerful, my best-beloved ones
satisfied with my attempts, and I grateful to our
Father in heaven, from whom every joy proceeds.

Henry Howard, who has a fine voice, sang at
our house, the evening we had company, that
stirring ode of Robert Treat Paine, entitled " Ad
ams and Liberty." The first stanza runs thus:

"Ye Sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought [scended,
For those rights which unstain d from your sires had de-
May you long taste the blessings your valor has bought,
And your sons reap the soil that their fathers defended.
Mid the smiles of mild peace,
May your nation increase,
With the glory of Rome,
And the wisdom of Greece ;
For ne er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls in waves."

It was affecting to see with what enthusiasm
the two venerable soldiers joined in the chorus.
They felt its true spirit. Ensign Conant sprang
up, and beat the time, as high as his head. Zeal
made him young again. My grandfather s still
rich tones swelled the music with a solemn joy,
as though it were a patriotic prayer. I thought
it a beautiful scene.

100 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

At our pleasant little tea-party last week, we
had in the evening some preserved apples and
cream handed round, which gave general satisfac
tion. I was requested by one of the younger
part of the community to give the recipe, and
write it in poetry, with the remark that it would
be better remembered. So I have chosen a meas
ure of considerable amplification, thinking, if an
exercise of memory was desired, I would make it
as comprehensive as possible.

Plave you any Greening apples ?
If you have not, take some Pippins ;
Mark ! I do not say they re equal
To the Greenings, for they are not.
Pare and core them very neatly ;
Mind you do not waste their substance,
Nor impair their fair proportions ;
Poise the household balance nicely :
In one scale, like careful Themis,
Put those flay d and heartless apples ;
In the other strew the product
Of the graceful cane, that yieldeth
Its sweet blood for our refection ;
And for every pound of apples,
Weigh three quarters of that sugar,
White, and saccharine, and luscious ;
Lay it in a wide-mouth d kettle,
Cover d o er with limpid water.
That same kettle of bell-metal
Set upon your kitchen furnace,
And your stand beside that furnace

LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 101

Take with lynx-eyed observation ;
Still with silver spoon removing
All the feculence that rises
On the eddies, and the bubbles
That within that tossing caldron,
Like a realm in revolution,
The caloric disengages.
When tis clarified and perfect,
Plunge your apples in the liquid ;
Let it percolate, and enter
Every pore, until they re tender;
Then from the hot bath remove them,
Ere their surface decomposes,
Or their rotund form is broken.
Not in headlong haste remove them,
But with kind consideration,
Cautiously with spoon of silver ;
Side by side in dishes place them,
Glass or china, as shall please you.
Cut within the fragrant sirup
Lemons from the sunny tropics ;
And when this transparent fluid
With the acid mildly mingles,
Saturates, and coalesces,
Pour it o er the waiting apples.
Serve them at dessert or tea-time
Serve them with a smile of greeting,
And each tasteful guest will like them,
For their youth and simple freshness,
Better than the year-old sweetmeats,
Candied, and defunct in flavor.

Among those to whom my dear mother has in
dulged me by being her almoner, is a poor mu-

102 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

latto boy, who has been long sick. He lives
alone with his mother, and seems now to be fast
declining. He is not very intelligent, and some
times rolls his eyes and distorts his features aw
fully. It troubles me so much that I dream
about him, and see large, strange creatures mak
ing up horrible faces like him, and, starting, wake
up affrighted.

This morning I begged mamma to permit me
to send what I had made for him, telling her my
reasons. But she said very seriously,

" No ; go yourself, my daughter. Though
young and in health, learn to look suffering and
death in the face. By one gate we must all go
out of the world."

I obeyed, but with more of shrinking reluct
ance than I should have been willing to own.
The place looked as dreary as usual, for the poor
mother had no idea of that neatness and order
which makes sickness comfortable. He drank
some of the chocolate, and seemed inclined to taste
the other things I had brought. Then he mur
mured to himself, in a hollow voice, "Angels
there s angels here ;" and, glaring at me, said,
" She s one." I asked his mother if he was
crazy, and she said his mind wandered, and had
a good deal of late. Then he shouted, "Wings!
I see wings ! " and, straightening himself out, with

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 103

a great cry that left his mouth wide open, ceased
to breathe.

Have I indeed seen death ? What a solemn,
fearful change ! That lowly room, its miserable
inhabitants, seemed lifted up and majestic. God s
mysterious messenger was there. He had done
his great work, yet no hand was seen. He had
taken out of the dead clay the living soul.

That living soul I While here, it was little re
garded, being clad in weeds of poverty. Now
it sees what is hidden from earth s wisest ones,
the world of spirits. What will it avail the man
of wealth that he has lived luxuriously while his
poor brother ate the scanty bread of toil ? " They
shall lie down alike in the dust."

Death, the silent teacher, has thrown a new
light upon life. With cold, invisible hand he
hath written, "Vanity of vanities," on what the
world holds forth as enticing. God grant that I
may never forget the lesson.

104 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Monday, January 1st, 1816.

Beautiful New Year s morn, lead me with thy
cold, frosty hand to the^eneficenlGriyei*. Pleas
ant, smiling birth-clay, come with me to His foot
stool, and implore His favor upon both ; for " He
is good, and doeth good. His tender mercies are
over all His works."

Father in heaven, I bless Thee for my contin
ued life and all its joys. Fain would I devote it
to Thee. Wilt Thou accept the offering ?

O Thou, who touch d this sleeping dusf,
And calFd it forth to life at first,
So oft Thy boundless love hath shed
Unnumbered blessings on my head,
That, wheresoe er my footsteps stray,
I ll trust Thee as my guide and stay,
And, undismay d at storm or foe,
Whene er Thou call st, will fearless go.

I have for some time been desirous to make the
baptismal vow of my infancy my own intelligent
act. I wish to be enrolled among the friends and
followers of my dear Kedeemer. The sacred du
ties that belong to this character I hope He would
deign to teach me. The dispositions that are
pleasing to Him may I more and more receive,

LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 105

till this faint, glimmering light shall become the
perfect day.

Has not the Savior commanded, "Do this in
remembrance of me?" And shall I not obey?
Is my youth any objection ? The divine injunc
tion is, "Seek me early." Father, I come. Make
plain to me what thou requirest. I am as a
little child before Thee. Say unto me, " Fear
not." Methought I heard a voice commanding,
"Praise!"

I have partaken of the holy communion. Side
by side with her who nurtured my infancy and
him who guided her own, I have received the
symbols of dying and redeeming love. I saw in
their loved eyes tears of joy, and blessed them,
and blessed God.

I feel that I have given myself up entirely to
Him. But have I not been His from the begin
ning? What more can I be now? Only His
by my own consent and deed. His by the con
secration of my poor services by the open prom
ise of allegiance until death. Oh, may these not
be words of course, but living, lasting principles.

106 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

Is it an illusion, or have I indeed taken a place
at the table of my Lord ? Me, at His table !
Have I not intruded ? Lamb of God, who takest
away the sins of the world, forgive me. Shall I
not see Thy face at last ? Wilt Thou not give
me the lowest place at Thy feet, among the least
of Thy servants ? At Thy feet, the least and the
lowest place ?

What an excellent man is our minister. I
have always admired his sermons, and his pleas
ant, serious manner when he meets his people.
He makes no display, but there is about him a
character of holiness, which, in his public services,
sometimes brings to mind those exquisite lines of
Goldsmith :

" At church, with meek and unaffected grace,
His looks adorn the venerated place ;
Truth from his lips prevails with double sway,
And those who came to mock, remain to pray."

Yet it is only since I have conversed with him
about my own spiritual concerns that I have real
ized the depth of his piety. When I first went
to his study to consult him on the subject of be
coming a communicant, I was agitated and unas
sured. I told him all my misgivings, that I was
not able to point out any precise time of passing

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 107

from darkness to light, and felt unworthy to ap
proach with confirmed saints the table of the
Lord. He asked why I wished it, and how long
it had been my desire. He seemed satisfied with
my answers ; and, after explaining the duties de
volving on a professed follower of Christ, inquired
if I were willing, if necessary, to bear self-denial
or reproach for His sake, and if I would serve
Him unto the end.

Afterward, in conversation, for he was so kind
as to call and see me several times while prepar
ing for that sacred ordinance, he was so anxious
that I should understand the full requirements
of the Gospel, and determine in all things to be
a true and not a nominal Christian, that I revered
him as an embassador from heaven.

He is himself a model of what he requires
others to be. His whole life is devoted to the
service of his Master. Faithfully he watches
Over his flock. In every time of sorrow he is at
their side. He shrinks from no fatigue or toil
for their benefit ; indeed, it seems as if he never
thought of himself. Though superior in learning
to most with whom he associates, he shows no
ostentation or vanity.

I admire the arrangements of his household,
where simplicity and contentment reign, and en
able him, with a small salary, to keep entirely

108 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

free from debt, according to the divine injunc
tion, "Owe no man any thing, except to love one
another." His example of humility, avoidance
of display, and industry in devoting all his time
and talents to those whose immortal interests are
committed to his charge, is not lost among his
people. Great is our blessing in having such a
faithful and holy spiritual guide.

To-day, February 8th, is the two hundred and
twenty-third anniversary of the execution of poor
Mary, Queen of Scots. What a strange and sad
romance was her life ! A strong contrast there
was between her luxurious training and regal life
in France, and the rudeness of her native realm, to
which, in her young widowhood, she returned.
It must have been like coming from the sunny
tropics to the Arctic Zone, and the bears too.
She seems to have had no wise advisers, and to
have been thrown upon treacherous friends. No
wonder that she committed errors. I do not wish
to excuse, or speak lightly of them, but her long
captivity and violent death make us forget the
spirit of blame in sympathy.

In faded beauty, who so meekly bends,
Arid with weak step the scaffold s height ascends ?
Why do those stern-soul d guards exulting bring
The daughter, wife, and mother of a king?

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 109

Oh, broken lily of the Stuart line,
Unfriendly blasts and adverse fate were thine.
By flattery nurtur d, and to folly lured,
How deeply hast thou err d ! how much endured !
Slow, wasting years the captive s bars between,
And the sad memories of a fallen queen.
Lo ! one brief struggle, and one savage blow,
Blot out thy charms, thy charges, and thy woe.

Dear mother thinks I am not sufficiently cor
dial in my manners at all times. The presence
of those we like to associate with will usually se
cure an agreeable deportment. But she wishes
me to keep in mind that to every person some
palpable degree of kindness is due. The very
circumstance of their taking the trouble to enter
our doors, and putting themselves under the pro
tection of our roof, implies trust on their part,
and imposes obligation on ours. Many more of
these than we imagine may have concealed sor
rows, and a secret longing for sympathy. A cheer
ful brow, a pleasant tone, an animating word, may
be the medicines they need, and give them strength
to go onward. She says I am not careful enough
to greet guests as if I was happy to see them, or
to smile when speaking ; yet that both belong to
the science of home and social happiness.

How kind it is in my tenderest friend to tell
me these things. How much I thank her for

110 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

making me sensible of my deficiencies. The love
that, even at the risk of giving pain to itself,
points out faults for our improvement and ben
efit, is a true love, and I am more and more grate
ful for every renewed proof of this affection.

I am so glad that this day of Washington s
birth, February 22d, is observed among the peo
ple. Thus may he be ever held in living remem
brance, and his glorious patriotism and disinter
ested goodness made a pattern to be followed by
every new generation. I pleased my dear grand
father this morning by offering this little whiff of
incense at the shrine of his idol, in honor both of
him and of the recent return of peace :

Thou, who didst rise mid war s alarms,

With courage firm, yet spirit meek,
Still, like a father, in thine arms

Shielding an infant young and weak,
Until, the time of trial past,

He tower d in youth s refulgent pride,
With strength to meet the wildest blast,

Or brave the ocean s billowy tide,
Didst sometimes mark his wayward course,

Perchance with secret prayer of fear,
And strive to give thy counsels force

To lure his inattentive ear,
Look from the realm of bliss, and see

His brow once more with olive crown d,

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. Ill

His heart from rankling discord free,

While hope and joy his path surround.
If joy in heaven more brightly burns

When men their slighted duty know,
If the poor wanderer that returns

Bids seraphs lyres with rapture flow,
If there, in disembodied minds,

One trace of mortal feeling rove,
If memory s power intensely binds

One lingering thrill of earth-born love,
Oh, Washington ! more deep and large

Thy stream of deathless pleasure runs,
That once this nation was thy charge,

And these repentant wanderers, sons.

It is so much easier to write poetry than prose.
I don t mean that high poetical thoughts would
be easy to find ; but for such thoughts as you
happen to have, rhyme is a great help. It hovers
like music around you, and beguiles the toil. It
is like the song the bees sing when they are
abroad at their work. I suppose that amuses
them while they are getting their honey. So is
the rhythm of the measure to the mental bee, as
it stores a little sweetness in its hive.

I think I am in love with my beautiful moth
er. She is so young for her years, so graceful in
all her ways. Sometimes, in the street, we have

112 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL.

been taken by strangers for sisters. This pleased
me much. We have summer dresses alike, which
favors the illusion.

I enjoy her society more than that of any gay
companion. Our confidence is perfect. I tell
her every plan and every thought. This seems
to me always due from a daughter to a mother ;
but it is an immense protection, besides, from the
follies that beset our way. Those who fail in fil
ial trust are the losers.

I suppose we are drawn more entirely toward
each other from having neither of us a brother or
sister. At any rate, the affection which has
sprung up from continued benefits on one side,
and gratitude on the other,