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Full text of "Lucy Howard's journal"

, .. : 



I 
I 



-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, is the sweetest solace 
of my life. Then she has so much tact, that, 
though we are so intimate, she never compromises 
her authority. I should no more think of con 
travening her wishes or opinions than when I was 
a child. It is doubtless among the secrets of her 
attraction that she ever keeps her true position, 
and still leads me by that "perfect love which 
casteth out fear." 



Early rising is such a privilege. Not only 
does it give you time for your employments be 
fore interruptions begin, and show you Nature s 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 113 

great wonder, the rising sun, but it seems to re 
veal the deeper beauty of life. I suppose this may 
be from its cheering effect on the spirits, making 
them throw a brighter sunbeam around. I can 
not philosophically analyze it, but I only know 
I am as happy as a bird when I rise before the 
sun, and vice versa. One of my school compan 
ions, who better loved her couch, said she " would 
not treat the sun so disrespectfully as to rise be 
fore he was ready." This was an ingenious ex 
cuse, putting the best face on the matter, as the 
Yankees usually do. This morning I was up 
earlier than usual, and while I was discharging 
my household duties, with the golden sun-rays 
first glistening on the windows and waking a 
sleeping world, and the air so pure and exhilara 
ting, my heart overflowed with inexpressible hap 
piness. Ere I was aware, I heard a murmur, 
"How beautiful is life ! how beautiful ! " and found 
it came from my own lips. Then I blessed Him 
who had given us this being, and this paradise, 
his earth, and the high hope of a heavenly inher 
itance, and said with the Psalmist, " He is good ; 
His mercy endureth forever." 



I am much pleased with a carpet of domestic 
manufacture which has recently come home. Its 



114 LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 

colors are simply black and green, the latter very 
prettily shaded. I had formed such a friendship for 
the great wheel, that mamma told me, if I would 
like to conduct an enterprise of this kind, she would 
purchase coarse wool for me, and give me liberty 
to employ such poor women as I should choose 
to aid in the spinning, provided I would keep an 
accurate account of debt and credit, and see that 
they were regularly paid as soon as their work 
was done. In this way I had opportunity of get 
ting better acquainted with their characters and 
concerns, and about their children and old peo 
ple, when they had any, and how they might be 
helped if they were sick or ignorant. This fea 
ture of charity was one of the pleasures of the 
undertaking. 

I could not help feeling important when those 
grown-up women came bringing their yarn to me 
to be examined, while, with due dignity, I count 
ed the skeins, and saw that each had the requisite 
number of knots, and gave them the price of their 
labor, and they were so pleased to be paid and 
carry it home to their families. Then I felt the 
truth of my grandfather s maxim, that the best 
way of helping the poor is through their own in 
dustry, for that saves their self-respect. 

By my mother s requisition to keep a state 
ment of all expenditures, I know every iota of 



LUCY PIO WARD S JOURNAL. 115 

the economy of the enterprise. There is some 
pecuniary saving, imported carpets being very 
dear at present ; but the principal gain is in the 
pleasant excitement of the thing, the good done 
to the laboring poor, and the ultimate durability 
of the article. Amy, who has given much assist 
ance in this affair, especially in the dyeing, for 
which she seems to have a native genius, was re 
warded with the superfluous yarn, of which there 
chanced to be quite a quantity. So the indus 
trious creature gave it to a weaver ; and, having 
prepared a filling of woolen cloth, or cast-off 
clothes cut in narrow strips, has made herself a 
comfortable carpet for the upper part of her kitch 
en, where she sits in great state in the afternoon, 
as in a servant s hall. Our own new carpet is 
fitted nicely to a back parlor, where it has quite 
a cozy aspect, and grandfather is never tired of 
praising it. 



Some say that female domestic occupations are 
unfavorable to mental improvement. I think they 
may be so mingled as to help each other. A con 
sciousness of doing one s duty gives vigor to ev 
ery thing. That versatility which can turn from 
one employment to another, and apply itself to 
all with zeal, and not waste time in the transition, 
is valuable, and may be cultivated. 



116 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Under the smiling morning s face, Emily comes 
gayly in and says, 

"Have you heard the news?" 

"What news?" 

14 Why, the great news." 

" No, Emily." 

" Then nerve yourself. It is neither more nor 
less than this Henry Howard is engaged. They 
say it s to a very beautiful young lady, the daugh 
ter of some gentleman connected with his college. 
For my part, I think it is ridiculous, so young as 
he is." 

"How young is he?" 

" Lord ! I don t know. Somewhere about 
twenty, I suppose. Don t he graduate this fall ?" 

" Yes." 

" Every body thought he was engaged to you, 
and said you were made exactly for each other, 
so elegant and so learned ; and then he was for 
ever following you. I think it is a shame to be 
so changeable. How silent you are ! Now do 
just tell me frankly if you were not engaged." 

"We were not." 

" If that does not beat every thing I You take 
it so coolly, too. I expected you would faint 
away. I thought you d at least be surprised at 
the intelligence. Perhaps you knew it before. 
Don t you correspond?" 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 117 

"No." 

" Well, if you are not a real philosopher. I 
expected quite a little scene this morning." 

"Did you look, like the islanders of old, that 
I should have swollen and fallen down dead ?" 

"You re mighty polite to compare yourself to 
the chief apostle, and me to the barbarous in 
habitants of Melita." 

"I did not mean any thing invidious." 

" No, I dare say, Miss Lucy, with your sweet 
way of speaking, you think you never did a wrong 
thing in your life ; but I am sorry for you. I 
know you feel bad, though you won t own it. I 
think you are a little white round your mouth. 
Sha n t I get you some camphor ?" 

So, opening her little green parasol with a grace 
ful flourish, and bidding a pathetic adieu, she 
skipped away like the butterfly among the flowers. 



My dear grandfather is very partial to Young s 
"Night Thoughts," as I think people of his age 
are wont to be. I have read the work so much 
to him that I begin to get interested in its sen 
tentious style and weight of sentiment. Some 
of its passages have become familiar, and he oc 
casionally asks me to repeat them* This is one 
of his favorites : 



118 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Where thy true treasure ? Gold says, Not in me, 
And Not in me, the diamond. 

Gold is poor ; 

India s insolvent. Seek it in thyself; 
Yes, in thy naked self, and find it there. 
A being so descended, so endow d, 
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning race, 
Erect, immortal, rational, divine." 

The beginning of this passage reminds me of 
those sublime expressions in the twenty-eighth 
chapter of Job : " The depth saith, It is not in 
me ; and the sea saith, It is not with me." " It 
can not be gotten for gold, neither shall silver be 
weighed for the price thereof." 



I do not think Pope s Universal Prayer, as it is 
called, is held in sufficient estimation. Some of 
the stanzas are very expressive. This is a favor 
ite of mine, and surely breathes a Christian spirit. 

" If I am right, Thy grace impart 

Still in the right to stay; 
If I am wrong, Oh ! teach my heart 
To find that better way." 

Some suppose the petition implies doubt, or 
uncertainty of belief. To me it seems rather an 
echo of the apostolic sentiment, "Not as though 
I had attained, either were already perfect ; but 
I follow after." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 119 

"^^ 

Alas ! my blessed mother is very sick. She 
was seized several days since with chills, follow 
ed by a high fever. I am not willing to leave 
her for a moment. 



The physician says she has a modification of 
typhus, which was prevalent here. Some of her 
pensioners had it. I think she might thus have 
been exposed. 



What a fearful disease ! But her constitution 
is so good, I hope it will not be long ere she sur 
mounts it. I have never seen her sick before, 
and am greatly distressed. She takes all her 
medicines and nourishment from my hand. I 
would trust no other. 



What a comfort to have such a good physi 
cian! He is so attentive, so studious of the case, 
and asks minute questions of every change of 
symptom before he prescribes. I confide more 
in him, because his hair is gray, one proof of ex 
perience. 



120 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

A nurse ! No, indeed ; while I have strength 
to serve her, I resign that privilege to none. She 
who took care of my helpless infancy so long, 
night and day, can I not "watch with her one 
hour ?" I have never had opportunity before to 
prove my love by its nursing services. A stranger 
has no right to that honor. I am too selfish to 
yield it at all. 



Lord, she " whom Thou lovest is sick." Thou 
knowest it. Yet, like the disciples, we have lib 
erty to come " and tell Jesus." She is ready for 
Thy will ; but remember me, a " reed shaken by 
the wind." Kemember, and have pity. 



It is most touching to see my poor grandfather. 
He comes and looks at her in her broken sleep, 
fearing to fatigue her by conversation. There he 
stands, his head drooping upon his breast, the 
statue of despair. Sometimes he lifts his hands 
over her in silent prayer : 

"The God who made the earth and sea, 
Have mercy on thy prayer, and thee." 



" Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, 
O Lord. Out of the depths." 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL. 121 

More entirely than ever is Mary Ann my sec 
ond self. A great part of the time she spends 
here, filling my place to my poor grandfather. 
She reads, talks, and walks with him, and, when 
ever we meet, has a sweet word for my burdened 
heart. 



Our dear physician has pronounced the crisis 
over. 

" Oh, God of grace ! 

Henceforth to Thee 
A hymn of praise 
My life shall be." 



For two nights only have I trusted my treas 
ure to the charge of others. I could see that the 
change and the ways of the watchers troubled 
her. Her nervous system is debilitated, and more 
sensitive than usual. I am determined not again 
to leave her. 



How precious are the consolations of our re 
ligion, and the visits of its ministers in such time 
of trouble ! Faithful and kind beyond expression 
F 



122 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

has been our own spiritual guide. His voice of 
prayer beside her pillow breathed like subdued 
music. " I come myself to be instructed," said 
he, when, week after week, he saw her serene faith 
and saintly patience. 



My dear mother is reduced to a state of almost 
infantine weakness. Yet I am so thankful that 
she can sit up a short time in bed, supported by 
pillows, while, placing myself behind them, I can 
once more comb out and arrange her beautiful hair. 



Her eyes are so much affected that she can 
scarcely bear the light. The doctor has advised 
a simple remedy, which already begins to do them 
good. It is an ounce of fresh rose-water, with a 
teaspoonful of brandy, and a few drops of lauda 
num infused. I bathe them often in this with a 
soft linen cambric cloth. It was fortunate that 
we had our own fine damask roses distilled. The 
extract is better, and more fragrant than any we 
can purchase. 



Our kind physician said to-day, taking my 
hand in a fatherly manner, "Permit me to point 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 123 

out a fault, one that is common to the most lov 
ing natures. They forget themselves in the care 
of the sufferer until their own health is utterly 
sacrificed." 

"Please not to say any thing to me against 
taking charge of my mother at night." 

" That is the very thing in which I desire to 
indulge you. I wish to tell you how you may 
sit up. Ah! now I see you listen to me. Will 
you do as I direct ?" 

" Be so kind as to instruct me, sir." 
" She will probably have a long convalescence, 
for she is extremely weak. Her nightly rest will 
be broken, and yours, of course. Promise me, 
therefore, that you will every afternoon retire to 
your own room, and take three hours for sleep. 
Then rise, bathe, and dress yourself, and return 
to her renovated and cheerful. In this way you 
Avill be able to hold out. Were your body as 
strong as your heart, there would be no need of 
this ; but you are already a little hollow-eyed and 
care-worn. Will you take my prescription ?" 
" Oh yes, sir, if my mother consents." 
" She will ; for your good is hers, and you have 
fully proved that hers is your own. Now you 
are my patient, and must hear me farther. Take 
a little walk every day, when the weather is fine. 
Turn to the breezy hills, and fill your lungs with 



124 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

fresh air. Once in the clay, also, when you can 
best be spared, leave your mother s room and take 
some household exercise. Rub a table, if nothing 
more. The object, as you will see, is the circu 
lation of the blood, and a new flow of thought by 
change of object. It would be no proof of affec 
tion to her to neglect yourself, when she needs 
the aid of all your powers to recover her own." 

" I am sure I can never sufficiently thank you 
for your great goodness to her and to me." 

" Show your gratitude, then, by obeying me. 
Will you? We shall see." 



I have followed the doctor s advice. Mamma 
has so much self-denial that she gives me up for 
a long interval every afternoon. Faithful Amy 
is but too happy to sit beside her, and Mary Ann 
comes to read to grandfather. Laying aside my 
cares, I rest on my bed. God gives me sweet 
sleep as to an infant. Then, after a bath, I ar 
range my hair in the way that I know pleases 
her, and put on one of those pretty calico morn 
ing-dresses which she likes, of which, having sev 
eral, I change them ere they are at all soiled, for 
she is neatness itself. I hasten to her with de 
light. We meet as lovers who have been long 
separated. Methinks a tide of fresh, hopeful spirits 



125 

flows into her warm heart through mine. Why 
should we not take as much pains to make our 
selves personally agreeable to our sick friends as 
to our well ones? They notice more closely 
than we imagine, and a serene brow and cheer 
ing deportment are often among their best med 
icines. 



I had no idea there were so many tonics in the 
world. Every creature who calls "hath a prov 
erb, hath a doctrine, hath an interpretation." 
Each one desires my mother to take her own 
particular favorite. If she did, I don t know 
what would become of her. One old lady sent a 
bottle of "boneset" which Avould set your teeth 
on edge. Something which Mary Ann s mother 
made I gave with the doctor s permission, and it 
proved useful. I inquired its ingredients, and 
she said, " One ounce of valerian root bruised, 
and boiled in two pints of water till reduced to 
half, then strained upon a dessert spoonful of 
chamomile flowers, and, after standing an hour, 
one ounce of the compound spirits of lavender is 
added, and the infusion kept carefully corked in 
a bottle." But the sweet air, which we are care 
ful to admit as freely and frequently as possible, 
quiet sleep when she can have it, and the calm- 



126 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

ness of holy trust, which is always hers, seem 
her best restoratives. 



I find her regular rest much promoted by mak 
ing preparations for the night quite early. Mov 
ing around the room, with a light flashing upon 
the bed, or bustling about to get what may be 
necessary for comfort at a late hour, annoys the 
mind, and disturbs the little seeds of repose that 
were beginning to germinate. I doubt whether 
any one who has not been very sick can imagine 
how much inconvenience arises from such sources, 
from careless moving of furniture, sharp, sudden 
noises, or heavy footsteps. 



Our physician says that the nursing of conva 
lescence, especially after a fever, is as important, 
and sometimes even more difficult, than during 
the previous disease. After the patient has been 
able to see a friend or two, it is not always easy 
to regulate that matter. A little social feeling 
may be salutary, but all approach to excitement 
is prejudicial. If the brain sympathizes ever so 
slightly with the disease, quiet is absolutely es 
sential. All my mother s friends wish to see and 
congratulate her, and she can not bear to deny 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 127 

any. I can see she is easily tired, and it is bet 
ter to prevent fatigue than to trust to getting rest 
ed afterward ; so I have become a very Cerberus 
in guarding ray Hesperides. I venture to refuse 
the most intimate when necessary, and to shorten 
the stay of the most ceremonious. However in 
vidious it may seem, it is still a duty to protect 
her from being "wounded in the house of her 
friends." Who shall do it if her sentinel falters ? 



I have had such comfort in feeding her to-day 
with part of a little bird that a kind friend had 
sent her. Yet so feeble is she that even to take 
this was an exertion. Her delicate appetite has 
been of late somewhat stimulated by a prepara 
tion of our good physician, which I had better 
write, in order to remember it. One ounce of 
pulverized columbo root, put into a pint of pure 
old Sherry, with a little dried orange-peel, and a 
handful of raisins. A wine-glass, or part of one, 
to be taken daily, an hour before the principal 
meal. 



" I am glad you always keep a calm and pleas 
ant face in the sick-room, my daughter," said the 
kind physician this morning. 



128 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

" You praise me too much, sir. All the first 
part of the time I was going out constantly to 
weep." 

" Yes, but you wiped your eyes and returned 
cheerful. I am always telling professed nurses 
of the importance of a calm deportment. There 
are stages in some diseases where loss of self- 
command in those around is fatal. The thread 
of many a frail life has been severed by the fright 
or uncontrolled emotion of the objects of its love." 



I think there was never so kind a people p. 3 
those among whom we live. Not only from 
friends and neighbors, but from those with whom 
we were scarcely acquainted, the attentions have 
been unbounded. The sympathetic message, the 
fresh flower, the rich fruit, the varied niceties pre 
pared on purpose for her, have been continual. 
The cheering influence of these remembrances 
have been among the means of her recovery. 
Mary Ann s services it would be impossible to 
recount. The wife of our good minister has been 
his helper in this work of benevolence, and the 
physician s whole family have learned of him how 
to be kind. His son Egbert, in particular, has 
been constant in his calls, bringing things that 
were acceptable, and offering brotherly services. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 129 

I think I shall now know, better than ever, the 
value of every mark of sympathy in such time of 
affliction. 



Down to dinner! down to dinner! Leaning. 
on her father s arm came the beloved, I going 
a few steps before, carrying the pillows and blan 
ket for her chair, and Mary Ann bringing up the 
rear with a cricket for her feet. Amy stood by 
the nicely-spread table ready to wait, her honest 
black face radiant with joy. Surely every heart 
lifted itself on the devout words with which the 
silver-haired father blessed our food and the Giver 
of our life. 

But oh ! I had not realized, until seeing her in 
a stronger light than that of her own chamber, how 
emaciated and ghastly pale she has grown. I 
wished to weep like a child, and should have done 
so but for fear of distressing her. I felt the tears 
swelling under my eyelids, and peremptorily or 
dered them back. 

Our good doctor and his son, happening to call 
during the repast, joined us at the dessert. What 
deep delight must a Christian healer feel at see 
ing one brought back from the gates of death 
through his instrumentality. Surely our giving 
of thanks this day was from united souls. 
V 2 



130 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I have made a written list of all who have in 
any way testified kindness to my mother in her 
sickness. They are her benefactors, and hence 
forth mine. Always will I remember them when 
I have gifts to bestow ; and if, in sickness or sor 
row, they should need aid or sympathy, I will 
strive to repay them, for I am their debtor. 



The first ride ! What an era in our lives 
when we have said, with the sick monarch of 
Judea, " In the cutting off of my days I shall 
go down to the gates of the grave." The reviving 
invalid enjoyed so much the rich blue of the dis 
tant hills, varying as the clouds floated over them, 
and the sparkling waters dancing in the sunbeam. 
Autumn kept back some of its beauties for her. 
In sheltered spots the golden rod waved, and the 
purple asclepias looked up to greet us. The for 
ests were fading, but here and there the maple 
flushed, and deep yellow and umbered brown 
mingled their fleeting tinge with the constant 
evergreen. 



Once more at church again, side by side. "Into 
Thy gates, our God, we came with thanksgiving, 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 131 

ana into Thy courts with praise." Methought I 
had never before felt true gratitude. I felt that 
I could give thanks for the great sorrow that had 
passed over me. Without it I might never have 
known the depth of this holy, filial affection. 
What would I not do for thee, my blessed moth 
er, who hast done so much for me ! 

Her sweet, pallid face was radiant when, after 
divine service, the good minister came to our pew 
and welcomed her again to the house of God. In 
his prayer he had given earnest thanks for her 
recovery. His sermon was feeling and impress 
ive, and some passages adhered to my memory. 
His text was from Revelations : 

" As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten ; 
be zealous, therefore, and repent." 

Afflictions are not always received in accord 
ance with their design. The Prophet Jeremiah 
speaks of some who had " set their faces as a 
flint." But when grief presses the bitter tears 
from the Christian s heart, and he asks, Why is 
this ? Is not God pitiful, and of tender mercy ? 
Why is this ? 

Behold, a letter! He opens it. What are 
its first words? "As many as I love, I rebuke 
and chasten." He is answered. He is content. 
He will strive to endure patiently, whether the 
suffering be from sickness, bereavement, the dis- 



132 

appointment of cherished hopes, or the attainment 
of these hopes, and the discovery that they are but 
vanity. 

Still, is there not something more intended by 
this discipline than simply the recognition of a 
Father s hand, and the belief that his frowns are 
but the " graver countenance of love ?" The les 
son follows, "Be zealous, therefore, and repent." 

Oh, be diligent to learn God s lesson, ye whom 
He hath in kindness afflicted. Look over your 
lives, your words, your motives. Forsake what 
ever conscience pronounces to be offensive to Him ; 
for if one arrow is not enough, He hath a full 
quiver ; if one plague fails to humble the proud 
heart, are there not ten more ? If one wave will 
not suffice, He can make you walk "under the 
cloud, and through the sea," until, in prostration 
of spirit, the wanderer exclaims, "I have sinned! 
What shall I do unto Thee, O Thou Preserver 
of Men?" 



I was greatly pleased, as we came out of church 
on Sunday, to see so many friends gathering 
around my mother to express their joy at seeing 
her once more among them. She deserves to be 
loved, and I am sure such marks of love cheer 
her. Some whom she had fed and clothed came 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 133 

forward to bless her, and she took their outstretch 
ed hands so kindly. 

"Even children followed with engaging wile," 

and if they did not "pluck her gown to share 
her smile," it was because she smiled on them 
without it. I thank Thee, our Father in Heaven, 
for Thine unspeakable goodness. 



Henry Howard graduated some time since with 
honor. He has fine talents, and was always an 
excellent scholar. His uncle, who has directed 
his education since his father s death, does not 
wish him to study a profession, and has placed 
him in a bank here, with which he is himself con 
nected. I regret not seeing him as formerly, for 
we have been friends from childhood. He seems 
to spend what leisure he has in Emily s company. 
When I see them they are cold in their manners, 
and distant as strangers. The rumor of his en 
gagement abroad is, I presume, unfounded. 



The intimacy one forms with a Journal is re 
markable. It seems as a living friend. It is al 
ways ready for us, and has no occupation but our 
concerns. As soon as we have formed the habit 
of resorting to its society, it gets a strange sort 



134 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

of power over us. It remembers for us, and gives 
new life to scenes and emotions which might else 
have been forgotten. It never speaks a word, 
yet it has a reproving power, so that we respect 
it. If we should persevere in evil doing, I think 
we should be afraid to meet it. I don t see how 
a very wicked person, if they told it the truth, 
could keep in its company. I believe that, by 
little and little, it would grow very confidential, 
and that we might lay words upon its silent brow 
that would scarcely be uttered to those who have 
ears and voices. 



Our regular habits of reading have been for 
some time broken up. Since dear mamma s re 
covery, we have resumed Marshall s Life of Wash 
ington. At first I thought it dry, and the style 
deficient in life ; but it conveys information of 
the most important kind, that of our own conti 
nent and country. There may be more fascina 
tion in the history of other climes, especially in 
the far-off fabulous ages ; yet we ought not to 
be ignorant about the land of our birth. 

This work was begun out of compliment to 
grandfather s taste, but I continue it for mutual 
pleasure and personal instruction. Mary Ann 
has often participated in its "perusal, and this 




LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 135 

^^Li: 

evening Egbert joined our reading-circT5r~ We 
have been struck with two prominent points in 
the character of Washington his greatness in the 
midst of difficulties, and his freedom from ambi 
tion. Secret troubles he had while the great 
burdens of the war devolved upon him, miscon 
structions, treachery, opposition where he least ex 
pected it, complaints of the Fabian policy which 
saved the nation. Had his motives been less 
high or holy, he would have gone back in disgust 
to the retirement that he loved. He differed from 
almost all other leaders of armies by understand 
ing the policy of peace as well as of war. Many 
heroes have fought and conquered, but knew not 
how to rule. They were at home among the 
thunders of revolution, but knew not how to rest. 
They could outride the deluge, but were puzzled 
when they " saw the bow set in the cloud." But 
AYashington, being placed at the head of the na 
tion he had rescued, knew both how to stay there 
and how long. He was not so dazzled by pow 
er as to aim to make it perpetual. To sustain 
it was self-denial. Far better did he love the 
tillage of his ancestral acres. He was desti 
tute of the selfishness of ambition ; he sought 
only the good of his country and the approval 
of his God. 



136 

There has been a succession of storms. Ice 
clinging to the rattling trees, and snows heaping 
themselves up, as if to stay forever. Grandfa 
ther says, 

"Where is Henry Howard? Why does he 
not come with his flute as he used to do, and en 
tertain us ? I think him the most agreeable 
young man who ever visited here." 

Ah ! I wish he had not spoken those words. 
He did not know that they touched a chord pain 
fully vibrating. There was at that moment a 
deep longing in the heart for the music that he 
praised and for the presence of the musician. I 
wish, at least, he had not spoken them just as I 
was retiring; for sleep, fickle goddess, scarcely 
visited my pillow, or only in fitful dreams, like 
an unamiable traveler, sullenly riding on a broken 
car. 



Would that I could have seen my father, or, 
rather, that I might have looked upon him when 
old enough to have remembered his face, and once 
have lisped his sacred name! My mother has 
spoken of him recently more freely than is her 
wont. I used incessantly to ask her questions 
of how he looked, and what he said, but they gave 
her pain, and I desisted. Now, since she has 



137 

been so near a reunion with him in thought, she 
seems inclined to gratify me by describing him. 
In her limning of love, he was a model of manly 
beauty and virtue. She has long since told me 
that my hair was of his color, between chestnut 
and auburn, and inclining to curl ; and during 
her sickness she once said, when I bent earnest 
ly over her, that the expression of our eyes was 
alike. If there is any resemblance, may it in 
crease for her comfort. In that purer world, may 
I kneel beside him and call him father? And 
will he know the daughter whom he scarcely be 
held on earth ? There will be then no separa 
tion, no change. Blessed clime ! may I be made 
fit for it in God s appointed time. 



The winter solstice is always a point of thought 
ful observation. Nature seems to be tired of giv 
ing daylight, and fills the cup of the year to over 
flowing with night. She calls us to rest and re 
fit for the duties of a more active season. 

Is there an art to stay the hours 

That fleet away so fast ? 
To stamp an image on the cloud ? 

To stay the rushing blast ? 

We may not check their swift career, 
We may not quell their speed, 



138 



For so the Power that can not err 
In wisdom hath decreed ; 

But we may still each other aid 
In virtue s heavenly way, 

And thus, in colors not to fade, 
Impress this shortest day. 



Shall I say, Wherein have I offended ? And 
why is thy countenance changed ? Come back, 
as in days of old, to a- friend who has never 
swerved? Come back ; the lone spirit hath a 
void place for thee ? 

Shall I? or shall I not? 

Be patient, restless heart. " In quietness shall 
be your strength. But they said, Nay, we will 
ride upon horses ; so shall they who pursue you 
be swift." 



CHRISTMAS. 

Hail, blessed morn ! that, robed in gold, 
Look d o er Judea s summits cold, 

And bade the world rejoice ; 
A world that, wrapp d in darkness deep, 
And trembling on destruction s steep, 

Had heard no pitying voice. 
Then came an arm all strong to save, 
And pluck d the victory from the grave. 

In thee would ancient seers have joy d, 
Who, gazing through the dreary void, 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 139 

Foretold Messiah long ; 
While sages o er their native rocks 
Star-guided went, and from their flocks 

The shepherds join d the throng, 
Gifts at a lowly shrine to lay, 
And listen on their wondrous way, 

Unto the angels song. 
Even I, of noteless name and mind, 
This wild flower with the anthem bind, 

"Good-will and peace to all mankind." 



There is something very soothing in the search 
and linking of poetical sounds. Sometimes they 
so beguile the mind/that the thought which should 
give them solidity escapes. The " tinkling cym 
bal" amuses, and the sense becomes secondary, 
or takes flight. Nevertheless, this writing of 
rhymes is a fascinating, and may be a useful 
thing. 



The last moon of the year. She goes wading 
through clouds, troubled, but tinging them all 
with silver. They float away, wearing the beau 
ty that she gave them. As I muse this evening, 
the yearning after a father s love comes strongly 
over me. Why should that name seem dearer, 
more expressive than even that of mother ? One 
is a part of ourselves, but the other father ! fa- 



140 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

ther ! imbodies the protection wliich the help 
lessness of our sex needs. 

When they taught my baby-tongue the prayer, 
"Our Father, who art in heaven," I thought it 
was this father of whom I asked for my daily 
bread ; and when there were none by me, and the 
lamp was taken away, I lifted my head from my 
little couch, and said, " Father, come back. You 
stay a long time in heaven. I so wish to see 
you. O, father, come back." 

I sometimes think that I have seen him, so 
often do we meet in dreams. I stretch out my 
arms to the sacred form, but it vanishes away ; 
yet the smile is always the same. When we meet 
at heaven s gate, by that image shall I know him 
among the angels ; and will they not rejoice at 
my glad cry of " Father ! father ?" 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL. 141 



Wednesday, January 1st, 1817. 

My journal ! my true friend ! walk with, me 
through this year, if it is to be mine, prompting 
me to higher endeavors and a purer piety. Walk 
by my side as a prompter, and, if need be, a re 
prover ; for my own strength is but weakness, 
and my wisdom vanity. 

Almighty Father ! remember me, in Thy great 
mercy, at the return of that day in which Thou 
didst call me into existence. Deign to look upon 
the whole frame of my nature, and elevate it to 
its noblest ends. Make me more in unison with 
angelic influences, and uplift me by a prospect of 
the world to come. May both the sunbeams and 
the clouds of this lower life raise me heavenward. 

Thou hast told us of those invisible guardians 
who "bear us up in their hands, lest we dash 
our foot against a stone." Grant me pleasant 
meditations on those celestial messengers, and a 
likeness to them ; for they " do Thy pleasure, 
and hearken unto the voice of Thy word." In 
communion with them, and with the holy spirits 
of the departed, who once loved us in the flesh, 
may I find themes of joyful thought, and motives 
to a more entire obedience. 



142 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Immense comfort have I in my little conserva 
tory. It was erected for me on the promise that 
I would take the principal charge of it. This has 
been an unmixed pleasure. Simple it is, and 
small, but neat and flourishing. Built on the 
southern side of our common parlor, where the 
window has been made into a door, the access is 
easy, and we can see the plants at all times. It 
is especially pleasant to look at them while we 
are seated at the table. Methinks we are more 
grateful for the food that we receive while we see 
them happy and healthful. Sometimes, when I 
give them water, or move them that they may 
better meet the sun, I think they have intelli 
gence, and amuse myself with Darwin s fanciful 
theory. I have no great variety yet, as my es 
tablishment is comparatively new. A scarlet 
geranium and great lemon-colored artemisia are 
the present aristocracy; but my prime favorites 
are two pure white roses, an Egyptian one of 
the richest crimson, and a young orange, which 
will soon bud, and which, when I bathe its thick, 
deeply-green leaves, seems to look up at me like 
a loving child. The very care endears every 
plant that shares it. I never realized how valu 
able was the gift of flowers until I watched the 
progress of the swelling blossoms and unfolding 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 143 

petals. Surely He who brought all this beauty 
from the unsightly mould meant that we should 
admire and be made better by it. 



It seems like a dream to write we are in Wash 
ington. Grandfather had for some time been 
wishing to visit once more the capital of his coun 
try. The physician said that a milder climate, 
for a part of the winter, would promote my moth 
er s entire restoration. She, in her great love, 
fancied that I needed some change of scene after 
the confinement of nursing. She erred in sup 
posing that any service for her could do me aught 
besides good. I have no ill health to complain 
of, though I may not be quite so buoyant as when 
I was younger. However, the reasons were deem 
ed sufficient, and, as the boy said, "I was born, 
and up I grew," they decided, and here we are. 



The capital of our country is delightfully situ 
ated on the noble Potomac and the classic Tiber. 
It is a place of magnificent outlines, which me- 
thinks it will take a long time to fill up, though 
our young land has great vitality. Still, it can 
scarcely be called central, especially when the 
Far West, and the large territory purchased by the 



144 

late President Jefferson, are settled. But dear 
grandfather will not admit this, and persists in 
giving it unqualified praise, because it was the 
choice of the " man of men," and bears his hon 
ored name. 



Mr. Madison, our fourth president, is now near 
ly at the close of his administration of eight years. 
He is of small stature, and formal in his manners. 
He is said to possess varied and profound learn 
ing, and, when he was Secretary of State, to have 
produced documents uncommonly powerful and 
luminous. I can see that my grandfather s high- 
toned chivalry does not pay him perfect respect, 
for having made what he considers a rash war, 
and for his want of bravery when the invading 
enemy approached. Yet, if " caution is the bet 
ter part of valor," flight was on such an occasion 
commendable. 



Politics seem to me but another name for strife ; 
and, as Falstaff says of honor, "Therefore I ll 
none on t." One of the privileges of our sex is 
that they may keep clear of such matters. Our 
wisdom, even if we were not Christians, is to be 
peace-makers. Now it is our duty. What a 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 145 

mistake to feel that we are injured by being ex 
cluded from an active part in the arena ! Thrice 
blessed is our own quiet sphere of duty, where, 
in making others happy, we find our own truest 



Every body admires Mrs. Madison ; so queen 
ly is she, yet so full of kindness. She puts all 
at ease around her, especially the youngest and 
the lowest. Her deportment is almost maternal. 
It mingles with native dignity a simplicity and 
truthfulness which at once inspire confidence, and 
whose elements may have had something to do 
with her Quaker nurture, as she originally belong 
ed to the denomination of Friends. Her brilliant 
complexion heightens as she speaks, and she 
seems the personification of an exuberant benev 
olence. 



Our pilgrimage here would have been wholly 
incomplete had we failed to visit Mount Yernon. 
We have been to that Mecca shrine. We have 
entered the ancient mansion, where the sweetness 
of domestic love and the quiet of rural pursuits 
solaced him who was " first in war, first in peace, 
first in the hearts of his countrymen." We have 
G 



146 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

stood by his tomb. It was touching to see my 
clear grandfather, his venerable head uncovered, 
and tears dropping from his cheeks like rain. 
What a wonderful man must he have been who 
could create and sustain such love ! 

The opinion of the Marquis de Chastellux, 
who, being here with the French army, had many 
opportunities of personal intercourse, throws some 
light on this point, and is fervently expressed. 
In his volume of travels he says, 

" It may be truly asserted that Conde was in 
trepid, Turenne prudent, Eugene adroit, Catinat 
disinterested. Not thus simply can Washington 
be characterized. It will be said of him that at 
the close of a long civil war there was nothing 
with which he could reproach himself. If any 
thing can be more marvelous than this, it is the 
universal suffrage of the people. Soldiers, mag 
istrates, commoners, all admire and love him, all 
speak of him in terms of pride, tenderness, and 
veneration. 

" Still, the confidence he inspires never gives 
birth to undue familiarity. Rochefoucault has 
said that no man is a hero to his valet de cham- 
bre. Washington is an exception to this maxim. 
Those who are nearest to his person love him 
most. Yet this love is never separated from a 
sentiment of profound respect. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 147 

"In speaking of this perfect whole, of which 
Washington furnishes the idea, I would not ex 
clude personal appearance. His stature is lofty 
and noble; his form exactly proportioned; his 
physiognomy grave and agreeable; his brow 
sometimes marked with thought, but never with 
inquietude : in awakening admiration, he inspires 
reverence, and his smile is always the smile of 
benevolence." 



We are all so interested in attending the de 
bates of Congress. I fancy that I can tell from 
what section of our country the representatives 
are when they first come forward to speak. The 
New England and the Southern members have a 
marked idiosyncrasy, and I think the Western 
men have a freedom and bravery of manner, as if 
caught from their broad, unsettled regions. It is 
beautiful to see them, as brethren of one common 
family more beautiful than if they were all alike. 
Legislating as they do for the good of the whole, 
each has some little sacrifice to make, which adds 
moral elevation to their bond of brotherhood. 



Above all places in the Capitol, I delight to go 
to the room of the Supreme Court of the United 



148 

States. There seems the gravity and wisdom 
that would save the republic, should it be ship 
wrecked elsewhere. One feels such a repose of 
mind in this spot, as if here would be the regula 
ting power if things outside went ever so wrong. 
I look with the deepest reverence at Chief Jus 
tice Marshall, so wise, so truthful, yet so simple 
in his greatness. He has filled this exalted post 
about sixteen years, revered by men of varying 
political creeds. I like him better for his native 
love of poetry, and that he does not despise it 
since he has risen to so lofty a station. I could 
not but remember that in his early boyhood he 
copied the whole of Pope s "Essay on Man" in 
a clear, fair chirography, and that now, though 
the highest judicial authority in our realm, he 
never had the advantages of a collegiate education. 
We had the honor of an introduction to him at 
an evening party. How kind and simple are his 
manners, the true dignity that knows no display. 
I was so enthusiastic that I wished at once to 
thank him for the pleasure and instruction de 
rived from reading his Life of Washington. Of 
course, I could not take such a liberty, but was 
glad to hear my grandfather express our senti 
ments to him in his own earnest and dignified 
manner, neither saying too little nor too much. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 149 

It is said by the knowing ones that it will not 
do to ask the President his age. I thought that 
kind of weakness was confined to females who 
had passed their prime, or who are called, in com 
mon parlance, old maids. The reason assigned 
for this fastidiousness is the disparity between 
himself and Mrs. Madison, some twenty or thirty 
years probably, which it annoys him to have made 
prominent. 



It was our last levee in Washington. The 
great room at the palace was crowded almost to 
suffocation. While promenading and conversing 
with the many acquaintances we have made, 
through a vista in the throng a pair of " deep, 
dark, spiritual eyes" met mine. No other could 
have so touched the inner pulses of the soul. 
They conveyed a glance of unutterable intelli 
gence. The response was electric. 

Their owner immediately joined us. He re 
turned with us to our boarding-house. Full ex 
planations ensued. What had seemed so mys 
terious was capable of solution. The apparent 
alienation was unfolded and dissolved. Arts had 
indeed been used ; yet I ought to forgive Emily, 
since all has so happily terminated. 



150 LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 

Grandfather says at breakfast, "How pleasant 
it was last evening to see a face that we knew in 
a land of strangers." Mother added more sig 
nificantly, " Now Henry can attend us home ;" 
and my heart in its secret chamber breathed some 
thing about a "kome forever." 

Poor Emily ! I wish she had not done so 
wrong. I need not blame her for admiring at 
tractive excellence, or wonder at her being will 
ing to appropriate it ; but 

" Oh, what a tangled web we weave 
When first we practice to deceive !" 



To one accustomed to the New England cold, 
a winter thus far south is cheering, and, I think, 
salubrious. Certainly my dearest mother has 
found it so. Still, there are sudden and high 
winds here gusts, as they call them of which 
I am no admirer. If you chance to be in the op 
position, and on foot, it is no trifle to surmount 
them with hat on head. 

I believe the weather is considered uncommon 
ly mild, and the season precocious. The aspen- 
tree has hung out its long, drooping tassels, and 
the grass is green by the side of the pavements, 
and in sheltered places of the fields. The leaves 
of the lilac are already "larger than a mouse s 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 151 

ear," to borrow the comparison of our poor In 
dians. The snowdrop and crocus lift their beau 
tiful heads among the gardens. I hope they may 
not have crept forth too soon from their safe re 
treats, lured by the fickle air and wintry sun 
beam. I should be sorry to see them laid low 
by the Frost King, sweet, trusting innocents. 



We have decided to leave before the inaugura 
tion of the new president, Mr. Monroe, on the 
fourth of March. It is necessary for us to be at 
home soon after that period, and we would like 
to have a little time for the intervening cities, 
through which we passed in a hurried manner on 
our way to the capital. Besides, we are filled to 
surfeiting with show and pomp, and do not care 
to mingle with the throng of a still more gorgeous 
pageant. 



Baltimore has a pleasant location and some fine 
buildings. I heard it remarked that the illumi 
nation for peace, some two years since, was more 
striking here than in most of our cities, from its 
boldly undulating surface, and the position of its 
edifices. 

More and more am I attracted by the ease of 



152 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

manner and hospitality of the Southern people. 
It is not possible to retain the feelings of a 
stranger among them. We at the North have, I 
trust, as much heart, but we do not show it as 
readily, or succeed as well in drawing out that 
of others. 



I shall always be so happy to have had the 
opportunity of seeing the venerable Charles Car 
roll of Carrollton, who chanced to be in this city. 
None would suppose him to have numbered four 
score years, so slightly has time marked him, and 
so cheerfully does he enter into the pleasures of 
others. A finished gentleman is he, with the 
courtliness acquired by intercourse with foreign 
lands, having been sent to France at the age of 
eight for education, and continuing there and in 
England, in legal studies, and in wider European 
travel, until mature manhood. His talents, wealth, 
and personal influence were freely devoted to the 
liberties of our country, and his signature to the 
declaration of our independence was given with 
a firm hand and full knowledge of what he haz 
arded. He retired from his seat in the Senate 
of the United States more than twenty years 
since, that he might enjoy the quiet of home, 
where he is surrounded by all that domestic hap- 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 153 

piness, elegant hospitality, and universal respect 
can bestow. Long may he live to enjoy these 
blessings. 



"And Penn s thronged city cast a cheerful gleam. * 
So sang the author of the " Columbiad," Joel 
Barlow, who was sent on an embassy to France 
by President Madison, and died only four years 
since at a Polish village. We were reminded of 
him, and this little strain from his lyre, by enter 
ing Philadelphia in the evening. Methought the 
spirit of William Penn, that great and good man, 
still hovered there. 



I very much like this city of Brotherly Love. 
Its perfect regularity pleases me. How beauti 
fully it sits between its two fair rivers, the Dela 
ware and Schuylkill ! The quietness of the peo 
ple, and the frequent appearance of the Quaker 
costume, please me. I think I have an inherent 
love^of that sect. Their perfect neatness, the 
neutral tints that they patronize, their rescue of 
time and thought from show and fashion, and the 
familiar friendliness of the plain language, agree 
with my taste, and seem favorable to repose of 
mind and contentment. 

G2 



154 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

Good, venerable Bishop White, I shall not 
soon forget him. Through his acquaintance with 
Henry s uncle, we had the pleasure of an inter 
view. Though scarcely seventy, his patriarchal 
manner, and the silvery whiteness of his hair, 
give him the appearance of more advanced age. 
His aspect and saintly life would win the most 
thoughtless to admire the " beauty of holiness." 
His smile, and the sweetness of his fatherly words, 
will dwell among my most cherished memories, 
the finishing tint of the picture which this noble 
city has given my heart. 



We have met no person in New York with 
whom our whole group have been more entirely 
delighted than Colonel Trumbull, the soldier- 
painter, "him of the pencil, the pen, and the 
sword," as he has been well styled. His perfect 
courtesy adds grace to all he says, and his con 
versation is by no means restricted to subjects of 
art, but has gained richness and variety by res 
idence in foreign lands. He is fair in counte 
nance and graceful in person, bearing no trace 
of time, though he must be at least sixty. He 
is engaged on four large national pictures for the 
rotunda of the Capitol at Washington. Being 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 155 

president of the American Academy of the Fine 
Arts, he politely took us to see its collection of 
paintings and sculptures. 

His wife, who is an English lady, accompanied 
us. We were told that he was made captive by 
her beauty, but that has passed away. Her dress 
and manners were both peculiar. Objections were 
made to the way in which the light fell upon one 
of her husband s pictures, which had been newly 
placed on the walls. Calling his attention to it, 
she exclaimed, 

"Look! look! God Almighty only knows 
why they have seen fit to hang it here." 

Not being accustomed to hear emotion thus ex 
pressed, I think I looked surprised, and the gen 
tlemanly artist strove to efface the impression by 
pointing out and commenting upon other works 
of genius. 



Two pictures from Trumbull s pencil attracted 
me one the knighting of De Wilton, suggested 
by a description in Scott s " Marmion," the other 
a scene from the "Lady of the Lake." The lat 
ter depicts Douglas in his exile, speaking to Mal 
colm of Ellen, who at a little distance, playing 
with Lufra, her favorite dog, still seems listening 
to the conversation of her father and lover. The 
surrounding scenery is wild and Scottish. 



156 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Whose is that lofty form, which, mark d by time, 
Stands, like the forest-king, pre-eminent, 
And bends, but not decays ? We breathe the name 
Of Douglas, Scotia s peer. 

Fast by his side 

The noble Malcolm, beautiful and brave, 
In the transparency of honor stands, 
Lover and hero. And that maiden fair, 
Withdrawn a little space her tell-tale eye 
Listening, yet speaking too, reveals the truth 
That neither Lufra, seeking her caress, 
Nor yet the falcon perching on her wrist, 
Absorb the heart s attention. 

Allan, too, 

The poor old harper, sorrow-bent, and rapt 
In scenes of other days, still wakes the strain 
To cheer his exiled chieftain. 

Hark ! with shout 

Of revelry and pride, the stately barge 
Of Roderick cuts the wave. The rapid stroke 
Of Highland oars keeps measure to the song, 
" Row, vassals, row! 1 while the exulting praise 
Of that grim warrior bursts from cave and glen 
Of the wild trosachs, or in softened tones 
Floats o er Loch Katrine s bosom pure and blue. 



What a busy, bustling city is this same New 
York ! How full of vitality and progress. The 
people hurry through Broadway as if there was 
a bailiff at their heels. I wonder how they got 
into this fast way of walking. Not from their 
Dutch ancestors, I fancy, The grave old bur- 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 157 

gomasters and thrifty vrows, could they trundle 
about here again, would scarcely believe this to 
have ever been New Amsterdam. 

Immense capacities for commerce has this pow 
erful metropolis. Already it numbers one hund 
red and twenty thousand inhabitants. Grand 
father says that, before the Revolution, Boston 
and even Newport had precedence ; but since 
that period its growth has been astonishing. Per 
haps nothing will limit it but the island on which 
it stands. I am bewildered by its unresting ac 
tivities ; the more so for having just come from 
Philadelphia, where people take time to sleep, 
and sometimes to think too. Men from all re 
gions of the earth congregate here, and all, with 
one consent, agree in chasing each other. 

Some noble institutions I have visited in this 
city, and am glad of the opportunity of seeing 
them. I was thankful for safe arrival in it, and 
more especially thankful to get safely out. 



Home! sweet, sweet home! how doubly de 
lightful after absence! However much a visit 
may have been enjoyed, one of its greatest gains 
is the heightened value of home. We know bet 
ter how to estimate its daily comforts, and come 
back with new vigor to its duties. Even its hu- 



158 

mility seems to endear it. We may have ad 
mired lofty mansions, and their luxurious ap 
pointments, where it is proper they should exist ; 
but we would not wish to appropriate them, with 
all their show and care. In neat, plain apart 
ments there is more of quiet comfort, at least to 
me. We admire the green-house exotics, and to 
visit the kingly magnolia, but we kneel down by 
the lily of the vale, or the violet in our own gar 
den, and press our lips to the woodbine that 
climbs over the door. Thankful to have been 
permitted to see the high places of my own land, 
peopled and made glorious as they are by the 
great and the good, my heart overflows to Him 
who hath guided and restored us, and I enter these 
my lowly "gates with praise." 



Dear Mary Ann s face, as she stood at our door 
to receive us, was as the face of an angel. And 
good Amy in her gladness, "though black, was 
comely." Of what consequence is color where 
the loving heart is right ? 



Our engagement is completed. It has been 
fully sanctioned by my beloved mother and grand 
father, and by Henry s uncle, who has long been 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 159 

his sole guardian. Their affectionate consent and 
blessing have added greatly to our happiness. 
The love that has been in our hearts from early 
years, and almost unconsciously "grown with 
our growth," until it became entwined with the 
fibres of our being, has been solemnly confirmed 
in words and in the fear of God. My whole 
soul praises Him for his great goodness. 



My dear grandfather says that the entrance of 
true love into any house, or its increase there, is 
a blessing to all who dwell in it. So may the 
fountain here opened in our hearts ever shed re 
freshing, cheering influences upon those who have 
nurtured ours all who have been kind to us 
all who may need our kindness. 



I know not how I could ever have been worthy 
of the love of so pure and ardent a heart, such a 
vigorous and accomplished mind. Indeed, I am 
not worthy. It is God s unbounded mercy. A 
new strength seems to have inspired me, as if all 
life s troubles would be light, all its clouds sil 
ver-lined, through the aid of this kindred spirit. 



160 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I am so pleased to have relations. Henry s 
uncle, who resides near us, has adopted me into 
his affections ; and his only brother and wife, 
though far off, have written and welcomed me as a 
sister. I have always been hankering after rela 
tives, because I had so few, and have tried to make 
various friends into brothers and sisters, and hunt 
ed for years even to find a twentieth cousin. Now 
I feel as if I was " suddenly made rich and my 
glory increased." May the Giver of all these 
treasures grant me wisdom to make a right im 
provement of them. 



The voice of the early bluebird ! His bright 
plumage gleams through the budding branches. 
Methinks there was never so tuneful a carol, so 
fair a spring. To admire the beautiful things of 
nature does us good. Was not beauty so pro 
fusely scattered in our paths to make us better ? 
Its perception seems the most active in the purest 
hearts. 



Many friends call to congratulate us on our be 
trothal. They kindly express an opinion that 
there is in it a fitness and congeniality. It adds 
to our enjoyment to find an important decision 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 161 

thus approved, and to "be bidden God-speed both 
by "old men and maidens, young men and chil 
dren." 



We have had some company to dine two 
of my grandfather s friends from Washington, 
who were passing through town, and to whom he 
wished to pay respect. Henry s uncle and him 
self, our good minister and his lady, and my loved 
Mary Ann, were of the party. More of prepara 
tion and circumstance attended this than any of 
our previous hospitalities. Mamma trusted the 
whole to my arrangement, but was kindly ready 
with advice and aid. Every thing went off well, 
and I was repaid for all exertion by seeing the 
guests so happy. 

I could not help remembering, with a secret 
risibility, my former anxiety when we had only 
two or three people at tea, and my terror when 
Miss Keziah Ensign s sharp eyes inspected my 
housekeeping. Now, though there was vastly 
more responsibility, I was entirely at ease. Why ? 
A pair of dark eyes might answer if they would. 
Their approving glance was on me at the right 
times. Whenever I needed a little aid, they knew 
it, and threw me strength. Their owner was so 
considerate as to send his uncle s serving-man, 



162 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

who is an accomplished waiter, to assist at the 
table, so that care was taken from my mind. 
Continually do I feel how true love gives energy 
for every duty, as well as zest to every joy. 



Emily appears shy and crestfallen. I hope to 
convince her that I am neither offended nor dis 
posed to exult. I can not help pitying her that 
she should have been tempted to such inventions 
and crooked ways. If she feels any compunction, 
it may be salutary. But that is her own soul s 
concern. Sometimes I wish there was another 
lover equally perfect for her, and that she might 
have the grace to meet him in ways of truth. 

On the whole, we are both indebted to her, for 
we might not so soon have discovered the depth 
of our mutual affection if she had not probed our 
hearts according to her own fashion. I hope we 
shall take pains to show ourselves friendly when 
proper occasions offer ; for, inasmuch as she has 
sustained loss, she needs sympathy. 



The first arbutus of the year, brought me by 
a hand most dear. Afterward we went in search 
of more in the surrounding woods, accompanied 
by Mary Ann and Egbert. It seemed to have 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 163 

put itself away more cunningly than usual, "but 
the ointment of its right hand bewrayed it." 
Among the decayed vegetation of the last year 
and the young springing turf we found it, hiding 
under its dark leaf, and got enough for the mantel 
vases and to fill the house with fragrance. 



Of all kinds of exercise I prefer the equestrian. 
It gives such a sense of power to rule a noble 
animal, and be fearlessly borne by him through 
rural scenery, where the sweet air lifts up the 
heart to the Maker of this wonderful frame of 
Nature. 

I have thought that the officers of the Revolu 
tion rode better than other men. My grandfather, 
even now, manages the most spirited horse with 
address and elegance. He has heretofore instruct 
ed me how to keep my seat, and criticised all indi 
cations of awkwardness or fear. We have ridden 
much together, and I hope may long continue to 
do so. To-day he declined going, and proposed 
to another person to take his place. Who was 
that other person ? 

Oh ! but we had a delightful time, though his 
horsemanship is less elegant than that of my for 
mer companion. Amid the retired haunts that 
Spring is beautifying, it was like music to hear 



164 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

his rich voice break forth in that exquisite stanza 
from the Minstrel, 

"Ah! how canst thou renounce the boundless store 

Of charms that Nature to her votary yields ? 
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, 

The pomp of groves and garniture of fields 
All that the genial ray of morning yields, 

And all that echoes to the song of even, 
All that the mountain s sheltering bosom shields, 

And all the dread magnificence of Heaven ? 
Ah! how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?" 

This poem of Beattie, which abounds with fine 
passages and the purest morality, never seems to 
me to have been fully appreciated. Henry ad 
mires, with me, the Spenserian stanza. The clos 
ing Alexandrine gives force to a grand thought, 
if there happen to be one to bring out. Thomson 
has shown that he could easily wield this elabo 
rate measure in his "Castle of Indolence." Some 
parts of that poem I can never read without wish 
ing to go to sleep, so soothing are its lullaby melo 
dies. 



Henry has from boyhood desired to study a 
profession, and thinks his bachelor uncle very 
arbitrary to overrule him in a thing of this nature. 
But he has long claimed the authority of a father, 
and possesses a great share of worldly prudence. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 165 

He says the necessities of this young country are 
for men of action rather than of sedentary thought ; 
that Henry can do more good in his day and gen 
eration by adhering to the former class ; and he 
prefers his entering the banking business. He 
adds that he regarded his native thirst for knowl 
edge by giving him a liberal education, which will 
be of value to him in all positions, and that the 
world of books being widely open to him, he will 
always be adding to his mental stores. I trust 
Henry will acquiesce in this reasoning, as he has 
already signalized his obedience from early years. 



Summer moon, so queenly fair, 

Gliding through the waveless air, 

Peering through the trellised vine, 

And the fragrant eglantine, 

Thou hast ever seem d to be 

As a chosen friend to me ; 

O er my childhood s couch wouldst steal, 

Kindly asking of my weal ; 

To my hour of lonely thought 

Thou hast pleasant musings brought ; 

Smiling now, thou seem st to shine 

Dost thou know whose heart is mine? 

Summer moon, with silver ray, 

Sweetly calm pursue thy way, 

Through the cloud and through the blue, 

Ever to thy duty true ; 

Teach thy Maker s love and might 

To each watcher of the night 



166 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

He who, mid the starry plain, 
Duly bids thee wax and wane. 
Is it arrogance in me 
Thus to pour my strain to thee, 
And to ask its praise may flow 
Higher than thou darest to go ? 



Henry has become much interested in the Ger 
man, having met with a good native teacher while 
in college. He made very commendable progress 
in the language during the intervals of his other 
studies. To please him, I have given it some at 
tention, he being my instructor. We have amused 
ourselves a little this evening by forming phrases 
on the rule that "adverbs beginning a sentence 
require the verb to precede the nominative ;" for 
instance : 

"Thither wandered a young shepherdess." 

" Hither comes, rejoicing in the east, the King 
of Day," etc. 

Though I know comparatively nothing of this 
language, it seems majestic in its structure, and 
to comprise immense stores of untranslated riches. 
Elizabeth Smith, so remarkable as a linguist, said 
that she had only a few select friends whom she 
thought worthy to be acquainted with the Ger 
man. 



v ; 

LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 167 

I wonder people should be so inattentive to the 
accomplishment of good reading. I do not mean 
oratorical declamation. There is enough of that ; 
but a plain enunciation, so as not to cheat any 
word of its power, and an entering into the spirit 
of the book, so as not to defraud the writer of his 
aim and labor, is what I mean a sort of justice 
to the author and the language which those who 
will not render had better let both alone, or read 
to themselves, and not make the tired, impatient 
listeners parties to their fraud. 



Among the poems of Walter Scott, I have been 
inclined to give the preference to "Marmion," as 
expressing the force of his genius more fully than 
the others, perhaps, with the exception of parts 
of the " Lay of the Last Minstrel." The "Lady 
of the Lake" is more popular, and probably more 
symmetrical ; yet nothing in it is as thrilling as 
the "Convent Scene," or the whole description of 
the battle of Flodden Field. The introductions 
to the several cantos are fine poetry, but seem to 
me unwisely placed, as hindrances to the dramat 
ic action. It is better to read them by them 
selves, when, ceasing to be intruders, their merit 
is apparent. 



168 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I have never appreciated "Marmion" until hear 
ing. JEenry read it aloud, with his melodious, man 
ly elocution. It is a favorite of his, and that ren 
ders it more effective. How thrilling he made 
that picture of Constance before her judges, in 
the dark vault of Whitby s convent ! 

"And there she stood, so calm, so pale, 
Save that her breathing did not fail, 
And motion slight of eye and head, 
And snowy bosom, warranted 
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks, 
You might have thought a form of wax 
Wrought to the very life was there, 
So still she was, so pale, so fair." 



The description of Constance, when about to 
make her last appeal before the infliction of her 
cruel doom, is as graphic as the pencil could have 
made it. 

"And now that blind old abbot rose 

To speak the chapter s doom 
On those the wall was to inclose 

Alive, within its tomb, 
But paused, because that hopeless maid, 
Gathering her powers, to speak essay d : 
Thrice she essay d, and thrice in vain 
Her accents might no utterance gain. 
At length an effort sent apart 
The blood that curdled at her heart, 

And light came to her eye, 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 169 

And color dawn d upon her cheek, 

A hectic and a flutter d streak, 

Like that which tints the Cheviot peak 

In autumn s stormy sky. 
And when the silence broke at length, 
Still as she spoke, she gather d strength, 

And armed herself to bear : 
It was a fearful sight to see 
Such high resolve and constancy 

In form so soft and fair." 



My dear grandfather and mother have listened 
with delight to Henry s readings of Marmion, by 
which he has rendered a few rainy evenings pleas 
ant, and have occasionally pointed out subjects 
which they thought an artist might successfully 
illustrate. One is the last interview of the haugh 
ty and high-minded Douglas, at the gates of Tan- 
tallon Castle, with the hero of the poem, who 
would fain have given him the parting hand. 

"But Douglas round him drew his cloak, 
Folded his arms, and thus he .spoke : 
My manors, halls, and towers shall still 
Be open at my sovereign s will, 
To each one whom he lists, howe er 
Unmeet as honor d guest or peer. 
My castles are my king s alone, 
From turret to foundation stone ; 
The hand of Douglas is his own, 
And never shall, in friendly grasp, 
The hand of such as Marmion clasp. " 

H 



170 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

What a rebuke for soiled knightly honor to 
one of the proudest warriors of England ! 



Dreams are such a pleasant part of life. They 
seem a proof of God s loving kindness, that, while 
we are apparently unconscious, he provides for 
us a happiness which we have not sought after, 
and can scarcely understand. " He giveth to his 
beloved in their sleep," as some translator has 
rendered it, instead of the common version. I 
often think of this passage at waking with grati 
tude for the action of the unslumbering mind, and 
the scenes through which it has been led, so wild, 
so wonderful, that memory, with her plodding 
pencil, can scarcely touch their rainbow hues. 



How is sorrow ever treading on the heels of 
joy ! Henry s father-uncle has been smitten by 
a stroke of apoplexy. He is no more. Oh 
Death, how fearful art thou when thou comest 
unawares ! One moment man moves in the glory 
of his strength ; the next, what and where is he ? 



Pale ! pale ! How changed ! Never more to 
speak to us ! The bereft house is as solemn as 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 171 

the tomb. Those who pass to and fro on neces 
sary avocations glide with noiseless step and sup 
pressed tones, revering the sheeted dead. 

My mother and myself came to Henry in his 
trouble. We remain with him much of the time 
during the day, for we can help and comfort him. 
My tears have flowed freely with his, for I love 
those whom he loved, and it is my privilege to 
share in his griefs. 



Love deepened by sorrow. I did not know 
how perfectly my heart was Henry s until this 
affliction came upon him. He divides his cares 
with me, and asks my counsel so confidingly, that 
I feel as if I had not lived in vain. There are 
many things to be done in which my mother s 
advice and aid are important to him and to the 
housekeeper. 



What a change when the head of a household 
falls ! What utter desolation ! The band that 
held it together is broken. The divinity that 
presided in the temple has departed. As before 
the fall of Jerusalem, mysterious voices are heard, 
saying, "Let us go hence." 



172 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

The funeral obsequies are past. He who so 
lately entered his own doors in the glory of his 
strength has been borne from them to return no 
more. I have never before fully realized the so 
lemnity of such a scene, from not having been call 
ed, until now, to take part as a mourner. How 
unspeakably impressive, yet consolatory, is the 
burial-service of the Church of England ! The 
most thoughtless are arrested by its tender pa 
thos. " Man that is born ot a woman is of few 
days and full of trouble." After that shudder of 
the heart which comes with " earth to earth, ashes 
to ashes, dust to dust," and the echo of the clods 
from the cold casket of the sleeping clay, how 
like a triumph-strain breathe the words, " I heard 
a voice from heaven saying unto me, Write : bless 
ed are the dead who die in the Lord." The soul 
that has been broken, and laid low with grief, lifts 
itself up and responds, "Even so, saith the Spirit; 
for they rest from their labors." In the thought 
of their peaceful rest, so precious after this weary 
life, with more intense faith in Him who is " our 
resurrection and life, in whom he that believeth 
shall live though he die," we go from the grave 
which we have enriched by what we love. If 
we turn away from it no wiser, humbler, or more 
confiding in Him who can alone give us victory 
over this death that destroys the body, methinks 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 173 

"neither should we be persuaded though one arose 
from the dead." 



This bereavement of Henry s will hasten our 
nuptials. They had been appointed for the next 
spring, but his home is now closed, and he scarce 
ly comfortable at a public boarding-house. He 
is so sad and lone-hearted when away from us. 
He urges that on my approaching birth-day we 
should utter with our lips the vow that our hearts 
have long since taken. As he has consented to 
come to us, and there will be no separation of the 
family, but only an addition to its happiness, it 
will be far better to comply with his wishes than 
to constrain him longer to lead the life of a 
stranger. 



I sit alone in my own room this thirty-first of 
December, until midnight, to bid the year fare 
well ; a year to me so eventful, so fraught with 
changes that take hold on eternity. Its mantle 
fades in the dim distance, but the smile of a cloud 
less moon silvers the landscape while it gives me 
the parting kiss. As its last voice, Twelve, slow 
ly knells itself away, my heart is lifted in fer 
vent praise to the Almighty Giver who has led it 



174 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

on, through light and through darkness, in unerr 
ing wisdom, and crowned it with love. "Bless 
the Lord, O my soul ; and all that is within me, 
bless His holy name. Bless the Lord, O my 
soul, and forget not all his benefits." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 175 



Thursday, January 1st, 1818. 

With the first light of this hallowed morn of 
my birth and of my bridal, I look unto Thee, the 
father of my spirit, the high rock oi my salvation. 
I cast myself at Thy footstool before the blessed 
sun comes "rejoicing in the east." Humbly I 
take Thy glorious name on my lips, yet in the 
confidence of faith. Thou, who hast never for 
gotten me since I was laid on my mother s bo 
som, remember me now. 

Much have I to implore on this, the most event 
ful day of my existence. What shall I say? 
Thou knowest all. Thou hast filled my cup 
with an overflowing mercy ever since I was born. 
In the new brightness that now surrounds me I 
would not proudly wrap myself, thinking that 
there will be no cloud. May I press the cross 
meekly to my breast when trouble cometh. May 
I seek the happiness of others more than my own, 
not resting too much on this beautiful earthly 
love, save as it enhanceth that which is divine 
and eternal. And now, Almighty Protector and 
Guide, I consecrate unto thee the being that thou 
hast given. What I omit to ask for my true 
good, deign to grant ; what I desire amiss, deign 



176 LUCY HOWAKD S JOUKNAL. 

to deny ; for I supplicate thy wisdom in all my 
ways, the smile of thy sustaining Spirit on my 
soul, through the intercession of a blessed Re 
deemer. 



Our wedding was quiet and simple. It would 
not have been proper, on account of recent be 
reavement, that it should be gay or festive. In 
vitations were given to those only who had pe 
culiar claims. The circle was therefore select, 
but pleasant and sympathetic. 

The rooms were beautiful with flowers. Our 
little conservatory gave forth all its wealth and 
fragrance. The hyacinths were in full glory, in 
bulb-glasses and in pots ; and the English ivy, 
climbing out of its baskets, almost covered the 
principal windows. Heliotrope and mignonnette, 
Henry s favorites, were so disposed among the 
rich crimson roses as to have a good effect. Mary 
Ann s taste and assistance were freely lent. She 
and Egbert stood up with us at the solemn cere 
mony. 

" Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride 
her attire?" asks the prophet. I was gratified 
that the entire simplicity of mine was approved 
by those whom I best love. A pure white dress, 
a fair white rose in the bosom, white rose-buds 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 177 

and orange-flowers wreathed in the hair that was 
all. I was so glad not to be absorbed in pre 
paring an elaborate costume, or for the excitement 
of a large and strange company, at an era so sa 
cred. My grandfather s blessing and my moth 
er s embrace, after the thrilling, hallowed ceremo 
ny, and their sweet welcome of my beloved to 
their heart of hearts, I can never forget while 
memory holds her seat. 



Henceforth, in all my prayers, another soul 
standeth with mine. I implore the Divine favor 
for that soul before my own. I would stand back 
that it may receive the first fullness of the heav 
enly blessing. I would be lost in its shadow, if it 
might but drink a double portion from the fount 
ain that cleanseth unto eternal life. 



Henry has seen Niagara in the frigid drapery 
of winter, and thinks it more strikingly majestic 
than when surrounded by the gorgeousness of 
summer. He is very urgent to take me there, 
and I should be delighted to behold that magnifi 
cent work of Nature in its most solemn garb, 
and with him. But dear mother is not entirely 
well, and I should not think it quite right to leave 
II 2 



178 

her for a tour of pleasure. He acquiesces in my 
reason, and thinks anxiety would mar the enjoy 
ment of both. She would not permit this renun 
ciation on her account, if she knew it, for she does 
not call herself ill. But since I have been a sen 
tinel over her health, I perceive the slightest ap 
proach of the most insidious foe sooner than she 
does, because she never thinks of herself. With 
our united care, I trust these slight symptoms of 
evil will vanish. In the mean time, we have 
fallen back upon our original plan, which was to 
visit Niagara at the period first appointed for our 
marriage. 



Mary Ann and her mother have given us an 
evening party, as pleasant as refined society, 
sweet music, and elegant refreshments could make 
it. Those kind feelings reigned which impart so 
much enjoyment, and are long remembered. The 
manners of one of the guests I could not help ob 
serving. Every lady received from him some no 
tice or polite attention ; in the graver conversa 
tion of gentlemen he mingled, and his opinions 
were heard with regard. But he sought out the 
oldest persons in the company for his especial at 
tention, and brows marked with age brightened 
as he drew near. The respect thus paid to the 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL 179 

hoary head seemed both an offering of the heart 
and the result of high principle. Then he looked 
after those who chanced to "be embarrassed or 
overshadowed, and, being at ease himself, suc 
ceeded in making them so. There was a boy 
of that certain age which is constrained in a cere 
monious circle, and feels that it is wanted no 
where. To him he went, and anon the bashful 
creature was talking as to a companion. A young- 
child of the family wandered about like a stray 
lamb, and resisted every advance. But she was 
found sitting on his knee, and presently, lo ! she 
throws her white arms around his neck. His de 
portment was evidently no attempt at popularity, 
but an amiable desire to make others happy, and 
a pleasant consciousness of being able to do so. 

Who was this gentleman ? and why did I feel 
proud of him ? 



"Husband" is a new, great word. I have not 
yet learned to use it. It seems to denote a being 
quite above me ; something to look up to and be 
afraid of, like the Grand Mogul. I still cling to 
the more familiar cognomens, endeared by early 
association. This proper and dignified title will 
get learned by little and little, and naturalized in 
due time. 



180 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

Henry sympathizes with me in fondness for 
noticing anniversaries. Sometimes, instead of 
simply mentioning the recurrence of the birth or 
death of some distinguished personage, he amuses 
us by throwing himself into the character. This 
morning he came down rather stylishly wrapped 
in a large cloak. 

" Whom have we the honor of receiving ?" 

"Excuse me, I pray you, for thus appearing 
before you without introduction. Deign to ques 
tion me, and I will endeavor to give you satis 
faction." 

" Of what country are you a native?" 

"Of England." 

" In what year were you born ?" 

"Forgive me for not being quite ready to tell 
my age. It is rather a delicate matter. Dates 
might reveal me too soon." 

"Where did you learn to make that elegant 
bow?" 

"Of my father." 

Was your father a schoolmaster ?" 

"No; schoolmasters don t make the best bows." 

"Did he superintend your education?" 

"Not so much as my mother. To her I am 
under unspeakable obligations." 

" Was she qualified to instruct you ?" 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 181 

" She was a learned woman, and, being but 
feeble in my childhood, I was by her side when 
the deepest impressions are made on the mind 
and heart." 

Perceiving who he was personating, I said, in 
a low voice, "Notwithstanding her great learn 
ing, she was willing, it seems, to be the Cook of 
Bacon" and left the examination to others. 

My mother said, " Had you any brothers, who 
were distinguished like yourself?" 

"I had one, madam, who was much regarded, 
and deservedly so." 

" Had you many friends ?" 

" Some ; but more in seeming than in truth." 

"Were you much of a traveler?" 

"Yes, in early years." 

" At what college were you educated ?" 

"At Cambridge." 

" How old were you when you entered ?" 

" Twelve, madam." 

" What was your employment through life ?" 

" I had various vocations. My most congen 
ial one was the writing of books." 

" What kind of books ?" 

" I wrote about the earth, and about the winds, 
and the life of one of the kings of England." 

"And about philosophy, for you early took 
all learning to be your province. 



182 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

My grandfather, who seemed to imagine that 
he was some military personage, or, perhaps, wish 
ed only to prolong the entertainment, said, 

"Were you ever personally in a battle?" 

"No, sir." 

" Had you any thing to do with the American 
war?" 

"Nothing at all." 

"Did you know George the Third?" 

"I had not that privilege." 

" Had you any part in making the laws of 
England ?" 

"I held an office under government." 

" Under a king or a queen ?" 

" Under both." 

" Did the latter ever pay a visit at your house ?" 

"I think it possible that she might." 

" I wonder if it is possible that you were once 
the little boy who, on such an occasion, being 
asked his age, replied, He was just two years 
younger than her majesty s happy reign ? " 

"I was." 

" Fairly caught, my grave Lord Keeper. Now 
I understand the pun of that fair little wife of 
yours, as your mother was the daughter of Sir 
Anthony Cook ; so please take a seat at the 
breakfast- table, and apply yourself by affinity to 
that excellent plate of bacon. And pray help us 



183 

also, since I think you said of old that you 
took it upon you to ring a bell to call other wits 
together rather than to magnify your own. r 

Laughing, he divested himself of his immense 
envelope, and, as the repast proceeded, an occa 
sional interrogatory was addressed to his assumed 
character. 

" Since you are found out, have you any ob 
jection to tell your age ?" 

" I was born on the twenty-second of January, 
1561, at York House, in the Strand, two hundred 
and fifty-nine years since, this very morning." 

"I always wondered why so eminent a man 
should suffer his servants to rule him." 

"My mind was upon greater things." 

"What made you offer so much flattery to such 
a person as James the First ?" 

"It was the fashion of my times." 

"Being so much wiser than other men, why 
did you seek so slavishly for court preferment ?" 

"That was my weakness." 

"Were you friendly to Essex?" 

" I advised him for his good to conciliate Eliz 
abeth, and enforced it by the words of Scripture : 
4 " Martha ! Martha ! attendis ad plurima, unum 
sufficit :" win the queen? But he would not 
take my counsel, and followed his own wild 
temper." 



184 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

" May we ask if you were true to him in his 
adversity ?" 

" I gave assurance long since, in my works, 
that I had the privy-coat of a good conscience. 
Nevertheless, I am glad that my present engage 
ments do now call me away, inasmuch as your 
questions are more numerous and searching than 
comport with my perfect convenience." 



Our intervals of leisure through the day and 
stormy evenings, when we have no company, are 
made so happy by the mixture of reading with 
our conversation, and the luxurious music of the 
flute. It seems as if we could never be satisfied 
with its dulcet melodies. I know of no instru 
ment of music, when skillfully played, that so 
well illustrates Milton s line of 

"Linked sweetness long drawn out." 



Shakspeare s delineation of Catharine of Ara- 
gon has interested us anew. The combination 
of high Spanish pride and religious bigotry with 
the truthfulness and tenderness of womanly na 
ture is well portrayed. To awaken strong inter 
est in such a personage, without any allurement 
of beauty or talent, required skill in the poet. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 185 

Much is owing to her position in history, and to 
the injustice of her lot, which creates pity. There 
is to our sex some secret charm in her domestic 
character. Her gloomy residence at Kimbolton, 
sequestrated from the company of her only daugh 
ter and all the allurements of the court, she cheer 
ed, as far as she was able, by the industry of the 
needle among her maidens. One of the old chron 
iclers says that, when visited by the wily cardi 
nals on matters of state, she came forth to " meet 
them with a skein of white thread hanging about 
her neck." Notwithstanding the courtesy and 
resignation with which she received them, how 
spirited is her rebuke when she discovers their 
duplicity : 

" The more shame for ye ! Holy men I thought ye." 
Touching indeed is her mournful admission of 
her unprotected state, far from her native country, 
and devoid of counselors and friends in her ad 
versity : 

" Those whom my trust should grow to, dwell not here." 

The contrast between her dignity and the 
thoughtless impulsiveness of her beautiful rival 
must have required some adroitness to manage, 
inasmuch as the latter was the mother of Queen 
Elizabeth, under whose auspices Shakspeare then 
wrote ; a woman inured to flattery, and not deli 
cate in either manifesting or avenging her dissat 
isfactions. 



186 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

What strange things children sometimes say ! 
Mary Ann s young sister asked her mother if 
she might invite two schoolmates to spend Sat 
urday afternoon with her. Permission was grant 
ed, and the inquiry made if they had not a little 
brother who could accompany them, and play 
with her own. The young girl replied, 

" No, ma am, they have no brother, except one 
who is much older, and I believe he is only a 
half-brother." 

The child, who was giving close heed to their 
conversation, exclaimed, with a ludicrous look of 
dismay and wonder, 

"A half-brother! Have they got the part 
that has the head on it ?" 

Perhaps Solomon s decision to divide the con 
tested child with the sword might have been in 
his mind, and lent some precision to his ideas. 



We have had a delightful sleighing-party of 
our more immediate friends. The pure snow, the 
elastic atmosphere, the rapid motion over perfect 
ly-beaten roads, the exhilarating sound of the sil 
very bells, the surpassing glory of the full, liquid 
moon, and the cheering voices of loved ones, form 
ed a singular combination of pleasure. The bri- 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 187 

dal vehicle was expected to take the lead, and the 
white steeds, tossing their manes, seemed to en 
joy the exercise in every nerve and muscle. Ar 
riving at a township of several miles distance, a 
favorite point for such excursions, we found, at 
the spacious house of entertainment, a fine orches 
tra awaiting us, and, after listening with delight 
to their spirited and varied music, partook of an 
elegant supper. The only drawback to my hap 
piness was some apprehension, which scarcely 
sprang up, however, till we were ready to return, 
that the unusual lateness of the hour might cause 
anxiety at home. But, lo and behold ! I found 
them entirely prepared for the result, and sitting 
up to receive us in the best possible spirits, hav 
ing been apprised of every arrangement for the 
concert, which was to be a bridal surprise, and, 
of course, kept secret from me. I can not, by 
any form of words, express my gratitude to my 
Heavenly Benefactor for His countless blessings. 



We have great comfort in Sandy, an excellent 
Scotch servant, long trained and trusted by Hen 
ry s uncle, who has lived with us since our mar 
riage. Both in the house and out, he is equally 
efficient, never tired, and always respectful. This 
mixture of Caledonian blood with New England 



188 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

culture makes a very reliable and intelligent per 
son. He lias also knowledge of gardening, and 
is already pondering how our grounds may be 
improved when the season opens. His ruling 
idea at present is a grapery, which it has been 
decided to erect, as a prolongation of the conserv 
atory, and already he sees in imagination long 
Syrian clusters depending from the roof, like the 
grapes from the valley of Eshcol. On this and 
kindred subjects he sometimes enlarges to Amy, 
his sole auditor, who begins to think all wisdom 
inherent in the Scottish clime. He studies, dur 
ing the long evenings, whatever he can find on 
horticultural subjects, and sometimes comes to 
ask for a volume of the Encyclopedia, having, 
like most of his nation, a love of knowledge. Oc 
casionally he reads aloud to his African friend, 
who has great respect for mental improvement, 
and reciprocates his condescension by little offices 
of kindness. It is pleasant to see them so con 
tented in their lot ; for surely the kitchen, from 
whence so many important supplies daily issue, 
and which has so much to do with the well-being 
of the household, should not have its own com 
fort and respectability neglected. 



It cheers and makes me inexpressibly grate- 



189 

ful to see the entire reliance of my dear mother 
on her new son. This affection was an unspoken 
want in her heart. Perhaps she was not fully 
conscious of that void until it was supplied. 
Whenever it is in his power to assist her, he leg 
islates or acts for her with such tenderness and 
discretion that she needs to burden her mind 
with no weight of care. My grandfather, too, is 
equally pleased with his activity and perfect re 
spect for advanced years. At every proposition 
that is brought forward, it is, "Wait, and ask 
Henry ;" on any matter of taste, before an opin 
ion can be given, it is, " Wait, and see what Hen 
ry says ;" no enjoyment, however trifling, can be 
partaken of until " Henry comes home." Some 
times it amuses me to see them surrender their 
opinions, as if they were scarce accountable be 
ings. I knew they would eventually love his 
goodness, but had not supposed it would be so 
absorbing a sentiment and of such rapid growth. 
Earnestly and continually do I bless God for this 
bright sunbeam upon the path of their advancing 
years. It would be impossible for me to enjoy 
my own added happiness unless I also saw theirs 
protected and promoted. "Bless the Lord, O 
my soul, and forget not all His benefits. Bless 
the Lord, O my soul ; and all that is within me, 
bless His holy name." 



190 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 



Who love the Spring ? The snowdrop pale, 
The crocus bursting through its veil 
These dare the Frost King s ire to meet, 
And risk their lives her step to greet. 
i Whom doth Spring love? The hyacinth rare, 
The tulip gay, with queenly air, 
To them her choicest gifts she flings, 
And " coats of many colors" brings ; 
Yet none mid all that petted race, 
Who garden proud or green-house grace, 
So well her fond regard requite 
As snowdrop meek and crocus bright 
For her the deadliest foes they brave, 
And buy her love-kiss with their grave. 



With the fine settled weather we are beginning 
to prepare for our journey to Niagara. Great 
pleasure are we anticipating from the view of 
that wonderful scenery, and the new regions 
through which we shall pass together. Yet it 
will seem so strange to leave those behind who 
have hitherto accompanied me in all my excur 
sions. We shall write daily during our absence 
to our blessed mother and grandfather, that they 
may know all our movements, and, as far as 
possible, partake our joys. The angel of the cov 
enant spread over them his protecting wing, and 
bring us again in happiness to our sweet home. 




LUCY HOWARD S 

Niagara! God s voice! God s voice! Let 
man keep silence. 



That fathomless flood! That torrent falling 
night and day ! Have they never rested ? Will 
they never run out ? Hath it been so from the 
beginning ? Will it be so unto the end ? No 
other such symbol can there be of God s eternity. 



If any are disappointed in this glorious cata 
ract, it must be either because they did not know 
what to expect, or did not stay long enough to 
become acquainted with its sublimity. In all 
changes of light or darkness, by starlight, by 
glimmering moon, or under the storm-cloud, it 
grows upon you as a mysterious and awful pres 
ence, an embassador from Him who "poureth 
out the waters in the hollow of His hand." Should 
it be possible for them to be disappointed at last, 
methinks it must be from their inability to grasp 
the great thoughts that sweep onward and over 
whelm the soul. 



The Rapids are beautiful. From the window 
of our hotel we have a fine view of them. The 



192 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 

volume of water becomes suddenly compressed, 
and opposed by rugged rocks. In contending 
with them it prepares for the terror of its great 
plunge, from which it seems at the last moment 
to recoil, as if it would fain escape, like an intel 
ligent being shrinking on the verge of some great 
calamity. 



There is wonderful fascination in the recesses 
of Goat Island. Thither we often turn, and lin 
ger long. When our senses are overpowered by 
the majesty of the great fall, and our earthly na 
tures seem unable longer to endure such sublim 
ity, we hide in the shadow of its umbrageous 
trees, like the prophet in the cleft of the rock, 
when that ineffable glory passed by which "no 
man may see and live." There we sit, in silence 
too exquisite for speech. Sometimes we gather 
the wild flowers that cluster around our feet, still 
unconsciously, for we "wist not what we do." 
It was in one of our flights to this enchanted 
isle that we first beheld the lunar bow. We had 
often seen Niagara thus celestially " clothed by 
the sun," but now, like the mystic vision of the 
seer at Patmos, it " had the moon under its feet." 
Neither pen nor pencil could touch the tremulous 
beauty of that crescent, " born of the evening 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 193 

dew-drop, and the smile of starry queen." So 
pure, so illusive, it seemed like the folded shad 
ow of some heavenly thought. 

It would be desirable that every visitant of 
Niagara should, if possible, choose that time when 
the moon has power to present him this gift, her 
own delicate, unequaled tinting of Nature s grand 
est picture. 



We have been so annoyed in what we intend 
ed should be solitary visits to different points of 
the surrounding scenery by the company of a 
statistical genius, whom we tried vainly to avoid. 
Enthusiastic is he too, in his way, but it turns to 
matters of admeasurement. He has spent quite 
a long time here, and is lavishly benevolent of 
his knowledge. When you fancy yourself con 
cealed in some quiet nook, he suddenly appears 
at your side, and raises the screech of his expla 
nations above the thunder of the torrent. 

" Have you visited the Cave of the Winds ?" 

"Not yet." 

"I shall be happy to show you the way. I 
have been seventeen times to the Termination 
Rock. When do you go over on the British 
side?" 

"We do not know." 
I 



194 LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 

"You are aware, I suppose, that the fall is 
longer on their side, but not so high as on ours 
by six feet. Their part of Niagara is 2100 feet, 
and ours not more than half as long, but it s 164 
feet in height." 

We relapsed into silence, hoping to be left un^ 
disturbed ; but he continued : 

"Do you know how wide Niagara Hiver is 
when it first bursts out of Lake Erie ?" 

"No." 

"Well, it is full two miles, and at Grand Isl 
and it spreads out to three ; but the rocks shut 
it in so that it s scarce a mile broad here and at 
the Rapids above. The four great lakes that it s 
the outlet of cover a surface of 150,000 miles." 

"Could not you have something of a water 
privilege here ?" said Henry, hazarding a joke ; 
but he took all in good part. 

" Grand mills, indeed, there might be, sir no 
end to the water-power. But the trouble would 
be where to build them, and how to make them 
stand." 

The man is neither foolish nor ignorant. On 
the contrary, he has gathered a large stock of in 
formation during his sojourn here, and is, I believe, 
writing a book. But the mistake is, he thinks it 
his vocation to do the honors of Niagara. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 195 

The voyage to the Canadian shore was to me 
unique and impressive. I had never before been 
on such deep waters. As we reached the middle 
of the current we were sensible of its giant force, 
bearing up the boat like an egg-shell upon its 
terrible tide. Instinctively I glanced at the mus 
cular arms of the rowers, wondering if they were 
equal to a task which seemed full of temerity. 
The view of the falls is here magnificent. A 
stupendous column with a fathomless base, and 
its head among the clouds. It utters not, like 
Memnon s statue, musical articulations, but with 
a great thunder-voice warns you not to approach. 
Unable to turn away your eyes from the beauty 
and the terror, you gaze at it, amid fragments of 
rainbows, until you are blinded by the baptism 
of its spray. Forgetting all the apprehension 
that at first oppressed you, you are lost in hu 
mility, and feel what you really are, an atom in 
the great creation of God. 



Niagara is but imperfectly appreciated until 
viewed from the Table Rock. As you stand upon 
that unparapeted verge, its unveiled glory bursts 
upon the astonished senses. Its scope, its majes 
ty, the ineffable beauty of its coloring, the white, 
the green, and the violet, are more fully revealed. 



196 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Flocks of little birds dare to disport around, dip 
ping their slender wings in its clouds of spray 
unharmed. 

Descending to its base, and looking up, we were 
awed by another aspect of sublimity. Though 
less overpowering, it seemed, in some respects, 
more congenial to us, born of dust, to dwell 
among the lowly thoughts that there sprang up 
like blossoms in the shade. 

This is Thy temple, Architect Divine, 

By whom the pillars of the universe 

Were rear d from chaos. To the thundering flood, 

Smiting austerely on its ear of rock, 

It answereth naught. 

Man brings his fabrics forth 
With toil and pain. The pyramid ascends, 
Yet, ere it reach the apex-point, he dies, 
Nor leaves a chisel d name upon his tomb. 
The vast cathedral grows, while race on race 
Fall like the ivy sere that drapes its walls. 
The imperial palace and the triumph-arch 
Uplift their crown of fretwork haughtily ; 
Yet the wild Goth doth waste them, and his herds 
The Vandal pasture mid their fallen pride. 
But thou, from age to age, dost heavenward raise 
Thy rocky altar to Jehovah s name, 
Silent, and steadfast, and immutable. 



Here we are, in the dominions of his majesty, 
the British king. No perceptible change in our 
selves by being under a monarchical government. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 197 

There is doubtless in us Americans an innate love 
to the good old mother-land. It was inculcated 
on our ancestors as a part of their religion, and, 
though the war-cloud dashed it with bitterness 
and stained it with blood, it is not dead. I trust 
she will be proud of her high-spirited offspring 
by-and-by. These Canadian subjects of George 
of Brunswick are less intelligent, and wiry, and 
wide awake than the Yankees. They seem an 
industrious, well-disposed people, not made unea 
sy by a surplus of ambition. 



We are well accommodated here, and from the 
windows and piazza of our hotel have command 
ing and enchanting views of the great cataract. 
Among the places in this vicinity to be visited, 
we went to Drummondsville, and stood on the 
spot where the sanguinary battle of Lundy s Lane 
was fought three summers since. This we did 
that we might better describe its locality to our 
grandfather, who, though he deprecates the last 
war, has a soldier s reverence for bravery. A 
guide pointed out to us where the conflict had 
most furiously raged, and the earth drank deep 
est of their blood whose veins were filled at the 
same fountain. Near by was the burial-ground, 
where, their brief hatred over, they quietly sleep, 
" whom fate made brothers in the tomb." 



198 



Back on the American side, which is, after all, 
more beautiful, though less sublime than its com 
petitor. One more walk together on the Terra 
pin Bridge, an unpoetical name given to a strong 
abutment, ending in a single beam of timber, and 
projected over the flood as far as it can be with 
safety. To stand on this point and look into the 
foaming abyss beneath your feet, amid the whirl, 
and the eddy, and the tumult, rocked by the 
winds, and bathed in the spray, gives a sense of 
isolation from all God s created works. At first 
it needs some firmness of nerve, and you grasp 
the balustrade at every step, but eventually there 
is a strong, strange pleasure in standing there, 
as though the soul were alone with its Maker, 
and swallowed up in Him. 

A romantic young man persuaded his lady-love 
to let him lead her blindfold at her first visit to 
this terrific spot. At the extreme point he re 
moved the veil, and she fainted. It must have 
required no small degree of skill and tact to con 
vey a helpless form from so singular a location. 



Farewell to Niagara ! I could not have sup 
posed that the parting would have caused pain. 
Henry, who has been here before, says this re- 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 199 

luctance to leave increases at every visit, and that 
the attachment is proportioned to the length of 
your stay. It does not seem like common, ele 
mental matter, a great flood put in motion, but a 
mighty*soul with which you intimately commune. 
Its sublimity is not like that of the grand, sol 
emn mountains, on whose heads the clouds set 
tle. It has a voice, forever speaking one great 
Name. Their ascent is with toil and peril, breath 
ing through blood, from the rarefied atmosphere. 
Here, you seat yourself, as friend with friend, in 
the shadow of green trees, under the loving skies. 
Neither is its sublimity like that of the ocean, 
now tossed and towering in the madness of 
storms, and then subsiding into a dead calm that 
sickens the mariner. More than any other thing 
of earth it may be called always the same. But 
is it a thing of earth ? Nay, rather of the skies, 
and in affinity with the " Sky-builder." 
Tis never angry, and it changeth not. 



We have solaced our sorrow at parting with 
Niagara by a visit to Boston, the fair capital of 
the grand old "Bay State," to which the other 
New England commonwealths look with filial 
pride. This is Henry s favorite city, and he con 
fidently trusts that it will be mine also. It con- 



200 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

tains about forty thousand inhabitants, and has 
many elegant public and private mansions. The 
State-house, on its lofty eminence, is imposing, 
and the Common, with its graceful elms, a truly 
pleasant spot. The environs, with here aftd there 
a baronial country residence, are exceedingly beau 
tiful, and under high cultivation. I am glad there 
are no falls to visit. I would not see them if 
there were. I am jealously pledged to admire 
only Niagara. 



On the sacred ground of Bunker Hill have we 
stood, at that very anniversary (June 1 7th) which 
has given it in history a place with Marathon and 
Salamis. Before us spread, as in a great, living 
picture, the recorded events of that day : the an 
ger of the regal troops at discovering the breast 
work thrown up during the night by the toil of 
our fathers ; the " arming in hot haste" under 
morning s peaceful smile ; the in dignant pride of 
the more powerful host ; the resolved firmness of 
the other, on whose brows was written Freedom 
or death; the rush to "battle s magnificently stern 
array;" the trumpet cry ; the commanding form of 
Prescott ; the thunder- voice of Putnam ; the fall of 
Warren ; the flames of Charlestown ; the volleys 
from the deck of the Asia, making the quiet waters 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 201 

a partner in earth s conflict; the countless cir 
cumstances which, by eye-witnesses and actors, 
had been related to us, gathered new force while 
standing on the soil which had so deeply drank 
the blood of its sons. Methought the spirit of 
76 came over us, and we were filled with more 
enthusiastic gratitude to those who, for us their 
posterity, thus "periled their lives on the high 
places of the field." 



Boston is far less bustling than New York, 
less calmly serene than Philadelphia, more staid 
and ceremonious than Baltimore. Its English 
habitudes are deep, and yet it has a marked idio 
syncrasy. Its dignity has been sometimes thought 
to amount to stiffness, especially by our Southern 
friends, who have such a pleasant facility in get 
ting acquainted. There is great respect for an 
cestry testified here, in which both Henry and 
myself sympathize. He says the aristocracy of 
honorable descent is far preferable to that of 
wealth, and brings with it a loftier class of senti 
ments. The society which we have met, princi 
pally on account of his late uncle, who had many 
acquaintances here, have given some fine speci 
mens of the " old-school manners." Among these, 
the Hon. Harrison Gray Otis has appeared to me 
12 



202 LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL. 

the most perfectly polished and courtly. He 
knows how to say elegant things in an elegant 
manner, and just at the right time. Though past 
fifty years old, a senator of the United States, 
and distinguished as a lawyer and politician, he 
has all the freshness and amenity of early man 
hood. I should think he might possess that kind 
of popular fascination that distinguished Themis- 
tocles, seeming to know every one, and to say 
gracefully what every one would best like to hear, 
yet without compromising his own elevated posi 
tion. Why should any one assert that gentle 
manly manners are of little consequence? I doubt 
whether I could entirely, or long, love any one 
who was radically deficient in them, provided op 
portunity had been given to acquire them. True 
politeness, springing from a knowledge of what is 
due to others, a desire to render them happy, and 
a disposition to please itself last, is not only a 
most attractive accomplishment, but in sympathy 
with the spirit and duties of religion. 



Exceedingly beautiful is the scenery in the 
richness of this leafy month. Sparkling streams 
wind like ribbons through the vales, and silver 
lakelets are adorned with the iris and water-lily. 
The pastures are profuse with the white blossom 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 203 

of the blackberry, seen through vistas and forest 
ranges of the sweet wild rose. 

While I stop to gather these till the carriage 
is paved with bloom, Henry interests himself in 
the various geological formations. Sometimes he 
discovers slatestone, and a kind of gneiss unusu 
ally brilliant with mica ; then comes upon lime 
stone ranges, where fine marbles are imbedded. 
But I am allured from his scientific eloquence 
when the wild, bold hills, or excavations among 
the mountain spurs break on us radiant with the 
most splendid specimens of the laurel. Its deli 
cate tints of pink, now fading into white, and 
anon deepening to a decided red, contrasted with 
its dark, lustrous leaf, continually reminded us of 
Him whose pencil could alone paint it. We were 
happy that our leisurely mode of traveling per 
mitted us to take note of Nature s charms, and to 
heed even the simple lessons of a flower. When 
the object is only to surmount space with as much 
rapidity as possible, the rural sentiment receives 
no culture, and some of the purest pleasures of 
which we are susceptible must be sacrificed. 



How_that little word home underlies all our 
satisfactions ! The heart comes lack to it as a 
key-tone from all the wanderings of its song. For 



204 

myself, I shall be content to roam no more. In 
Niagara have I not seen the utmost that Nature 
can display? My eyes have "looked upon the 
king in his beauty, and, until they behold the 
land that is very far off," methinks they are sa 
tiated. 



When the sound of our returning wheels was 
heard, in the prolonged flush of a summer twi 
light, my blessed mother and her father, the beau 
tiful old man, hastened forth to welcome us. A 
joyful meeting was it. Faithful Amy, too, par 
ticipated in our pleasure ; so long a bearer of our 
toils, she has a right to be a sharer in our joys. 
Her attachment to us seems like that of feudal 
times, and her sable skin and lot of servitude are 
no reasons why it should not be reciprocated. 
She was glad also to see Sandy, our kind and 
careful driver, and anticipates great entertainment 
from his details of the wonders of his way. 

Into our evening devotions and chanted hymn, 
voices and flute concurring, the incense of grate 
ful hearts was pressed to overflowing. As a fam 
ily reunited by God s mercy, we knelt before Him 
in love and praise. Graciously may His Spirit 
guide us until this heaven below shall lead us to 
a heaven above. 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 205 

Methinks I am too happy and too idle. A 
most ungrateful return for distinguished bless 
ings to become inert and self-indulgent. What 
can I do for the good of others that shall involve 
some effort or self-denial ? Hitherto all my serv 
ices of that sort have been pleasant and overpaid, 
gifts cast into the treasury that cost me nothing. 
I would fain bring those two mites which were 
approved by Him who " pleased not himself," 
and whose followers we profess to be. 



It seems as if I might be useful by instructing 
poor little girls, were it only in the use of the nee 
dle. Many home-virtues are connected with that 
simple implement, and much wretchedness has it 
power to prevent ; but, unless acquaintance with 
it is formed in early life, it is seldom resorted to 
with pleasure or profit. After a family consul 
tation, there has been full consent that I should 
undertake such a plan, and once a week have as 
many of these neglected children as our back par 
lor will conveniently contain. Henry is especi 
ally zealous about it, because he knows it will 
please me. He is arranging to have benches 
made, of a proper form and height, which can at 
other times be slipped into the conservatory and 



206 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

grapery, and serviceable there. God bless his 
kind, ardent heart. 



Mother and I have been out canvassing for 
scholars. I reap the benefit of her large ac 
quaintance with the poor, and of their gratitude 
to her. Into the "highways and hedges" have 
we gone, yet not compelling them to come in, for 
they scarcely needed persuasion. The argument 
that had most weight in overcoming any shadow 
of hesitancy was, that, after they had learned the 
use of the needle, they were to have for their own 
any garment that should be given them to make 
in school. I trust that ere long some of the tat 
tered habiliments we have seen in our visits will 
be mended, or replaced by better ones, through 
the little people committed to my charge. 



They have been, the poor young creatures, for 
several Saturday afternoons. At first they were 
so uncouth and so frightened. Two of the small 
est set up a great cry, not knowing what evil was 
to befall them. I was so glad that they could 
look into the conservatory. The flowers seemed 
to quiet and assure them. They gazed on them 
with dilated eyes. Was it the perception of beau- 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 207 

ty that soothed their poor hearts, or felt they His 
protecting presence who careth for the lilies? 
Now the feelings of the timid ones have subsided. 
A few are bold and coarse, and require to be re 
pressed. But all are the beings of Thy power and 
love, Father in heaven, and should be dear to us, 
for the Savior s sake. 



My children have greatly improved. Some of 
them did not know at first on which finger to 
wear the thimble, or, indeed, what a thimble was. 
Now they begin to sew carefully. The plainest 
needle-work and reading are all that I at present 
attempt. These simple branches are interspersed 
with oral instructions, in the form of short stories, 
precepts, texts of Scripture, or verses of hymns. 
I cultivate in them the habit of attention when 
spoken to, and of respectful manners. Instead 
of rushing into the room en masse, and making 
for the benches as if pursued by a wolf, the strong 
pushing the weak, and the bashful slinking behind 
the brave, they have learned to enter and leave the 
room with a decent courtesy, each taking her own 
particular seat in an orderly way. I am resolved 
they shall have civil manners, if they fail in ev 
ery other accomplishment ; also, if they read only 
ten words, they shall pronounce them distinctly, 



208 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

if tliey go over them ten times for that purpose ; 
and not, like the pupils of some of our fashiona 
ble seminaries, who, perhaps, may excel in music, 
yet neither in reading or speaking enunciate so as 
to be understood, leaving it doubtful whether their 
words be "piped or harped." I seem to love 
these little ones, more for their ignorance and 
their faults, because, in a great measure, they are 
not to blame for either, being the result of their 
condition in life, and because they are so ready 
to forsake them, and learn better things. 



The changes that have been made in our 
grounds by Sandy s Scottish zeal and persever 
ance, under the direction of Henry, and the daily 
supervision of my grandfather, are surprising. 
Especially have the productions of the garden 
expanded and multiplied. Beds of rich escu 
lents, which to my eye are comely, furnish our 
table with abundant supplies, and are acceptable 
presents to neighbors and friends. Raspberries 
cover with their fruitage the espaliers that sup 
port them ; currants, trimmed in the form of small 
trees, display long, pendent strings of red and 
white, while at their feet, and circling out beyond 
them, the strawberry in its season ran luxuriant 
ly, breathing fragrance. Grape-vines, loaded with 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 209 

clusters, from wall and trellis, promise an abun 
dant harvest. Upon these fruits of our heavenly 
Father s bounty, bearing so directly on health 
and comfort, I look with more delight at this 
season than even at the flowers, which are the 
especial solace of winter. Mine, from the little 
green-house, are disporting themselves in the free 
soil and open air like city children let loose upon 
a farm. Henry so enjoys his walk and work here 
when the confinement of banking hours is over. 
There we wander together "at the cool of the 
day," and devise improvements. Then, also, he 
often inquires about my pet school, and its dif 
ferent members, and co-operates with a strength 
ening sympathy. 



All our family congratulate me on the improve 
ment of my school, both in diligence, good man 
ners, and neatness of appearance. The latter has 
been quite an object with me, keeping in view 
the ancient adage that "cleanliness is next to 
godliness." Faithful Amy presides over a tank 
and a robing-room, through whose transmigra 
tions they pass ere they enter their school, which 
I am glad has been kept in a parlor, for it author 
izes me to claim more of that preparation which 
is so useful to them. Faces and hands receive a 



210 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

thorough ablution, if necessary, and the hair gets 
a careful brushing from this mistress of ceremo 
nies ; then long-sleeved aprons are put on, cover 
ing their whole dress, which she keeps nicely fold 
ed for them until they come again. I was amused 
to see her drawing back two who had rather light 
ly escaped her criticism, exclaiming, "Here! here! 
clean hands and a pure heart before you go in to 
the mistress." She is fond of quoting Scripture, 
or any wise saying she may have heard, having 
a remarkable memory. She considers these serv 
ices of purification a part of the educating pro 
cess, and herself honored by being permitted to 
preside as priestess at the laver. Her kind heart 
is therefore comforted by counting her office, which 
is surely no sinecure, as comprehended within the 
sphere of benevolence to the poor. 



It is not merely during the time allotted to my 
school that the children occupy me. Their work 
must be prepared during the interval, and the sew 
ing materials supplied, that I may be able, when 
with them, to attend to their lessons, and mingle 
as wisely as possible those instructions which I 
hope may prepare them for a better life. I was 
not before aware of the strong interest of 5 the teach 
er in those under her care, though I knew the af 
fection the young heart bears its teacher. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 211 

We have a list of the families of the scholars, 
and call on them in rotation. This kind of par 
ish visiting is very useful, for, thus becoming ac 
quainted with the interior of the laboring house 
holds, we better learn how to aid or encourage 
them ; and this wider sympathy with humanity is 
a material of true happiness. 



One pleasure of a journal comes from writing 
our thoughts without the trouble of correcting or 
elaborating them. Giving them their course, just 
as they rise, on the "cream-bowl" of the mind, 
they have more freshness than when churned into 
butter, to use, like Socrates, a homely compari 
son, though this is borrowed from Milton, who de 
scribes in L Allegro the goblin toiling to " earn 
his cream-bowl, duly set." A journal has almost 
a magician s power in recalling past scenes and 
clothing them with their first life. When you 
review it, a single line, like a seed-thought, 
draws around it countless associations. Its wand 
touches departed friends, and they come back ; 
books long since read, and they pour out their 
wealth anew ; forgotten events, and they burst 
brightly upon memory ; buried feelings, and they 
are quickened in their graves to a resurrection. 
So, by the aid of this silent annal, the unwritten 



212 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

pages of life are made plainer and more vivid than 
those which the pen has traced. 



The breath of the Frost King, hastening be 
fore his time, has not yet prevailed to whiten the 
dew-drops, but he has torn the leaves from their 
boughs, and turned them brown, tossing them 
about spitefully. Ah ! what have they done, thus 
to be abandoned to a tyrant s power ? Greenly 
had they waved, making the landscape beautiful, 
and hurting none. They had, perhaps, looked 
into the nests of the birds, and spread a cool cur 
tain over them while they slept, and thrilled with 
joy at their morning song. Innocent were their 
lives and lovely ; but the birds have flown away 
to a warmer clime, and forgotten their tender care. 
In poverty and desolation the smitten leaves die, 
with none to mourn for them. 



The happiest anniversary of our blessed Ke- 
deemer s birth that I have ever known. Impress 
ive and delightful were its sacred ceremonies in 
the sanctuary. Sermon, music, and all the serv 
ices seemed in unison with the angel s song on the 
plains of Bethlehem, " Peace on earth, and good 
will to men." Almost like inspiration breathed 
that sweet old hymn : 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 213 

" While shepherds watch d their flocks by night, 
All seated on the ground." 

The exchange of gifts at the early morn soft 
ened and cheered our hearts, while the love of 
God and of each other, with the high praises of 
Him whose coming was our salvation, made earth 
like heaven. 



The children of my home-school were not for 
gotten in our joy. The Saturday after Christ 
mas was a festival for them. Each was permit 
ted to invite two guests, and generally brought 
their parents or sisters, while a few of our own 
intimate friends came to witness the scene. The 
pupils entered two and two, entirely neat in their 
persons, clothed in white aprons with long sleeves, 
made by their own needles for this occasion from 
materials given by my mother. They saluted the 
company with a respectful courtesy, answered a 
few simple questions about what they had learn 
ed, and read very slowly and distinctly a verse 
or two from the Sermon on the Mount. Our 
good minister made them a kind little address, 
which they seemed to comprehend. Then they 
received their gifts with thanks and joyous faces. 
Henry, having had a nice basket made for each 
by an Indian woman whom he patronizes, pre- 



214 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

sented them, filled with cakes and fruits, which 
they were to carry home and share with their 
families, instead of selfishly consuming. My 
grandfather s gift was a pair of thick shoes, my 
own a warm shawl, and my mother s a nice quilt 
ed hood, on which we had both been for some 
time busily engaged ; so that the whole class 
will now be in a plain, comfortable uniform. We 
had selected such articles as we knew most adapt 
ed to their needs, and I detected my grandfather 
pressing into the hands of such as had aged rel 
atives at home parcels which he had privately 
prepared for them. Blessed eld man ! At part 
ing, they stood in a circle, taking hold of hands, 
and sang to a simple tune the following still more 
simple strain : 

We will sing, companions all, 
On this Christmas festival 
Sing with hearts of joyous cheer 
To our friend, our Savior dear. 
Not to palaces of fame 
On his day of birth He came ; 
No, He chose the humblest cell, 
Bow d with lowliest ones to dwell. 
All our gifts from Him proceed, 
Every blessed word and deed, 
That to Christian friends we owe, 
From His glorious Gospel flow. 
We would thank Him o er and o er, 
We would love Him more and more : 
Poor and needy though we be, 
Teach us, Lord, to follow Thee. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 215 



Friday, January 1st, 1819. 

Almighty Father, "the rolling year is full of 
Thee." With the voice of thanksgiving I ap 
proach Thee. My whole being offers thee praise. 
All my joys, all my hopes, I place in thine Om 
nipotent hand, with the repose of undoubting / 
trust. My hopes, my joys, have I said? What 
right have I to call any thing mine ? For all 
mine are thine, and I am thy servant. 

The mercies that I need, Thou knowest. Sup 
ply them according to Thy wisdom. The trials 
that are appointed me, Thou knowest. Let Thy 
grace be sufficient for them. Command the an 
gels, whom Thou hast appointed our ministering 
friends, to draw nearer with their sustaining 
smile, their strengthening wing. 

The soul that Thou hast incorporated with 
mine, in every request for Thy favor, grant it a 
double portion. Fill us more and more with Thy 
most excellent gift of charity. Deign to accept 
us, while we lay upon Thine altar all that we 
have and are ; commending ourselves to the 
watchfulness of the compassionate Redeemer, to 
the Spirit of grace and consolation, to the un- 



216 

slumbering Former of our bodies and Father of 
our spirits, through time and through eternity. 



" Yet oh ! Eternity s too short 
To utter all thy praise." 



I think the chief value of a conservatory is to 
furnish tokens of friendship and cheering gifts 
for the sick. Our own has been so prosperous 
as to supply us bountifully for such purposes. 
One class of these opportunities has been more 
frequent than usual, many of our acquaintances 
having suffered from an epidemic influenza, whose 
effects are singularly debilitating. Among them 
has been Emily ; and in sending her our sweetest 
flowers, I have breathed the silent prayer that 
their heavenly fragrance might lead her in Chris 
tian obedience and love to their bountiful Giver. 



I am laboring now with my scholars during 
their intervals for conversation, and, indeed, while 
they are working, to impress the importance of 
truth as the foundation of all moral duty, and 
necessary to acceptance with that Being of truth 
who seeth in secret and rewardeth openly. I 
endeavor to simplify the subject by breaking it 
into parts. I require of them, in any statement 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUKNAL. 217 

they wish to give me, or any narrative I desire 
them to relate, a strict adherence to facts as they 
are, and to words just as they were spoken. The 
obstacles to this accuracy are not so often a love 
of falsehood as inattention to minute circum 
stances, and ignorance of the precise import of 
language, which are common to uneducated minds. 
Therefore I try to quicken their habits of obser 
vation, and to instruct them in the meaning of 
words. The culture of the powers of perception 
is no slight part of a proper training. Much de 
ception arises, not from an intention to deceive, 
but from neglecting to make that use of the eyes 
and ears on which correct testimony depends. To 
impress the import of words, I accustom them to 
constant definition, whether in reading, spelling, 
or conversation, asking them what they under 
stand by such and such a word, until they com 
prehend and remember it. 

I am convinced that the untruthfulness which 
is so freely charged upon the lower classes and 
upon children often comes from the bewilder 
ment of undisciplined minds, or from want of 
moral courage to confess what has been done 
amiss. If you set fear in array against truth, it 
will be very likely to prevail, where there is no 
strong religious principle. What a mistake to 
frighten those who have committed a fault. As 
K 



218 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

if the pain and disgrace of doing wrong were not 
sufficient to make us pitifully yet firmly set them 
right again, and not plunge them into the deeper 
shame and grief of falsehood. 

I have found it useful, while enforcing this 
cardinal duty of truth, to show them, at the close 
of the week s school, the engraved likeness of 
some person eminent for integrity founded on re 
ligion, and to describe the character, that they 
may bear away the force of example with the re 
membrance of the picture as a monitor until we 
meet again. 



Among my most favorite plants is the Cycla 
men Persicum. Its fair, white, modest flowers 
steal forth so unostentatiously, and stay so long. 
I had never seen it until it was sent by one of 
Henry s acquaintances at a distance. It has be 
come such a favorite that I do not place it in the 
conservatory, but keep it in my own window, as 
a sort of intelligent, suggestive companion. 

A modest plant was sent me by a friend, 
Bearing in meekness on a slip of board 
Its own cognomen, like a christen d child, 
"Cyclamen Persicum" 

That blended name 

Touch d pleasant memories of classic Greece, 
And of that ancient clime where Ormus swells 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 219 

O er pearl-sown depths, and to whose generous hand 
The princely guerdon of the peach we owe. 

A host of leaves my welcome guest put forth, 
Heart-shaped, and vein d with purple fleshy stalks 
Of sanguine hue, with here and there a bud, 
Tiny and bent to earth. It shared my care 
With jonquil, and the sweet-bell d hyacinth, 
And gorgeous tulip. Lovingly it took 
The water-drops, that every morn I shed 
As on the forehead of a healthful babe. 
But soon a blossom, breaking from its sleep, 
Bade us good-morning. Full of simple grace, 
Its five smooth petals, neatly folded back 
Like a white rabbit s ear, were faintly flushed 
As the pure snow on some untrodden height, 
That feels the warm kiss of the parting sun. 
Lapp d in the purple of its central orb 
Daintily dwelt the stamens, while its eye, 
Methought, regarded us as though it knew 
What we were saying, or was half ashamed 
Of its own praises. 

Other buds ere long, 

On pensile stems, like lowly shepherd s crook, 
Straighten d their floral spines, opening their lips 
To the soft, wooing air. All unassured, 
The enfranchised petals timidly diverged, 
Some laterally, and some on half-poised wing, 
Until with toil they found their fitting place 
And perfect form. I felt constrain d to watch 
The strange transition, though each blossom seem d 
Hurried and ill at ease, like half-dressed belle 
Surprised with hair en papillote at noon, 
And prone to hide until is deftly made 
Her full toilette. 

Sweet flower, I love thee well 
For thy long constancy, amid the change 



220 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

And frailty that environ thee. Behold, 

The fair narcissus corrugates its brow 

Like some proud lady, wrinkled ere her prime. 

My tulips, flaunting in the noonday sun 

But yesterday, draw close their tarnish d robes ; 

And the .o er-wearied hyacinth exhales 

A sickly odor, as though fever raged 

In its spent veins. 

But thou, my Persian flower, 
Week after week, like some unshrinking friend, 
Most loving in the winter of our joys, 
Eenew st thy beauty, and wouldst lead our heart 
Unto that Hand from whence each season conies 
In wisdom and beneficence to man. 



Mary Ann and Edgar join us one evening in 
each week for the consecutive perusal of history. 
Hume is at present occupying us. Such inter 
course is perfectly delightful. The remarks thus 
called forth rivet the knowledge in remembrance, 
and often inspire original thought. 



Methinks the African race have warmer affec 
tions and more lasting attachments than our hire 
lings of other nations. Probably I have formed 
my judgment from our faithful Amy. So long 
has she served us and been interested in our wel 
fare, both as a family and as individuals, that I 
feel as if she were our own flesh and blood. To 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 221 

be served from the heart is a luxury, a privilege 
for whose continuance we should give thanks to 
God. 



The pleasures of feminine industry are always 
worth securing. To the highest domestic happi 
ness they are capable of adding a consciousness 
of discharged obligation, of marking the fleeting 
hours with usefulness, and of adding with our 
own hands to the comfort of those we love. A 
zest is thus given to the ministries of the bright 
little needle, that instrument of woman s weal 
which was not despised in Paradise. " Was not 
Eve the first seamstress ?" asked one of my schol 
ars, as I was giving her some advice about her 
work. Another little one, as quick as thought, 
rejoined, "Who was her teacher? Who sewed 
her aprons for her till she learned how?" One 
is almost shocked at the familiarity or irreverence 
of the idea ; but I have encouraged them at prop 
er times to converse freely with me, if they will 
never interrupt each other. Thus I am in the 
way of hearing some strange and bright fancies. 



" I love flowers, and all that God loves," said 
the eloquent Bishop Taylor. Would not that 



222 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

conformity to what is revealed to us of the divine 
character be a better evidence of congeniality and 
acceptance than any form of words or peculiarity 
of doctrine? " Men build the walls of religious 
controversy so high that no beam of divine love 
can penetrate or surmount them," says an old 
writer. How was the sublime poet, Milton, de 
prived of his last remaining eye ? Not by the 
labors or demands of Urania, but his bitter po 
lemical warfare with Salmasius, whereby the 
world is now neither better or more wise. 



" I don t know any thing about housekeeping," 
said a young acquaintance ot ours soon to be mar 
ried. " I am sure I shall not like it, so I think 
we will take our present abode at a boarding- 
house." This seems to me a fraud upon her fu 
ture partner. Putting capital into the concern, 
he has a right to expect that it shall not be frit 
tered away by mismanagement or indifference. 
The most common trade requires an apprentice 
ship, and this profession, which involves so much, 
ought not to be entered without at least some 
wish to understand it. My mother says there 
are two stages in the novitiate of domestic duty 
which must be overcome ere it can be performed 
with pleasure. One is the ignorance common to 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 223 

all, the other the dislike which indolence or mis 
taken education fosters. 



Sandy has been permitted to add to his rural 
realm a few hives of bees. His especial pride 
are they, and he appears to understand their 
management. This is an occult science, and not 
always a safe one. I hear him talking to them 
early in the morning, in his favorite broad Scotch 
dialect. He says they like to be spoken to pleas 
antly, and maintains that they will not sting the 
family who take care of them. How far this is 
a fine fancy remains to be proved. I recollect 
reading, when a child, in the Memoirs of Mar- 
montel, a very pleasing account of the tempera 
ment of his father s bees, and how an aunt of his, 
when they were oppressed by chill and humid 
weather, used to take them in her hands and 
warm them by her breath, while they crept in 
gratitude over her neck and shoulders. I think 
it will be some time ere I proffer such marks of 
tender regard. They surely have strong charac 
teristics, an independent way of providing their 
food, and no despisable power of testifying dis 
pleasure. I love much to hear their busy, mo 
notonous song, as the tireless troop 

" Make war upon the summer s velvet buds, 



224 



Which pillage they with merry march bring home 
To the tent-royal of their emperor." 



Shakspeare, whose knowledge of human nature 
was so great, seems not quite so well informed 
about the polity of bees. Modern naturalists 
represent them as under feminine rule. The re 
lation that their chief ruler bears to them would 
seem to make their form of government matriar 
chal, if we may be allowed to coin a word. At 
all events, they are no upholders of the Salique 
law, and prosper notwithstanding. 

The great bard just quoted styles them 

" Creatures who, by a ruling instinct, teach 
The arts of order to a peopled kingdom." 

Without knowing much about their interior 
legislation, I love to watch the progress of their 
architecture through the glass in their hives, 
which sometimes they secretively cover. Curi 
ously they find their way into every crevice of 
the conservatory, and travel, I am told, for miles, 
guided by favorite odors. Their diligence in the 
garden is unwearied. It was such a pleasant 
sight to see them clustering around the apple- 
trees when they were in blossom, eagerly enter 
ing every little cup for its draught of nectar, and 
swaying the light branches downward with their 
weight. That kind of efflorescence seems pecul 
iarly gratifying to their taste, and the honey 



LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 225 

drawn from it, like that from the Southern orange- 
flower, has an exquisite flavor. 



MY BEES. 

Ye gossip not with the insect tribes 
That pipe mid the morning dew, 

Or with light wing float on the evening breeze 

Ye talk with the souls of the flowers, my bees 
What do they say to you ? 

Ye whisper long to the rose s heart 

Doth she an answer of love impart ? 

Scorning the butterflies gaudy hue, 

Sub rosa to them, is she frank to you ? 

Ye linger long in the lily s cup, 

The apple-blossom kiss ; 
The little white clover, with pearl-drops set, 
The heliotrope and the mignonnette, 

Prolong your strain of bliss. 
No idle lovers ye are, I ween, 
But thrifty and close as a banker keen, 
Ye turn each moment to good account, 
Keeping an eye to the full amount. 

What do ye bring to your hive, my bees ? 

Wealth from the world of flowers. 
Ye hoard it all with a miser s air, 
Ye seal it well with a chemist s care, 

In your scientific bowers. 
Builders ye are of a fair design, 
Without the architect s rule and line, 
Striking your hexagons all so true, 
Though a problem of Euclid you never drew. 

But amid your many trades, my bees, 
I am told you are teachers too ; 

K 2 



226 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Though to earn a living, and teach beside, 
Both patience and zeal must be sorely tried. 
By a work of such versatile power and pride 

As a Yankee scarce could do, 
Good lessons ye give, if your lore we d heed, 
Of the happy life the industrious lead, 
Who dwell with the sweetness in Nature found, 
And shed sweet gifts on the world around. 



Henry is troubled because he fancies he has 
checked my taste for writing poetry, which he 
says I do not cultivate as before our marriage. 
He kindly adds that he could not forgive himself 
should he be the means of destroying any gift 
or attainment I might have possessed in earlier 
years, but would feel it his privilege as far as pos 
sible to add to their number. So, to remove his 
scruples, I immediately wrote a dialogue for two 
boys, in whose education he is interested, to speak 
at their approaching school exhibition : 

Philosopher. I feel the weariness of life, and fain 
Would rest me in the grave. I ve had my day. 
I know what earth can give : its gilded lures, 
Its show of wealth, its shallowness of hope, 
Its sound of friendship, and, more light than all, 
Its hollow gratitude. Lo ! he s a fool 
Who stakes his birth-right on its shifting sands, 
Whelm d by each fickle tide. 

Christian. And yet this world 

Is counted fair. Hath it not aught beside ? 

Phil. Yes. Shouts of power, and trumpet-blasts of 
fame, 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 227 

That make the hero stagger with delight, 
And then with death. A million souls went forth 
At Caesar s bidding, and the dagger s point 
Let out his own. 

The Scandinavian dyed 
The snows with crimson till a dubious shaft 
Laid him as cold as those he trampled on. 
The Corsican rode high o er nations crests, 
And quaffed the froth of honor, yet no monk 
Caged in his cloister more ignobly sank 
Than that same rampant lion. 

Chris. Is this all ? 

Phil. No. Obelisk, and monument, and arch 
Triumphal, and the column to the cloud, 
For storms to wreck, and dozing time to spoil, 
And worms to eat, and men to idly ask 
Whose names they guarded. 

Cliris. Yet this life is sweet, 

And earth made beautiful with flowers, and stars, 
And winged music. Brother, why is this ? 

Phil. Ah! why? We know not, save to make the 

weak 
Cling closer to it when they re torn away. 

Chris. Not always turns our planet from the sun, 
Nor hath the heavenly Gospel fail d to leave 
Witness of glorious peace. 

Phil. You, Christians, yes, 

Your creed is perfect, but your deeds are lame ; 
And when your Master bids ye dwell in love, 
Ye lanch your javelins at a differing thought, 
And count a doctrine crime, and wake a strife 
Of hate and bitterness, compared to which 
The honest warfare on the tented field 
Is merciful. 

Chris. Do ye not greatly err 
To judge God s truth by man s infirmity ? 



228 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

Phil.^Would. that I were like you ; and yet methinks 
I ll not admit so much. Alas! alas! 
The weight of life misspent doth burden me, 
And in my heaviness I go the way, 
I know not whither. 

Chris. Brother, the deep sigh 

Of penitence shall ease thee. Let us kneel, 
Soul by the side of soul, to Him who calls 
The heavy-laden. 

Brother, cast away 

The shield of scorn. Go love some little child ; 
Cull some sweet flower, and let it breathe its balm 
Into thy nature ; throw thine alms abroad ; 
Smile on the outcast ; cheer the darken d hut ; 
Uplift the sorrowing by thy sympathy, 
And thou shalt feel the morbid stream of self 
Ebbing away, and sunbeams wrap thy soul. 



Henry very kindly accepted my extempora 
neous dialogue for his proteges, and thinks I 
have happily kept in view their different style 
of elocution in the characters assigned them. It 
animates me to have won his approval, "for his 
applause is more than fame." 



The close of our dreary season threw out a 
bright smile, but fickle and deceptive it has proved. 
Somebody or other, perhaps Thomson, has said 
or sung, that 

" Winter, lingering, chills the lap of May." 
I never much admired his metaphor. 






LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 229 



Stern Winter quakes upon his tottering throne, 

Yet heads his legions from the stormy North, 
"While Spring, the uncrown d princess, seeks her own. 

The loyal willow hangs his banner forth 
First, mid the frowning ranks of haughty peers, 

While by the brooklet, creeping all about, 
The cottage children, roaming with their shears, 

Cut cress and dandelion to help out 
Their simple meal. Lo ! thundering on his path, 

The usurper-king prolongs his tyrant reign; 
Yet timid Flora, trembling at his wrath, 

Still slow and sure her rightful rule doth gain ; 
But when rich music stirs the nested tree, 
And insect life exults shall I be there to see ? 



What was the gift of Spring to me? yes, its 
very first morning ? A snow-drop ? an arbutus ? 
a daffodil ? No, the Frost King kept too sharp 
watch for that ; but a blossom never to die was 
laid in my bosom. It has spread fresh green 
ness over the soul. 



Can it be possible that for four weeks I have 
cherished this gem in my heart? Not like the 
mother of Moses, hiding from the footstep of 
foes, but amazed at the weight of my own great 
happiness. 



230 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

This new affection has awakened in the young 
father an ineffable tenderness. It has opened a 
deeper fountain in his manly nature. He is never 
tired of watching the creature that to him seems 
so wonderful. Scarcely will lie trust himself to 
touch it, lest he should disturb its velvet mecha 
nism. 



My mother almost fears to take her portion of 
the heart s wealth that God hath given us. So 
full has she been of apprehension for her darling, 
that she can not at once lay it aside. Methinks 
this maternal love hath ever an element of anxiety. 



" Blessed is the house to which a babe is sent." 
So said our loved patriarch as he made me his 
daily visit, asking that this child of the third gen 
eration might be laid in his arms. As he bowed 
his head in silence, I knew, by the saintly spirit 
on his brow, that there was a pause of prayer. 
May the petition of the righteous man for his 
posterity prevail with God. 



How precious is a nurse that understands her 
duties, and is faithful to them. The health of a 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL 231 

young mother throughout life may depend much 
upon wise care at such a crisis. The habitudes 
of an infant are of such importance, too. I was 
surprised, novice as I am in such matters, to see 
how soon it might be led to that regularity in 
taking food and sleep which promote its well-be 
ing and the comfort of all around. 

o 



How wonderful the exquisite workmanship of 
God in this miniature of humanly 1 Breathing, 
moving, opening its eyes, unfolding its tiny fin 
gers, every change is a study of which I never 
tire. The first night after his birth I could not 
sleep for watching him. I had never seen so 
young an infant before. I was not kept waking 
by pain, but by the curiosity of wondering love. 
I said to myself, "Am I in a dream? Is this 
iay baby?" I feared that the breath, heaving 
the little breast, might stop, and, when any slight 
sound stirred the lips, exclaimed, " God s mys 
tery! God s mystery 1" 



It is a nice time to be convalescent when Na 
ture also is recovering from her wintry gloom. 
There is a sweet consent between her and the 
heart in their song of gratitude. A warm spring 



232 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

rain has just cheered the earth and tinted it with 
fresh green. 



A nurse of her own sex, in the most critical 
period of their lives, if she has a knowledge of 
her profession, should be clothed with authority. 
She takes a fearful responsibility, and should be 
obeyed accordingly. I have submitted to the wis 
dom of mine, and found benefit. The entire re 
liance which her knowledge and kindness inspire 
keeps the mind in quietness. Her strenuous ex 
clusion of company, until a proper time, shelters 
the nervous system. It is true that I have often 
fancied myself able to bear effort and excitement, 
but yielded to her experience, and reaped the ben 
efit. I have been obedient to the sway for which 
now I thank her, though I might have felt at the 
moment that I could fly through the window, 
with baby in my arms, and follow the birds, 
who, "singing, up to heaven s gate ascend." 



Henry is prouder of his baby for its being a 
boy, that I can see. There is such a peculiar 
ring to his voice as I sometimes hear him say 
ing, " We have a boy at our house. You must 
come and see my boy" I have discovered a new 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 233 

beauty in the name of husband since it is asso 
ciated with that of father. Dignity and com 
pleteness do they lend to each other. Around 
them cluster all those images of protection, reli 
ance, and love, which our weaker sex needs from 
the loftier. 



Our first drive. Short and sweet. I did not 
wish to return so soon. Every thing was so fair 
even the humblest shrub and grass-blade. Nurse 
essayed to cover baby s head, thinking that at his 
first exposure he might take cold ; but he was 
restless, and lifted up his little arms as far as his 
blanket would allow, opening his eyes, large and 
round, and seeming to say, "Let me see this 
mighty fine world I have got into." 



The baptism of our child. How solemn the 
service ! This consecration of the gift lent us, 
perhaps for a little while, has called forth the 
deepest devotion of the soul. On his brow the 
pure water of the covenant has rested, and over 
him been uttered the great Triune name. Now 
we more realize his immortality, and our own ac 
countability as guardians of a being dedicated to 
God, teachers of what may be tempted to evil, 



234 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

hostages for his appearance on the right hand at 
the last day. Our duty as parents assumes a 
weight and seriousness never before realized. 
May we not fail. Lord, instruct us, that we may 
instruct the child ; for, if continued in life, how 
soon will he emerge from this dream of infancy 
into the chances and changes of that path which 
passes "under the cloud and through the sea," 
until the pilgrim s staff is laid down at heaven s 
gate. 



I am so thankful that it was in the heart of my 
husband to give our child my grandfather s name. 
It was my secret desire ; but, ere I had breathed it, 
he kindly proposed it, saying, if we could thus 
give pleasure to the living, he thought it our duty, 
rather than to select from fancy, or even from 
among names of the departed. The happiness that 
this choice has imparted surpassed all my anticipa 
tions. The heart of the aged saint expands with 
fresh vigor. He identifies himself with the little 
being as though it were a new edition of his book 
of life. He is so affected that Henry should thus 
have chosen him instead of his own ancestors. 
Every returning day brings a new gush of de 
light. Never can I sufficiently express my grat 
itude for the tender consideration thus shown to 
his venerable age. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 235 

My kind nurse lias gone. I can not help 
mourning as for a valued friend, though I was 
fortunate that her engagements should have per 
mitted her to remain with me almost double the 
usual time. The secret of her excellence, beside 
her knowledge and native decision of character, 
is a conscientious, consistent piety. I have dis 
covered, though she makes no boast of her doings, 
and never voluntarily alludes to her own concerns, 
a circumstance in her history worthy of remem 
brance and honor. She had a brother in the 
newly-settled states who suddenly died, soon 
after his wife, leaving three young orphans. She 
felt that it was her duty to receive and shelter 
them. No one had she to send on this distant 
and difficult embassy. Therefore she, who had 
scarcely ever before passed beyond the limits of 
her native county, set forth, a lone woman, for 
the far, wild West. Traveling night and day by 
public conveyances, or in all manner of vehicles, 
she at length reached the new settlements, search 
ed out the forsaken little ones in their different 
places of shelter, took them into her motherly 
care, and, with the babe in her arms, turned home 
ward. No trifle was it to perform this journey 
of many hundred miles with those three helpless 
creatures. Yet she trusted in God, and in all 



236 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

danger lie succored them. Safely to her own 
house and to her sister she brought them, and 
now, by her own industry, supports and educates 
them. All this is without ostentation or allusion 
to the subject, unless mentioned by others. It 
is beautiful to find such heroic virtue in humble 
life, and a self-denying piety that looks not to 
this world for appreciation or reward. 

Would that we might have a race of nurses 
like her. Would that we had some institution 
for their training, and such a teacher and exam 
ple at the head of it. Whoever should project 
and sustain an establishment of that nature would 
confer a greater benefit on the community than 
by endowing a professorship of some science or 
accomplishment, to be laid aside or forgotten 
when the duties of domestic life supervene. 



The first gleams of intelligence in babyhood 
are so sweet, the mind beginning to look through 
the sleep of the beautiful clay. I am sure Willie 
spread out his little waxen hand to-day and look 
ed at it. His half-wondering eyes said, " Is that 
mine ?" Ah ! and what are you going to do with 
that hand, when time knits its sinews and reason 
guides it ? The good grandfather thinks that he 
made him smile. Henry, in tossing him with a 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 237 

strong arm, reports that he laughed aloud. I am 
not so certain. Perchance the "wish was father 
to the thought." 



The problem is at length solved. The long 
incredulity is over. Steam has conquered the 
ocean. It has been asserted by our cautious 
ones that to take sufficient fuel and surmount 
other obstacles to the voyage would be impossi 
ble. But be it remembered that in this year 
1819, and of the independence of these United 
States the 43d, the steam-ship Savannah hath 
passed prosperously from our own shores to those 
of the mother-land. A great column of smoke 
was seen moving up the Mersey, and the Liver 
pool people, in dismay and pity, dispatched two 
lighters to relieve the burning vessel. But when 
the character of the pioneer messenger was com 
prehended, cheers and acclamations swept in full 
tide from the surrounding coast. 



My poor, dear scholars have come back again. 
During my sequestration, my loved Mary Ann 
has taken charge of them, and has found Nancy 
Dean, now fourteen years old, quite an assistant 
in fitting their work. The diligent use of her 



238 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

hands is some solace for the crippling effects of 
the scarlet fever. How glad the affectionate 
creatures were to return, and how thankful was 
I to be able to resume their instruction ! At the 
close of the school they requested to see the baby. 
Their welcome was touching, and their admira 
tion so profuse, that it was well those little ears 
and eyes could not take it in, and be vain. He 
has not yet had experience that "flattery is the 
bellows which blows up sin." Yet I was grateful 
for the love that thus reflected itself upon an un 
conscious infant. I feel now how precious is the 
simplest offering of the heart to a teacher. More 
and more do I realize that the right nurture of 
the poor of my own sex is a benefit to the com 
munity. If, instead of misery and crime, they 
can be taught industry, and neatness, and virtue, 
will they not be apt to carry those examples into 
their own households when they have them, and 
bless a future race as well as the present? At 
any rate, I am cheered by the hope of making a 
patriotic offering, however small it may be, to the 
country of my birth. 



What a touching scene this morning ! A del 
icate little baby, of the age of Willie, whose moth 
er has recently died, was brought in to see us. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 239 

Its large, sad eyes turned earnestly to every per 
son and place. Thus has it seemed to "be search 
ing for its lost mother ever since she left it. She 
was a gentle, good woman, and I had that kind 
of acquaintance with her which nearness of seat 
in church creates, and now and then a pleasant 
smile or bow at passing. But now methought 
she stood visibly before me, bespeaking kindness 
for her child. The eldest daughter, a girl of re 
markable energy, takes charge of the family, and 
tries, as far as may be in her power, to fill the 
mournful vacancy. The babe is neatly and ten 
derly cared for, but now, amid the trials of den 
tition, will receive scarcely any nourishment, and 
pines after that which the mother took with her 
to the grave. With a burst of irrepressible tears, 
I offered that proof of love which a mother only 
can bestow. The enraptured eagerness of that 
famished infant, and its look of intense wonder, 
I shall never forget. The loving sister was fill 
ed with a speechless gratitude. I told her to 
bring it over for the present daily, at the same 
hour. I hope I may be enabled thus to give this 
poor little forsaken soul some shadow of content. 
My heart overflows with joy for the comfort al 
ready imparted. 



240 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

Is it possible that a babe of a few months is 
susceptible of jealousy ? I should not have 
thought it. Yet when wee Willie saw another 
baby in what he counted his own peculiar place, 
he opened his eyes large and round, until there 
was a white stripe above the blue iris. Next he 
knit his small brows, and distorted every feature, 
and stretched his hands nervously to pluck the 
intruder from the post of honor ; then he uttered 
loud, passionate cries, till my pitying mother re 
moved him from the trying sight. When he was 
brought back he cast exploring glances into every 
part of the room, so as to be sure that the dis 
turber of his peace was not ensconced in some 
secret nook. Even after he was fully reinstated 
it was not easy to pacify him, but he regard 
ed me with looks of reproach, as one who had 
conspired with the invader of his rights. In 
deed, after he had been lulled to sleep on my 
bosom, the long-drawn sobs attested his sense of 
injury. 



The happiness and caresses of a babe when it 
wakes in the morning are inexpressibly endear 
ing. I can not make up my mind to banish 
mine to a crib. Infancy is so short, I would fain 
enjoy the whole of its blessed intercourse. The 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 241 

varied sounds of Willie s voice after his long, 
unbroken night s sleep, are different from what 
they are during the day, more sweetly musical, 
touching the chords of the parents hearts like a 
strain from heaven. 



The only bequest of value to Henry from his 
uncle was a large tract of land at the far West. 
He is bound by the conditions of the will to dis 
pose of it to some person who will settle upon it 
and improve it, unless he will do this himself. 
The time has arrived for the decision, and he 
feels that he can not understandingly make it 
without a view of the premises ; so he leaves 
with little warning, that he may avail himself of 
the company of an intelligent gentleman who 
visits that vicinity for a somewhat similar pur 
pose. How can I part with him? How can I 
be divided from him so long ? The journey and 
change of scene may be favorable to his health, 
which is not very firm. Selfish heart, be silent. 



Poor little Willie has entirely ceased to resist 
our will with regard to the motherless babe. The 
discipline seems perfect. Familiarity with the 
daily visitor has ended in love. He smiles upon 



242 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

it as they unhood and unblanket it, like a blos 
som coming out of its sheath. To-day he would 
fain kiss it and give it one of his toys ; and, 
strange to say, it has lost its marked sadness, 
and grown plump and playful, so that we call it 
the melancholy baby no more. How truly I re^ 
joice to witness its growth and improvement! 



Letters from my husband. Prosperously on 
his way and invigorated. Methinks regret for 
his absence must be ingratitude to God. His 
descriptions of the grand, bold scenery are beau 
tiful. An artist might make a picture from his 
graphic sketch of a prairie : 

A sea at rest, whose sleeping waves are flowers. 



The sorrows of dentition, the advance-guard 
of those many ills that flesh is heir to, have come 
upon the baby. He moans in his sleep, and is 
feverish throughout the day. I am now much 
interested in physiological works, treating upon 
the welfare of infancy. With the aid of dear 
mother s counsel and experience, I fancy myself 
quite a doctress. To this I was inspirited by 
my excellent and accomplished nurse, who says 
a mother, best knowing the symptoms of her 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 243 

child, has an advantage in treating them which 
no other person can possess. If a true mother, 
she is a sentinel always at her post, so that noth 
ing can escape her. Her wisdom lies in the early 
discovery of every foe, in parrying the first indi 
cations of disease, in prevention rather than in act 
ive medicine. This is all I should venture to 
do, and not cope with sickness in those acute* 
forms which belong to the province of the regu 
lar and thoroughly-educated physician. 



My "beloved grandfather s delight in the baby 
is surprisingly great. Every new gleam of intel 
ligence is watched and commented upon. He 
evidently feels a right in him, as bearing his own 
name, which gives, if not a new lease of life, at 
least new brightness to its faded years. The 
beautiful aged head and the fair infant one are 
ever in close proximity, and, as all babies love to 
be whispered to, I see the little form as still as 
sculptured marble while the saintly voice breathes 
into its ear loving words or holy precepts. Per 
chance their spirit may tinge the scroll of the 
heart ere slower Reason brings her pen to record 
them. 



244 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

It seems so long, so long, since my husband 
went away. Just as I was feeling anxious for 
letters, and fearing accident or illness, he arrived, 
radiant with health and happiness. Every heart 
under our roof overflowed with joy. The rap 
ture of the young father, who fancied his boy rec 
ognized him, knew no bounds. How can I ever 
express my gratitude to his and our Preserver? 
Treasures of knowledge his observation has amass 
ed for our entertainment and instruction. The 
quaint verse of an old hymn gushes up, and sings 
like a hidden fountain in the silent heart : 

" Oh, God of grace, 

Henceforth to Thee 
A hymn of praise 
My life must be." 



So invariably good have been my scholars dur 
ing the past year that their Christmas gifts took 
the form of merited rewards. We studied to 
make them useful: a thick, good dress, a bag rich 
ly furnished with working materials, a book con 
taining the Testament, Psalter, and Hymns bound 
together, with the name of each in gilt letters on 
the cover, were in addition to the parcels of cake 
and fruits which they took home, and on which 
the baby put his little hand as if he were the giver. 
Their voices at parting, and those of the friends 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 245 

present, mingled with Henry s magic flute in the 
grand melody of Old Hundred, to the words, 
"Praiso God, from whom all blessings flow." 



As the closing hours of this most blessed year 
fleet away, I sit at the still eventide by the cradle 
of my sleeping child. The soft rays from the 
shaded lamp gleam on the placid brow of inno 
cence in repose. Beautiful emblem of the rest 
that remaineth for the people of God. 

The Lord be with him, and guide him, when 
my head shall slumber in the dust. Ah ! why 
do tears cover my face ? Are they not tears of 



246 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 



Saturday, January 1st, 1820. 

" Oh, my Lord, I know not what I should ask 
of Thee. Thou only knowest what I need. Thou 
lovest me better than I can love myself. 

"Give to me, Thy child, what is proper for me, 
whatever that may be. I dare not ask either 
comforts or crosses. I only present myself be 
fore Thee. I open my heart unto Thee. Be 
hold the wants that I am ignorant of. Behold, 
and do according to Thy mercy. Smite or heal, 
depress or raise me up. 

" I adore all Thy purposes without knowing 
them. I am silent. I offer myself in sacrifice. 
I abandon myself to Thee. Henceforth I have 
no will but to accomplish Thine." 



I have selected on my birth-day this prayer of 
the saintly Fenelon, as an expression of the im 
plicit faith I would aspire to rather than that which 
I have already attained. Sometimes I have felt 
that my religion might be of doubtful root, hav 
ing had no trials to test its sincerity. Perhaps, 
in my arrogance, I have wished that it should be 
thus tested. Has that time come ? If so, may 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 247 

the perfect resignation of the form of words that 
I have here chosen to utter enter into my soul, 
and indue it with strength from above. 



The first word of a babe ! Is there any other 
such music to the ear of a parent ? The language 
of our own, the dove-cooing of his love-moments, 
the chirp and carol of his joy, have long been un 
derstood by us. Those, sounds shaped by im 
itation were sweet, and constantly solicited ; but 
the application of the first words as a being of 
intelligence, the call for the mother, the father, 
the other kindred spirits, the outstretching of the 
round, waxen arms, as on little, tottering feet he 
hastens toward us, is a delight surpassing all pow 
er of description. 



My husband s heart has been much at the West 
since his visit there. He desires to become a res 
ident. His only brother, who has been for sev 
eral years settled on a large tract of land, given 
by their uncle on similar conditions with his own, 
urges him by letters to the pleasures and inde 
pendence of an agricultural life. I tell him I have 
no ambition for wealth ; but he rejoins, " We 
have a boy. We must legislate for him. Have 



248 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I any right to throw away his princely patrimo 
ny, and leave him unprovided for, perhaps depend 
ent ? Your grandfather s pension will expire 
with him. When I am worn out with this gal 
ley-slave business in the bank, what will become 
of our child ?" So work the seeds of ambition in 
the strong soil of a father s love. 



Alas ! Henry grows thin and sad. He starts 
from broken sleep, murmuring of the green West. 
His toil at the bank is disgusting to him. His 
dark eyes have lost their lustre, and evidently his 
health fails. How can I distress my heart of 
hearts ? God knows I would lay down my life 
for him. Not for myself do I hesitate a moment ; 
but oh ! for those who live in our life, and whose 
advancing years lead them to rest more and more 
upon us. He has said to me, " Make them will 
ing." I will try. Heaven help me. 



My dear, blessed mother ! I have spoken to 
her with many tears, she from whom I have never 
been separated since I was first laid in her bo 
som. She anticipated me. Though nothing had 
been said to her of this matter, her spirit seemed 
to have had an indwelling with mine. She met 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 249 

the subject with such self-abandonment, and 
poured strength into my weaker soul. After 
finding that Henry s preference was pervading 
and persistent, she said, " Your vow at the altar, 
my darling, was not the allegiance of a summer s 
day, but for all changes until the last." We 
held each other in a long embrace, and then she 
sank into the attitude of prayer, while I knelt by 
her side. Her supplications for submission, di 
vine guidance, and strength according to our day, 
will be answered. I feel already their holy in 
fluence, and am fortified. 



No one has yet spoken on this painful theme 
to the aged grandfather, who seems garnering 
himself up in the love of the child with an al 
most fearful idolatry. I have told Henry that 
this must devolve on him. Last evening I heard 
him say, in an adjoining parlor, 

" Will you counsel me, dear grandfather, on a 
subject of great importance ?" 

" State your case, and I will endeavor to do 
so." 

"You are aware that my only patrimony is a 

broad expanse of land at the West, which, by the 

written will of the donor, I am bound either to 

settle upon or to sell at a certain time, which time 

L2 



250 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

has now come. By my recent visit to it I have 
learned its value, and that to part with it at 
the present rates of sale would be a sacrifice 
approaching madness. What is my duty to 
do?" 

"Is it possible that you are gravely asking 
my opinion whether to remove or not to the far, 
wild West?" 

"Even so, my father, for such my heart calls 
you, having no other since the death of my uncle. 
He was full of enthusiasm about the settlement 
of the newer portions of our country, and, had he 
been younger, would have gone thither as a pio 
neer. How happy I have been to live here, sur-> 
rounded by all that I love, you know ; but, being 
now a father, I am called to look beyond myself. 
I must act for him who bears your name. Have 
I a right to dispose of what will eventually be 
his what will secure him wealth and influence 
for a paltry consideration ?" 

" You argue as if you were sure that nothing 
could befall him on the road to manhood. But 
how do you expect to live in that wilderness ?" 

" The means of subsistence are more abundant 
there than you in these worn-out states can con 
ceive. I have already established a practical 
farmer on a part of the estate, and caused a 
house to be erected in the simple style of that 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 251 

country, which will afford comfortable shelter 
until a better one can be obtained. These steps 
I thought advisable, even if I should decide to 
sell the premises." 

"Will you take away in my feeble age the 
lamb that has grown up in my bosom ? the little 
darling that, as an angel, has newly come to our 
house?" 

" Oh, do not reason in that way. You will 
break my heart." 

" If you are pressed in spirit to go, leave them 
behind." 

"My blessed grandfather, you would not ask 
impossible things." 

"Leave me, then, to my grave. It will come 
all the sooner for this." 

"Ah! no. Life is still strong within you. 
Nurtured in the athletic habits of the olden time, 
you have more vigor, and a better prospect of 
continuance, than many who are twenty years 
younger. You will come and see that great, 
glorious West. Your noble heart, that stood 
out the war-tempest without shrinking, will re 
joice more in its prosperity than those who know 
not the cost of its freedom. Yet, though I con 
fess that I long for the free, earnest life of a large 
agriculturist, and believe it would also be congen 
ial to her whom we both love as our own souls, 



252 

do not suppose that we will go without your con 
sent your full and free consent." 

"And this do you expect me to give?" 

" When you were called forth to the battles 
of the Revolution, did you say I would be ex 
cused ? My home is too pleasant ? Let others 
go ; I am not ready ; I am afraid ? No ; you 
took in your hands your life and your sacred 
honor, and God gave salvation to your native 
land. The patriotism of your times was the 
sword. Is not ours to build up the waste places, 
to plant the unbroken soil with the right seed, 
ere the wicked, entering in, shall sow tares and 
destroy the harvest? Were Washington here, 
would he not say go forth, and the Lord be with 
you ? And will not you, a disciple of Washing 
ton, a follower of Jesus, say the same ?" 

"You have asked of me more than man ever 
asked before the apple of my eye, and the core 
of my heart. Yet take them. I give my con 
sent." 

" Oh, not consent alone. It must be a bless 
ing. We can not depart in peace except thou 
bless us." 

"My son, you have conquered. The Lord 
bless and keep you. The good Lord strengthen 
me to say at all times, His will be done." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 253 

This morning, when I came down to break 
fast, the beautiful old man took both my hands 
and wept like a child. Then I sat long on his 
knee, as he has loved to have me do from infan 
cy, and, leaning my head against his, comforted 
his heart. As I whispered, " Our God loveth a 
cheerful giver," he said, smiling through his tears, 
"I ought not to have allowed you thus to get 
the advance of me. I should have told you that 
myself. Long have I been in Christ s school, 
yet babes and sucklings teach me." 



How blessed is the zeal of true friendship, 
how sustaining its sympathy ! Mary Ann, who 
from school-days has been as a sister, now proves 
herself one indeed. She has consented to take 
charge of my scholars. My poor, dear scholars, 
must I leave them ? She will pursue the same 
course to which they have been accustomed, and 
be assisted by Nancy Dean, who is skillful with 
her needle, and fully capable of fitting work, and 
will be allowed a small regular salary for the 
comfort of her feeble health and poverty. So, 
in this respect, it seems that good will come from 
my going, while in my vanity I was counting it 
but as loss to those left behind. 



254 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I have implored those who are most dear not 
to indulge grief in my presence at our approach 
ing separation, or allow me to do so in theirs. I 
would not enervate myself with vain regrets. I 
need their clear counsel, and all my own strength, 
for the necessary preparations. I would not be 
remembered by tears, but as a sunbeam, and pray 
of Him who wisely appointeth every stage of our 
pilgrimage that I may change my orbit like a 
cloudless star. 



It is decided now that we go when the season 
shall have sufficiently advanced to render the 
roads pleasant for traveling. We shall proceed 
in public vehicles a*s far as their routes corre 
spond with ours, and at the point of termination 
purchase a large wagon and horses, with such 
housekeeping articles as we can not take from 
here, the stage-coach admitting, of course, only 
our trunks of clothing. Henry has written to 
have the house in readiness, and some additions 
to be made, which he did not direct while there 
was a doubt whether we should ourselves occupy 
it. He has recovered his health and spirits sine 
the ultimate decision has been made, and should 
not I be grateful to have been the instrument of 
restoring to him the brightness and energy of his 
own noMe nature ? 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 255 

Baby s first tooth. Take no offense, my good 
journal, that I should make such an inscription 
on thee. New cares bring us new pleasures, and, 
in the maternal record, the item that I have chron 
icled is one of grave importance ; so count it no 
derogation from thy dignity that the event should 
be intrusted to thy keeping. 



Good old George the Third has paid that debt 
which Nature levies both on prince and peasant. 
In the regal apartments of Windsor Castle, bent 
beneath the weight of fourscore and two winters, 
Death found and took him. Mental light had 
been long extinguished, save in snatches and 
gleams, which always revealed the tendencies of 
a feeling and kind heart. In the domestic vu> 
tues he set a good example for kings. Strongly 
contrasted in structure, accomplishments, and 
motives was he to Louis the Fourteenth, who 
has been called the "best actor of majesty in 
Europe." No such ambitions had this venerable 
monarch. His birth-day (June 4th) was, pre 
vious to 1776, a glad festival among these colo 
nies. The succeeding war, which changed our 
relations, created a bitterness which was expend 
ed rather on the ministry than on the monarch. 



256 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 

Those who had been brought up, Sabbath after 
Sabbath, to pray for him as the father of the peo 
ple, found it difficult to count him as their foe. 
Thus there has been always among our older in 
habitants a lingering of filial feeling toward the 
white-haired king, which prepared us all to pay 
a gentle tribute over his honored grave. 



WILLIE S FIRST BIRTH-DAY. 

First birth-day ! Many a wish benign, 
With fond affection s smile, is thine, 

And fonder kiss, 

Thou, who o er life s alluring tide 
In tiny, flower-crown d bark dost glide, 

Our babe of bliss. 
Another year will bring the rose 
More freshly o er thy cheek of snows, 

And deftly teach 

That wondrous art to name the toy, 
And make thy wish a parent s joy, 

"With lisping speech. 
Oh ! that thy virtues, sown with care, 
And foster d by parental prayer, 

The heart might leaven, 
Give its young features life and form, 
And make its pure soil rich and warm 

For plants of heaven. 



Is it wrong that I do not wish to see the 
spring blossoms ? to listen to the murmur of the 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUKNAL. 257 

"bees ? that I go not forth, as of yore, among the 
early hyacinths, or to draw the first arbutus from 
its hidden cell ? It is not that I forget to admire 
them, or to thank their Giver, but I would fain 
avoid multiplying the charms and ties of a spot 
I am about to leave. Already is it too strongly 
incorporated with all my tenderest memories, so 
that I am as one spell-bound when I wander 
about it and think I may return no more. 



Always is God better to us than our fears, 
than our hopes. Mary Ann, my darling friend, 
is to take my place. She will occupy my own 
chamber, and be to those I leave behind a bless 
ed comforter. Her mother, who has several 
daughters, most kindly permits this arrangement. 
Edgar also, wko aspires to the hope, at some fu 
ture day, of the dearest connection with my loved 
substitute, will be often at the abode which I 
said in my foolishness must be left desolate. 
Now is the crushing load lifted from my inmost 
soul. Now am I free to follow my husband and 
not repine. With him I could be content to 
dwell upon an Alpine rock, or a lone island in 
the melancholy main ; but to leave those alone 
who, from my birth-hour, through the helpless 
ness of infancy, the waywardness of youth, have 



258 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

never forsaken or forgotten me for a moment, to 
cast them forth and leave them amid declining 
years and sickness to the mercy of strangers, 
would have uprooted for me all capacity of -en 
joyment. Now I can intrust them to the ten 
der hand, the brave heart, and strike the key- 
tone of undying praise to Him who has had com 
passion on my weak faith, and permitted me to 
see with my own eyes the blessed provision He 
hath made for their protection and comfort. 



Little Willie s foster-sister, no longer the pen 
sive baby, but the plump, merry child, is to be 
brought over every day to amuse the household 
after our departure. She is in advance of him in 
the accomplishment of talking, as our sex are 
wont to be. Nevertheless, she borrows his baby 
appellatives of "greatie-papa" and "greatie-mam- 
ma," which he has always been strenuous in sub 
stituting for "grandfather" and "grandmother." 
I find it pleases them to be thus addressed in 
his dialect by her bird-like voice. Very likely 
he may make these, his favorite titles, familiar 
to the echoes of his Western home. 



I have been considerably occupied, and found 
much pleasure in preparing keepsakes for my 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 259 

friends and acquaintances. I have made an ac 
curate list of them, and think not one has been 
overlooked. The choice Looks of my library 
availed for many, in some of which I put little 
embroidered marks to designate passages worthy 
of remembrance, or such as we had perused to 
gether. Some of these marks were emblematic ; 
on others I wrought such phrases as " Dinna 
forget," "God bless you," or simply my own ini 
tials. For the most respected or intimate I em 
broidered the chapter and verse of those exquisite 
passages, Genesis thirty-first and forty-ninth, and 
Philippkins first and third. Articles of taste or 
of nice apparel, which I could not take with me, 
I also found recipients for, giving some attention 
to the matter of adaptation. My pensioners, the 
poorest, the oldest, the youngest, have also every 
one received something that may be useful, or 
quicken serious and holy thought. I would be 
remembered by them all in some way to do them 
good, if possible lasting good. Perchance they 
may sometimes, in their moments of devotion, 
breathe a petition for the wanderer from the 
graves of her fathers, who pitches her tent to 
ward the setting sun. At all events, I have had 
great satisfaction in these gifts, and have realized 
the truth of the inspired assertion that it "is 
better to give than to receive." 



260 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

I have taken leave of every part of the home 
in which I was born. Even the articles of fur 
niture that I had aided to keep in order had the 
aspect of friends. In proportion to the care I 
had bestowed on them, and not their intrinsic 
value, was their power over me. I wonder if 
woman s cares are not the secret of her attach 
ments? To each parlor, to the library, to my 
mother s apartment, to my grandfather s, to my 
own quiet writing-room, to the little oratory, my 
soul s home, to the nursery, where my child was 
sleeping in the cradle, I have made the lingering, 
parting visit. I could not but thank those inan 
imate objects for the happiness they have helped 
to give my most happy life. In Amy s attic, 
whose walls are adorned with a variety of framed 
prints which had been given her, I found her 
weeping, and said, "My dear, good friend, be to 
my mother and grandfather what you have al 
ways been. I could not leave them with an easy 
mind but for you. I thank you for all your kind 
offices to me. Let us both walk in the steps of 
our Savior, that we may live together in heaven." 

I have taken leave of the conservatory, the 
busy, singing bees, the nested birds, the great, 
broad-armed elms. To the lowliest violet at their 
feet I breathed "thanks" and a loving "good- 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 261 

by." Henry says we shall be here again in two 
years. Such words are more easily uttered than 
verified. Still, I bear with me the shadow of 
this hope in every farewell. I bade adieu to all 
home objects at the close of day, because we are 
to leave quite early in the morning. Many 
friends came afterward with good wishes and 
loving words. It was a great comfort that our 
good pastor staid and conducted for us our last 
family worship. Our last did I say ? I meant 
only our last at this time. May the incense of 
that parting prayer rise acceptably to our God 
from the peaceful altar which He has so long 
deigned to bless. 



It is over. Would that the Lethe-stream 
might ingulf that hour. And yet the scene will 
be with me a soul-set picture till all remembrance 
fades. 



It was the early gray of the morning when the 
stage-horn summoned us. There must be no 
waiting. All things were ready. The baby, 
roused from his usual slumbers, looked wonder- 
ingly around. Let me not think again of the 
parting embrace. No, never. 



262 LUCY HOWAED S JOURNAL. 



At our last glance my mother stood at the 
door with that calm look which, I doubt not, 
she would wear though soul and body severed. 
Sweet Mary Ann s arm was around her. My aged 
grandfather trembled like a bent branch shaken 
by the wind. Edgar was near, and full of sym 
pathy. Poor Amy was of the group, and, though 
I had cautioned her, was not able to restrain 
her grief. Blessed wheels ! that bore us so 
swiftly away. 



Alas ! might not that last drop have been 
spared in the cup of bitterness ? The coach 
stopped for a few moments at the post-office. 
There stood all my scholars, though the sutoi had 
not yet risen. I had bidden them farewell be 
fore ; I had given them my parting precepts and 
gifts ; I had commended them to our common 
Father, the Maker of heaven and earth. Yet 
there they stood again, to have, as they said, one 
more look.. They climbed upon the wheels ; they 
begged me to hold out the baby for them to kiss ; 
they pressed little keepsakes into his hand and 
mine ; they cried loud and passionately. What 
mean ye thus to weep and to break my heart ? 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 263 

Through that day s journey I bent my head 
over the child, soothing him, and anticipating his 
wants. How could I note the landscape ? How 
could I converse ? My husband did not require 
it. He feels the weight of the sacrifice. His 
heart is bowed within him. Yet I did not go to 
be a clog or a self-seeker. As soon as possible, 
I will be his aid and solace. 

At our first night in a strange tavern I should 
have wept but for distressing him. When, at 
length, the deep breathing announced that he had 
found rest, and Willie s home-sick moans were 
allayed, the blessed tears gushed, and the suffo 
cating anguish subsided. 



O faithful friend, kind old journal, thou hast 
not been forgotten. But upon our long and 
weary journey it has been impossible to find time 
and . conveniences for writing beyond the brief, 
daily sketch in letters expected by the dear ones 
at home. Many interesting localities have we 
seen, and much glorious scenery, such as quick 
ens the heart with admiration of a country which 
is stretching out its limbs like a waking giant. 
Wonderful indeed is it in its resources and its 
rapid growth. In safety have we been borne 
onward, and in health. We have reaphed the 



264 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

point where the public conveyances leave us, and 
are resting for a few clays, and purchasing some 
of the necessary articles that we could not take 
with us. Willie s little heart still turns back 
ward with sorrowful tenacity. Through the day 
he is amused, but at night the great home-sick 
ness comes over him. Whenever he retires, he 
cries, " Come, greatie-mamma ! come, greatie- 
papa!" and thus moans himself to sleep. These 
are his last sounds at night, his first in the morn 
ing. It is painful to see such constancy of grief, 
and hear the long, quivering sobs from his little 
heaving breast, even after slumber has overtaken 
him. I had thought the troubles of infancy brief, 
and more readily soothed. 



We have been fortunate in securing in this 
place almost every thing that we sought except 
a servant. That, indeed, seems a sine qua non, 
and we relied on finding it here, since none from 
the older settled states could be tempted to what 
they deemed expatriation. To our great sur 
prise, that feeling seems equally strong here. 
Plenty of able-bodied damsels have presented 
themselves in consequence of our inquiries, and 
sturdy, middle-aged women, with square hands 
and broad shoulders, looking as if they could fell 




LUCY HOWARD S JOU 

a forest. The rate of wages was 
all promised well till the remote location was 
mentioned ; then negotiation was at an end, and 
persuasion powerless. One had " no notion of 
going out into the wild woods;" another "was 
not a bush-whacker," with other expressions 
equally significant and genteel. These jar pro- 
vokingly on Henry s nerves, with his romantic 
views of our Utopia. There appears to be no 
other way than to depend for the present on 
Sandy, who is as good within the house as with 
out, and on the family of the farmer, whose dwell 
ing being within our own inclosure may be able 
readily to render assistance. At all events, it 
will not do for me to look back. No : onward 
must be our motto, and I hope upward also. 



We have purchased an immense covered wag 
on and a powerful pair of horses. It is aston 
ishing how much may be stowed away in these 
houses upon wheels, and yet leave space for our 
persons. Henry has engaged another vehicle of 
equally formidable size, with a practiced driver, 
to accompany us to our place of destination, car 
rying additional varieties of what the Scotch call 
" plenishing," and also a small tent, as we are to 
pass one night on the way out of the reach of 
M 



266 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

habitations. That will give quite an Oriental 
feature to our cavalcade. 



What a unique and wonderful object is a 
prairie ! We have now a far better view of it 
than we could have had in the rapidity of stage 
coach traveling. It is impossible to describe to 
one who has never seen it the effect on the mind 
of its interminable extent, its unbroken level, va 
ried only by waving grass, and coarse, gorgeous 
flowers. 



Little Willie is delighted in passing from one 
carriage to the other, and taking note of the horses. 
He fears no one, and is welcome every where. 
He will make an excellent settler in the frank, 
free West. Nothing subdues him but the period 
ical home-sickness. That I think abates. I 
hope so, for I know not how I should bear to 
hear those beloved names stirring, in wild tones 
of grief, the echoes of the wilderness. 



In traversing the prairie we occasionally saw 
the mirage, so alluring and so deceptive. Placid 
lakes, with pure, glittering waters, fringed by 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 267 

waving and woven shades, gleamed in the dis 
tance, but fled away as we approached. This 
visioned beauty so attracted us that it was diffi 
cult to believe it not a reality. Sometimes, like 
the star-gazing philosopher of old, who fell into 
a ditch through his astrological researches, we 
were not always aware of the marshy regions 
that here and there intersected our route. 

On one occasion, while Willie was enjoying a 
pedestrian excursion in Sandy s arms, he pointed 
to something in his near neighborhood with a 
lively delight, shouting, 

" See! see ! pretty, pretty ribbon." 
Behold, this admired ribbon was a large, 
gliding snake, who, with- upraised head, regarded 
our caravan. It is said they are quite fond of 
living among the long prairie grass, and leave 
their dens and caves in the mountains for these 
lowland abodes. So it seems that even here 
there are serpents among the flowers. I should 
prefer to dispense with their company, not hav 
ing such a love of Natural History as to seek ac 
quaintance with their snakeships, notwithstand 
ing their brilliance of color and costume, in which, 
perchance, they imitate him who won our moth 
er s ear amid the shades of Eden. 



268 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

We occasionally see one of the cone-roofed 
wigwams of the Indians, but scarcely any marks 
of their being inhabited. I have always felt a 
great interest in our poor aborigines. A few of 
the men have sauntered listlessly by us in the 
course of the day. They had a sulky look, and 
did not return our salutations. The guide said 
that the remnants of the neighboring tribes were 
at variance, and had recently had an affray which 
put them both in bad humor. As evening ap 
proached we passed from the prairie into a re 
gion with more of the characteristics of a forest. 
It was delightful to be again in the company of 
the protecting trees. The road was sometimes 
obstructed by fallen trunks or branches, so that 
traveling was slower and more laborious, and, ere 
the setting sun cast his last golden rays, we se 
lected a fitting place for our nightly encampment. 
The tired horses were unharnessed and turned 
out to forage, the poles planted, and the tent 
pitched with great celerity. A fire was kindled, 
tea made, a comfortable supper partaken of, and 
a bed spread in our greenwood dormitory, with 
proper precautions against the dampness of the 
earth. Sandy and the guide were to act as sen 
tinels, occasionally taking rest in the wagon, and 
Henry, sometimes in the tent and sometimes 
without, took superintendence of the whole. I 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 269 

perceived that each one put his gun in order. As 
darkness deepened, they replenished the fire as a 
protection against wild Ibeasts, for we had seen 
now and then the red eyes of the panther glaring 
down upon us through the woven branches. 



Oh, the solemn grandeur of that night in the . 
forest ! Methought it was God s temple, and He 
visibly near. We, poor emmets at His footstool, 
cast out from the fellowship of our kind, from the 
pride of a strong shelter with bolts and bars, were 
still in the hollow of His hand, girt about with 
His immutable strength. Through the dark, 
lofty arches of interlacing trees, reddened by the 
fitful flame, it might almost seem that there were 
glancing wings, and a voice, "He giveth his an 
gels charge over thee. They bear thee up in 
their hands, lest thou dash thy foot against a 



Even the baby seemed to drink in some influ 
ences from the sublimity of the scene. For the 
first time at night since leaving our distant home, 
he ceased to weep and mourn after its loved hab 
itants. He drew near to me with his gentlest 
caresses, and joined his face to mine, so still, so 



270 LUCY HWAED S JOURNAL. 

lovingly, as if fearing to break the pause by a 
breath, and yet full of happiness. Were God s 
thoughts within his innocent soul ? 



The watches of the night passed slowly. At 
length I had fallen asleep, but suddenly awoke. 
There was a sound of creeping footsteps around 
the tent. Henry rushed out, and I knew that the 
guns were all in readiness. Lifting the tent-cur 
tain, I exclaimed, 

" Stay ! stay your hands ! I hear the moan 
ing of a child." 

At that moment something sprang by me 
through the aperture, and, falling prone on the 
earth, clasped my knees. It was a girl, crying 
in broken English, 

" Oh, white man, don t kill poor Orra!" 

Our guide suggested that such decoys were 
sometimes used by the natives, who were of late 
more obnoxious to settlers on the new lands. 
Sandy, shouting at the top of his voice, "Nae 
doot it s a trick of the pizun Injuns," would have 
drawn her out by the arm. But I had seen by 
the fitful watch-fire her streaming eyes and ago 
nized features. Oh, creature of God, of my own 
helpless sex, His voice speaks through thee. 

" Husband, husband, will you let me keep her?" 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 271 

"My dearest wife, would you run such a risk ?" 

" God has sent her to us." 

"What could you possibly do with her?" 

" I will find room for the poor outcast. Hen 
ry, may I take her ?" 

He consented. I spread a blanket, and mo 
tioned for her to lie down. But she continued 
crouched on the ground, and, with head resting 
on her hajid, steadfastly regarded me. 



With the first gleams of morning I saw that 
our protegee was a well-formed girl of probably 
twelve or thirteen. Her long black hair lay in 
masses upon her shoulders, and she had that del 
icacy of hands and feet, and sweetness of tone, 
that distinguish the females of our aborigines. 
She made me understand, partly by pantomine 
and partly in broken words, that her father and 
mother were both killed, and she alone had fled 
away. I shall never forget the gratitude with 
which the poor famished one received a piece of 
bread and decent garments. Wherever I went 
she followed me, as though a part of myself, or 
as if she believed that in me was her protection. 
When I looked kindly at her, a loving soul seem 
ed to leap out through her eyes. I put my child 
into her arms, and her rapture knew no bounds. 



272 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

She knelt down and embraced my feet. As for 
him, he twined at once his little waxen arms 
around her neck, and, gazing up in her dark face, 
said, half incredulously, half exultingly, "Amy 
come ?" 



Our day s journey, though a weary one, was 
lightened by the hope that it was the last. We 
were enabled frequently to walk, which relieved 
the fatigue of a constrained position. Willie s 
fondness for the stranger, and her tender care of 
him, were pleasant features of our progress. The 
declining sun was still bright in the heavens, 
when Henry, falling on his knees in mock hom 
age, said, "Hail, my lady of the manor! Wel 
come to your own!" for he had entered on the 
bounds of his estate. 



My husband, who had hastened on in advance 
as soon as the blue smoke from his farm-house 
was seen curling through the trees, returned with 
unelastic step and a fallen countenance. His 
own domicile was far from being in the condition 
which he had ordered and expected. Some of 
his letters had not been received ; for, accustomed 
as we have ever been to regular intercourse through 



273 

mails, we had not fully estimated the inconven 
ience of residing at a distance from post-offices, 
and other causes of interrupted intercourse. His 
anticipated pleasure and pride in our triumphant 
installation were therefore overthrown. He was, 
in truth, highly exasperated, and the more so that 
his farmer, with the ease of the free, Western 
character, did not trouble himself to make elabo 
rate excuses, or consider it a matter of any great 
import if a few animals had chanced to be occu 
pants before us. He did, indeed, say that his 
wife had been ill, which should surely be admit 
ted as some apology. As it was, I cheered Hen 
ry by telling him it only gave an opportunity for 
Yankee ingenuity to operate. So, in a trice, the 
wagon-covering was fitted as a temporary carpet 
to the broken floor, a blazing fire surmounted by 
the singing kettle, several boxes raised and cov 
ered with a snowy cloth, on whi^h suddenly ap 
peared tea, coffee, and other edibles. A cup of 
fresh milk from a beautiful cow within the in- 
closure made Willie as happy as a king, if kings 
are any happier than other people, which, as a 
Republican, I doubt. A few of faithful Amy s 
biscuits and ginger-cakes were discovered lurk 
ing in a secret hoard, and, notwithstanding un 
doubted marks of antiquity, were easily soluble 
in a cup of tea, and my first nourishment in my 
M2 



274 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

new abode. The blessing of our Almighty and 
Merciful Father be with that we have left behind, 
and this to which He has led us. 



I am reproved for what I fear is a deficiency 
of gratitude by the perfect delight of my poor 
Indian girl for the shelter of a roof and a bed to 
rest upon. We have found a little cubby for her 
own, which she occupies with thanks and ges 
tures of joy. To see the smile that lights up 
her dark but comely countenance as, following 
me like my shadow, she endeavors to aid in all 
that I do, is like a perpetual sunbeam. 



We supposed that we had bought every arti 
cle essential to our simple mode of life, as far as 
the limits of two carriages would suffice for freight. 
Yet, what should we happen to forget ? Hear it 
with horror, all ye in the shape of housekeepers. 
A. broom ! Yes, that indispensable appendage 
of all notable women. What was to be done? 
Behold the Indian ingenuity ! Orra, of her own 
accord, was seen dividing thin slips of whitewood 
into narrow, pliant splinters, which, after forming 
into an even mass, she bound firmly around a 
smooth handle prepared for her by Sandy, having 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 275 

seen this work done by the women of her tribe 
for market among the whites. Even the Scotch 
man pronounced it "cannie," and seems to be 
laying aside some of his prejudices against the 
" evil race of Injuns." 



My dear husband is overflowing with energy. 
He is up with the lark, never weary, and seems 
attaining a degree of health and vigor to which 
he was before a stranger. Taking into view his 
classical education, and subsequent sedentary life 
in the bank, I am surprised at his practical knowl 
edge of agriculture, and the wisdom with which 
he apportions to different purposes his extensive 
domain. The man who accompanied us on our 
last day s journey has returned, according to 
promise, with three other assistants, to pursue 
for a short time the farm-labor on a large scale, 
making a band of six men, of which Henry is 
captain. Such pursuits harmonize with his na 
tive tastes, and I am grateful that I put no more 
obstacles than my poor, weak heart could help in 
the way of his physical welfare and happiness. 



The farmer s wife, who has quite recovered, is 
a strong woman, and ready whenever we require 



276 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

her aid. In our small home, which will be en 
larged when we have leisure, the spirit of order 
has already done much. The sleeping accommo 
dations are comfortably arranged, floors mended, 
white curtains hung at each window, and that in 
my own apartment is already clasped by the 
green tendrils and fair bells of a morning-glory, 
whose seeds I brought from my own dear, far-off 
garden, and sprinkled in the rich mould immedi 
ately after our arrival. 



Time is sweeping rapidly on. Constant and 
varied employment leaves no room for loneliness, 
and less and less for those regrets which, at first 
leaving the East, I feared might become a part 
of my being. One of my sources of daily inter 
est is an immense flock of poultry, whose eggs 
and chickens are important additions to a table 
which can be supplied by no regular market. 
We have also a small flock of sheep, Sandy be 
ing conversant with the charge and welfare of 
both these races. Willie is never tired of feed 
ing them, of calling his dog, and prattling with 
his prime friend Orra, to whose name he perti 
naciously adds that of A.my. She proudly at 
tends his excursions, ministering to his every 
want, and apparently finding her great capacity 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 277 

for loving satisfied by the innocent fondness of 
the fair child. 



The time of bare, leafless boughs has come, 
and of what the Scotch call the " sough" of the 
melancholy winds. Cold weather promises to 
set in here earlier than in our eastern home. My 
husband is now hurried with preparations for it. 
A large piece of ground at some distance is be 
ing cleared and made ready for the sowing of 
winter wheat. I feel something like indignation 
when the great kings of the forest fall from their 
primeval thrones to make room for a plebeian 
race of short-lived roots and grasses. 



To-day, in the absence of all our male protect 
ors, stealthy footsteps were heard around the 
house. At length the heads of three huge In 
dians were discovered, apparently reconnoitring, 
but strenuously keeping behind the covert of the 
trees. Orra was in an agony. Every feature 
was distorted with terror, and her lips bloodless. 
While I carefully secured every mode of entrance, 
she clasped the baby with a death-like grasp. 

" Orra can fire master s gun," she exclaimed, 
suddenly dragging it forth, examining if it were 



278 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

loaded, and showing how she could poise it and 
take aim, having had the training of a hunter s 
daughter. 

They drew nearer, a gray-headed man and two 
"braves, as they are called, hideously painted. 

" Oh, mistress," cried the girl, " they kill, kill! 
Orra go out. Let them kill Orra. Then mistress 
run run with baby. Oh run run to the thick 
woods and hide. Fly ! don t stop ! they are 
swifter than eagles." 

I said, "Pray to God in your heart. He will 
be near us. He is stronger than they." 

The child was strangely quiet. He caught no 
terror from the frantic girl. Came there into his 
heart the spirit of that brave old man whose 
blood is in his veins ? or spake some angel unto 
him? Still was he as a statue, with his eyes 
fixed on mine. 

A hand shook the barricaded door, and a fierce 
red face glared through a curtained window. 
Suddenly a change came over the girl. 

" Oh, lady ! blessed lady ! let me go out to 
them. Let me go ; they are my own people." 

They had retired to a little distance, and, with 
the swiftness of a deer, she stood among them. 
She spoke with strong gestures in her native 
language, and they listened as if transfixed. 
Then the gray-haired one took her by the hand 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 279 

and moved toward the house, followed by the 
others. Breaking away, and preceding them, 
her unbound tresses flying in the wind, 

" Dear mistress ! blessed mistress ! it is my 
own old chief. He will not hurt you. May he 
come in ?" 

Never can I forget the expressive countenance 
of that aged man as, throwing wide my door, I 
welcomed him, and drew my arm-chair for him. 
No word ; but a strong soul looked through the 
black, glistening eyes, a vanquished purpose of 
malevolence melting away in wonder. 

I placed food before him as a token of peace. 
The two younger ones, exceedingly athletic, pow 
erful men, out of respect to their ruler would not 
enter and partake with him. Seated outside of 
the door, they were fed and served by Orra, on 
whom they incessantly smiled. She, in a passion 
of joy, was their interpreter. They had discover 
ed that this orphan of their tribe was under our 
roof. With their national prejudice against the 
whites, they had supposed her held in tyrannical 
captivity ; therefore they had come to her rescue, 
and, if need were, to burn, and ravage, and de 
stroy. Other warriors, stationed in an adjoining 
wood, awaited the signal to come on and do the 
bidding of their leader. But her few words of 
love had changed the lion to the lamb. They 



280 LUCY HOWAED S JOUIINAL. 

had believed the pale faces always their foes, or, 
what to a proud nature is still more bitter, hold 
ing them in contempt. A new set of ideas seem 
ed to have interposed. Orra said they united in 
giving me a new name, the "good white woman." 

The repast ended, the old chieftain rose to de 
part. His lofty head almost touched our hum 
ble ceiling. Bowing low, he gave me thanks in 
his own tongue. Then he reached his hands for 
the child. A mother s misgiving, with horrid im 
agery of kidnapped and tomahawked babes, swept 
for a moment over me ; but Willie, to whom a 
dark face seems a letter of recommendation, set 
tled the matter by determining to go to this tall 
old lord of the forest, pleased with his nodding 
plumes, like Ascanius in the arms of Hector. 
Eaising him high above his head, he uttered, in 
deep intonation and in a devout manner, a form 
of words, and restored him to my bosom. Orra 
said with delight, 

" He blesses him in the name of the Great 
Spirit ; he makes him his young white chief; he 
says because of you there shall be peace between 
us as long as the stars shine and the waters flow." 



Scarcely had we recovered from the excitement 
of this scene when Henry returned with his farm- 



LUCY HOWAED S JOUENAL. 281 

er and Sandy. His first impulse was to pur 
sue the men who had trespassed on his grounds 
with a belligerent purpose ; but, after due expla 
nations, he was content to remain. He makes 
himself merry with my oathless treaty, and doubts 
whether it will remain in force as long as that of 
William Penn, ratified under the sacred oak at 
Kensington. He says my enthusiasm for the 
aborigines, which has been with him a matter of 
ridicule, will now intrench itself anew since my 
son is installed a chieftain. Yet the prevailing 
sentiment in our souls is praise to Him who 
averted a danger that might have left our happy 
home a smouldering ruin of desolation and blood. 
May the lives thus spared be more perfectly de 
voted to the Giver of all our mercies. 



Letters from our first far-off home are now 
necessarily like angel visits, "few and far be 
tween." Every parcel is opened with a tremu 
lous hand. Still, they have all continued to speak 
the sweet language of health and happiness. 
Good news, and cheerful words of themselves 
and to us, come from dear mother, and Mary 
Ann and Edgar, her blessings, who do all in 
their power for her comfort and that of the be 
loved grandfather. Her last epistle had a post- 



282 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 

script from his own hand, Ibearing, amid all his 
feebleness, traces of that clear, bold, elegant pen 
manship by which in earlier years he was dis 
tinguished. 

"When you drove away from our door (it 
says), I thought you and the child the most 
beautiful objects that my eyes ever beheld. You 
drove away, and I shall never see you more in 
this life. Your husband says he will bring you 
to visit us. But I shall not be here. Ye shall 
seek me in the morning, but I shall not be. 

"Yet when I meet you among the angels of 
God, I shall know you by that same smile of 
love and grief which was on your brow when you 
said farewell. The grief will have faded, but the 
love will be there forever. By that shall I know 
you. So give diligence, that we may meet no 
more to part in the mansions the Savior hath pre 
pared for those who are faithful unto death." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 283 



Monday, January 1st, 1821. 

Almighty Creator, who never forgettest those 
whom Thou hast made ; compassionate Savior, 
who for our sakes wert content to be crucified ; 
Spirit of light and power, prompter of right 
thoughts in hearts unholy, accept the consecra 
tion that I make of the whole frame of my na 
ture, this mortal body, this living mind, this un 
dying soul the babe, dearer than all deign to 
accept the unreserved offering. Endue what is 
thus yielded with new strength for thy continued 
service. Let life mingle with every duty such 
life as the heart gives when it flows out and 
quickens the deed. 

Suffer us my soul s companion and myself 
to cherish no undue expectations or anxieties for 
aught that hath root in earth. Placed here to 
do Thy will, to strive to conform ourselves to 
Thine image, let us not swerve from the true 
heavenward path. Teach us so to number our 
days as to apply our hearts unto wisdom ; so to 
see and revere Thee in all things, in every pass 
ing event, in every fleeting enjoyment, that the 
year on which this first cloudless morning breaks 
may be a blessed waymark amid the memories 
of heaven. 



284 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

To have but few books is an advantage. They 
are better prized, more thoroughly read, more fre 
quently meditated upon and talked about, so that 
their contents are more likely to be appropriated 
or their wise suggestions adopted. What we 
considered a privation, because we could bring 
with us but a small selection, may therefore 
prove a gain. From the luxury of periodical lit 
erature we are indeed excluded ; but important 
intelligence reaches us after a while, and the habit 
of much miscellaneous reading, though it may en 
tertain, does not strengthen or discipline the mind. 
Whoever reads without the intention of remem 
bering indeed, what it is impossible to remember 
and logically arrange, will find his retentive pow 
er growing inert, as masses of ill-assorted food 
impair digestion. 



How the magic of correspondence softens the 
pain of separation. Every package of letters from 
the East brings the loved circle around us. Riv 
ers and mountains no longer divide us. We sit 
among them and hear their voices. We speak 
and are answered. Our habit of writing a little 
every day of whatever occurs, and sending the 
sheets when they are filled, gives much of the 




LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 



freshness of living intercourse, and an indwelling 
with each other, as though we led our existence 
in two places. Is not this sort of double life a 
gain ? a multiplication of sympathies ? Contin 
ually I bless my dear Father in Heaven for His 
protecting care of our earliest home, and that His 
mantle over all its inmates is love. 



Is there any thing like the ringing laugh of an 
innocent, happy child ? Can any other music so 
echo through the heart s inner chambers ? It is 
sympathetic, too, beyond other melodies. When 
the father sits absorbed over his book, which 
seems to concentrate every faculty, he hears little 
Willie laughing in his sports, and laughs also, 
he knows not wherefore. The bright being, con 
tinually gathering intelligence, casts around us 
gems of thought and pearls of affection, till our 
paths seem paved with precious stones from heav 
en s treasury. No day of storms is dark where 
he is, no wintry evening long. We had neither 
of us fully realized what a full fountain of delight 
a young child is to the house and heart until sep 
arated as we have been this winter from accus 
tomed and extraneous sources of enjoyment. 



286 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

Why do we not think and speak more frequent 
ly of the invisible company around us ? Are we 
not assured that, hovering over us, they take 
charge of us in all our ways ? that they bear us 
up in their hands, lest we dash our foot against 
a stone? Stood they not by my dear Lord, 
strengthening him amid the horrors of Gethsem- 
ane? Shall we not strive to be in unison with 
that heavenly host who watch for our good, with 
"only this veil of flesh between?" Shall no 
strain of gratitude flow forth to them for all their 
ministry of patience ? 



We often speak to each other of that night 
when we pitched our tent in the wilderness. The 
strange, stirring events that marked it broke up 
for the time its impression of sublimity ; but it 
has since returned to us like the imagery of a 
grand, solemn picture. The primeval forest, 
touching the black sky ; the white, speck-like 
tent, nestled at its feet ; the red watch-fire, with 
its glimmering shadows ; the gliding forms that 
fed it with fresh fuel, or stood as armed sentinels 
at our postern. Once the great moon looked 
through a torn cloud, as though she said, " What 
do ye here ?" and hid herself. The life that was 
around us seemed strange and unfriendly. The 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 287 

cry of the boding owl, the bay of the prowling 
wolf, and now and then a mysterious sound was 
it the blast smiting the gnarled branches, or the 
distant whoop of the blood-seeking Indian ? Yet 
there we stretched ourselves to sleep and rose up 
unharmed. We were girded with needful cour 
age, and God was near. 



Orra, our dark-browed child, is exceedingly 
useful. I scarcely see how we could have done 
without this gift of the forest, or, rather, of Him 
who planted the forest. She learns readily, and 
promises to become expert with the needle. She 
is desirous of being able to read, and her instruc 
tion keeps up the pleasant old habits of teaching. 
Her overwhelming love of the child, and his reci 
procity, with the gratitude for her home which 
she continually evinces, gives her a place in my 
affection, and in that of the whole family. 



It is amusing to see with what miserable ac 
commodations some of the surrounding inhabi 
tants are satisfied. Almost like a mushroom the 
log-house rises. The growing tree of to-day may 
find itself to-morrow part and parcel of the roof 
that shelters a family, a fixture in the wall where 



288 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

the board is spread and the cradle rocks, or ham 
mered into the shrine of the Lares and Penates. 
With the Eastern people, however poor, there is 
a laborious effort to add to their internal com 
forts. Compelled to bring but few with them, 
they never rest until they have obtained more, or 
conformed in some measure to the habitudes of 
early life ; but the native dwellers are content. 
They are satisfied to take their food from maple 
blocks, or to sit at the table on stumps of bass- 
wood. Free and easy are they ; and if any im 
provement is suggested, they say, " This way 
will do a while. I reckon we ll try it a section" 
Great are they at borrowing. Orra sometimes 
brings their requests with amazement. 

" Will mistress lend her rolling-pin, her chop- 
ping-tray, her tea-kettle ?" 

A large woman came this morning for a wash- 
tub, which she took upon her head as if it were 
an egg-shell; but, suddenly returning, said, 

" I forgot to borrie some knives and forks, and 
a platter big enough to hold the meat and saase 
too, cause we expect a stranger-man to dinner." 
"With as much readiness as they request will 
they oblige. The simplicity of their colonial life 
induces a fellow-feeling not known where the cer 
emonious and artificial prevail. Still, civilization 
and refinement make advances, and progress, in 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 289 

many respects, comes onward with such a whelm 
ing tide that these regions can not long be called 
young or new. What is entirely essential to the 
women who emigrate hither is a spirit of bravery 
and cheerfulness. The burden of the childrens 
quaint old song would be a fitting motto for them, 
" Come with a good-will or not at all." Come 
with a determination to bear up boldly, to de 
spise trifles, to take part in every duty with a 
smiling face, and, when things do not go to your 
mind, see if you can not find a bright side, or 
"some soul of goodness in them," and all will 
go well enough. 



I have found a new, great pleasure riding 
on horseback with my baby. I can do it now 
quite well, though it required a little practice to 
keep him steadily balanced and feel at ease my 
self. He is never so gayly happy as on these ex 
cursions. He pats the horse s neck and kisses 
his white nose ere we mount. Then his bright 
eyes look on every object so inquiringly as we 
pass along, and his clear tones weave themselves 
into music. He seems as a brother to the birds 
and the springing flowers. For my own part, I 
was never half as happy in the most luxurious 
coach. Oli no ! Methinks the noble steed that 
N 



290 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

bears us onward has almost human intelligence. 
The slightest expression of my will controls him, 
and he seems to take part in our satisfactions. 
Where wheels are unable to pass we career safe 
ly, with an exulting consciousness of strength 
and power. We make friendship with the trees 
that overshadow us, through whose parted boughs 
we see the blue, arching skies, and the fleecy 
clouds, like a great unfolded flock, following the 
crook of their shepherd. The fresh breeze that 
uplifts us is but another name for health, and the 
untamed earth speaks of Him who made it. Who 
calls it solitude ? More fully peopled is it than 
the haunts of fashion. There, the heart, among 
crowds, might feel alone ; but not here, with the 
happy young soul that is a part of your own, 
and in the great, glorious temple of the beneficent 
Father of the soul. 



In one of our equestrian excursions Willie 
and I we overtook a lady who removed hither 
from the South, and resides within a few miles of 
our habitation. Every body here knows every 
body ; so I told her my name and my baby s, and 
we were as sociable as new settlers always are. 
In every community where mutual needs keep the 
tide of sympathy open, useless ceremony is thrown 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUKNAL. 291 

overboard. She had been brought up amid re 
finement and luxury, but conforms herself to their 
absence with an unbroken spirit and a gayety that 
borders on wit. She said that, for a long time 
after their arrival, her very small house, with the 
exception of two rooms, had no flooring save of , 
earth. The walls had no plastering, and over 
head were the open rafters. Being at a great 
distance from carpenters, they were for months 
without even an outer door. A counterpane hung 
up was their only barrier, and the mode of form 
ing partitions between the apartments. 

One night, while her husband was from home, 
she was kept waking by an unfamiliar sound. 

"What is that?" said she to his sister, who 
had been longer a dweller in this newly-settled 
region. 

" What s what ? I don t hear any thing," she 
replied, slowly waking from a deep slumber, 

" There is something. Listen ! listen ! It is 
like the barking of a hoarse dog, and yet not 
quite like it." 

Whereupon she imitated, as well as she was 
able, a growling, suffocating sound, and the sis 
ter, quietly turning to sleep again, answered, 

" Oh, thafs nothing but wolves." 

Nothing but wolves, indeed ! and no fastening 
to the fold. Who knows but what, in default 



292 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

of lambs or chickens, they might make a meal 
of the human inmates ? * 

"At length," said the lively lady, "winter 
drew on, and it was right cold. I was told that 
we should have our outside door by Christmas. 
The day before Christmas came, but no front 
door. My husband was absent, and the carpen 
ter lived several miles from us. I saw no way 
but to go and stir up his memory. The snow 
was deep, and I mounted an ox-sled and arrived 
at his premises. It was not finished, but I told 
him it must be, and should not go until it was ; 
then he worked right smart, and I helped him to 
drive some of the nails. Before dark I reached 
home, riding upon my front door ; and I never 
had a pleasanter Christmas gift in my life," said 
she, with a ringing laugh, as she parted from us 
and cantered away on her homeward path through 
the forest. 



It was longer than usual since Willie had been 
out on his favorite horse. Seeing him pass the 
window, he so earnestly besought in his sweet 
way, "Please, ok please, dear mamma" that I 
could not but indulge him. Noticing every pass 
ing object, the playful lamb or the leaping squir 
rel, he prattled in his own broken way to his 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 293 

heart s content, and then relapsed into a quiet 
reverie, varied by that tuneful, monotonous mur 
mur, the precursor of slumber. On our return 
we were overtaken by quite a heavy shower. 
Drawing up under the thick boughs of a lofty 
ash, and throwing over our heads an extra shawl, 
which I carried at my saddle-bow, we were com 
fortably sheltered, and enjoyed the scene. The 
child was pleased with our temporary umbrella, 
and with the patter of the falling drops, whose 
superflux the higher leaves shed down upon the 
lower with a quivering pleasure, as if they had 
discovered what man was divinely taught, that 
"it is more blessed to give than to receive." 

Then came a rich red bird, and sat upon a 
dancing spray, and poured forth the melody that 
thrills those winged hearts after a fresh vernal 
rain. Willie was delighted, and, while clapping 
his little white hands and gazing upward, he es 
pied, through an opening in the thicket, the arch 
of a glorious rainbow. The rapture that had 
kindled his blue eye suddenly was mingled with 
awe as he whispered, 

" God s picture, mamma God s greatie pic 
ture" 

Would that some limner or sculptor might 
have caught the expression on that innocent face. 
The holy delight of the upraised eye was sub- 



294 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

lime. Methought He who had made that bow 
the promise of hope to a drowning world was 
touching with its penciled rays the admiring 
new-born soul; and the mother s bowed heart 
said to itself, " Behold ! thou hast nurtured an 
angel, and knew it not." 



Poor little Willie ! Poor little Willie ! I could 
better have borne to yield him back whence he 
came than to see him suffer. Might it but have 
pleased his Heavenly Father to have taken his 
own, like some transplanted flower, that I need 
not have looked upon the struggle with the De 
stroyer, and the ghastly white settling over those 
cheeks of rose. 

Short and sharp was the way, dear lamb, to 
thy Shepherd and the fold of rest. 



Fearfully rapid are these Western bilious dis 
eases. In perfect health, in the midst of his 
plays, he was smitten. The remedies which we 
brought with us, which had always been success 
ful in similar attacks, utterly failed. The near 
est physician was at the last township where we 
paused on our journey. The distance, which 
then occupied two days, was quickly surmounted 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 295 

by Sandy riding at full speed, and not staying 
for darkness. In the same manner they returned. 
The first glance of the medical man was as a sen 
tence of death. He approved every measure that 
had been pursued, but added, "There is nothing 
more to be done. 1 



"Nothing to be done /" Indeed, there is much 
to be done. To lay him in the arms of the Great \ 
Being that reclaimeth him with undoubting trust. \ 
Not without tears. That he requireth not. He 
knoweth that we are but dust ; yet, having said 
in our prayers from the beginning that our babe 
was a lent treasure, having signed him with the 
baptismal water as belonging unto God, why are 
we so little prepared to take this cup that He 
giveth, and drink it in peace ? 



Can the last scene ever fade from my heart ? 
When light at noonday began to forsake his eyes, 
he said in loud, clear tones, 

" Orra, Amy, bring a candle." 

Supposing himself going to his nightly rest, he 
began his accustomed prayer, 

"Our Father, who art " But breath failed 
him. 



296 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Kecovering himself after a while, he murmured, 

" Good-night, mamma." 

Then there was a struggle and convulsion. 
Life kept strong hold of the beautiful clay. He 
gasped, with sorrow on his sweet brow, 

"Don t cry, dear papa." 

His lips turned ashy pale. We thought them 
sealed forever; but from the deep slumber he 
opened widely once more those large blue eyes, 
whispering his cradle epithet, 

" Come, greatie-papa." 

An ineffable brightness passed over his face, a 
blessed smile settled there, and the babe of two 
summers was at rest with God. 



Thy funeral, my own darling, nurtured at my 
bosom. Thy funeral ! And still I live. 



We have chosen Willie s grave where he best 
loved to play, an expanse of smooth, rich turf, 
overshadowed by lofty trees. It is in sight of 
my own window, just where he gathered the first 
grass and buds of the season, and brought them, 
a simple offering, to his mother. Would that she 
_jnight, with the same confiding love, lay her stain 
less blossom upon the altar. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 297 

It was near the sunset of a cloudless day when 
our small procession wound its way from the vine- 
clad porch to the open grave. Faithful Sandy, 
suffused with tears, bore the body in its little 
coffin, white buds in the fair hands, white buds 
on the pure brow and bosom. - Following the 
parents was poor Orra, the farmer and his wife, 
and two families recently removed to this region, 
who joined us in this our affliction. 

Coming forward to the brink of the pit, the 
beautiful face uncovered at his feet, the father 
read the sublime burial service of the Church of 
England. How holy was every word. How 
touching the inflections of that voice, striving to 
quell the tide of parental anguish, and reach the 
majestic devotion of one called for the time to act 
as a priest of God. A strength not his own up 
held him until the close. At the last words his 
voice faltered, and, falling on his knees by my 
side, he covered his face with his hands till the 
last work was over. Orra, who had stood mo 
tionless as a statue, listening to the blessed words 
of the resurrection and the life, threw herself on 
the finished mound with wild, passionate cries, 
and long refused to leave it. 



N2 



298 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Oh, let us gather up the blessings that spring 
from the grave of our child, that our hearts perish 
not. It was a blessing to have had him with us 
so long, a type of what angels are. Was not his 
an angel s ministry to us all, calling forth our 
best affections our most hallowed services? 
" Burned not our hearts within us while he talk 
ed with us by the way?" 

It was a blessing to have enjoyed the comfort 
of loving him to have been able to love him so 
much. Should we regret that we loved him as 
our own lives ? Would that I had been able to 
have loved him more. He was worthy of it ; he 
came from God to teach us this new, great love ; 
he has gone back to the land of perfect love. 

Is it not a blessing that he has gone thither 
ere the world had changed his innocent joy and 
bowed his soul to sin ? Ere the battle was fought, 
in which he might have fallen, the victory has 
been given him. " Thanks be unto God for His 
unspeakable gift." 



I constrain my own grief lest it should increase 
that of my husband. I had no idea before what 
the mourning of a strong man might be. Some 
times the tide of anguish swells so high that I 
have feared it might sweep reason away. Through 



299 

the day he pursues his necessary avocations and 
directs his men, though without his former in 
terest ; but his nightly weepings are as one cast 
out of God. 



My poor husband gets but little quiet sleep. 
I watch for the deep breathing that announces it, 
as I used of old to listen for the music-strain. 
Last night it fell gently on my ear, and I blessed 
our Father in heaven ; but at the rayless mid 
night he started as from a terrific dream, exclaim 
ing* 

" I am a sinner above all men. Pride and the 
spirit of accumulation ruled my heart. I called 
it a father s prudence. It was not so. Now my 
idol is broken in the grave, and my heart with it." 

I tried to vindicate the integrity of his motives, 
and spoke of God s great goodness to us, and to 
our child who had gone to Him. 

"Let me speak out. Let me tell the whole 
truth. Promising solemnly, to protect and cher 
ish you, I have torn you from the paradise where 
you were so happy, from refined society, from 
hearts that are now bursting for your loss. I 
have brought you to a waste, howling wilderness, 
to a land uninhabited, and hardened with labor 
those beautiful hands that were a model for the 



300 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

sculptor. All this I have done to make my son 
richer than others when I should pass away. I 
have sacrificed you to my own unhallowed ambi 
tion ; yet you have never reproached me, no, not 
by a look. If you had, perhaps this self-loath 
ing might be less deep." 

To my repeated assurance that I would go with 
him to the world s end, and be happy if I might 
but see him so that what he calls privation is 
counted as nothing by a love stronger than death, 
he replies, in the same mournful voice, 

"Always looking on the bright side, my own 
love always, like the angel standing in the sun, 
having no shadow of earth. But I seem to have 
given my hand to the powers of darkness." 

Then he goes on, speaking of every folly ot 
his past life, which he calls before him in full 
array, magnifying them, and making himself as 
blamable as possible. He seems to find relief 
in this self-crimination. It is in vain to attempt 
to stay its tide. The Everlasting Father, whose 
mercies are over all His works, sanctify this ago 
nizing compunction, which He alone is able to 
take away. 



Among men, Henry is, as formerly, a man 
clear-minded and of a ruling spirit. But when 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 301 

we are by ourselves, and the excitements of the 
day are over, his voice is so ineffably mournful 
when he laments our lost son and his own un- 
worthiness. 

Great Ruler of our being, deign from this ray- 
less darkness to bring forth my beloved into Thy 
marvelous light. My whole life is a prayer for 
this. 



That little billow upon the green sward ! 
White blossoms begin to crest it. I see it when 
I rise in the morning. The moon silvers it with 
long penciled rays. My child 1 my child I 
"He is not there lie has arisen." 



After anguish that seemed interminable, a 
blessed change has passed over my adored hus 
band. Nojonger he repines at the Divine allot 
ments, No longer lie, calls himself of all men 
most miserable. A serene peace is in his soul 
and upon his brow. Meekly he rejoices in those 
daily blessings which for a time he had lost the 
power to recognize. Night and morning he sum 
mons his whole household to the heartfelt orison. 
At every repast he bows his head for a blessing. 
Continually he now seeks th.e spiritual as well as 



302 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

temporal good of those around. This is the Lord s 
doing ; it is marvelous in our eyes. I would be 
still, as one who had seen Him walking among 
the tops of the trees, and sending down his white- 
winged messengers with the gift of salvation. 



The settlement is enlarging itself beyond our 
most sanguine hopes. Here and there, some 
times in spots where they might have been least 
expected, rises the roof of the emigrant. Vol 
umes of blue, curling smoke mingle gracefully 
with the solemn groves. I am amazed at the 
mushroom vitality with which they spring up 
and finish themselves. In less time than is al 
lotted to the digging of a Yankee cellar, w T alls 
are upreared, floors laid, children s heads peep 
out at the windows, and the bee-hive work of 
busy life goes on. It is true, they do not, as the 
Scotch say, " fash themselves" with much deco 
ration or any great array of what we call crea 
ture comforts, but all the purposes of hardy, 
healthful existence seem accomplished. In due 
time there will doubtless be progress in what is 
more refined. "First the blade, then the ear, 
then the ripe corn in the ear." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 303 

My husband has solaced himself by erecting 1 
a little chapel. He felt that our increasing pop 
ulation should not be without a place for the wor 
ship of God. Its pointed roof among the dark fo 
liage is beautiful. It stands near our baby s bed, 
and casts a protecting shadow over it. The renova 
ted father calls it the "first-fruits from his grave." 



The first Sunday in our new chapel. Henry 
had arranged it with all the scrupulous neatness 
and taste that the materials which we could com 
mand permitted. With the most reverent man 
ner, and his perfect elocution, he read the service 
of the Episcopal Church, and a simple sermon 
from a volume in our small library. The audi 
ence was larger than we expected, and deeply at 
tentive. The selected hymns were adapted to 
familiar old tunes, and sustained by a few sweet 
voices. We hope by practice to make this de 
vout music, and the chants also, sit on the lips, 
and lift the souls of all who are gathered here. 
My husband intends to continue this sacred serv 
ice every Sabbath, Deo volente, until a regular 
clergyman shall be called to minister at the altar. 
May a blessing descend upon his own soul from 
Him who despiseth not the lowliness of the tem 
ple or the worshiper, but looketh upon the heart. 



304 



Doth not grief ripen the character ? Are not 
some of the Christian graces watered by tears ? 
I have read of a gardener who, in cultivating a 
pomegranate, found its strength was expending 
itself too much in leaves, and, by cutting the 
stalk almost through, caused it to bring forth 
fruit. 



A poor young Irish woman, who, with her hus 
band, came as farm-servants to a family recently 
removed hither, has lost her babe. I went to see 
the stranger, moved by the strong sisterhood of 
a like sorrow. She was convulsed with weeping, 
and told me at broken intervals how beautiful 
he was. 

" If he could only jist have been buried in his 
own swate home, with the wake and the grand 
mother s tears to keep his grave green, it would 
not have been so bad. Och hone ! but now here 
he is in the wild woods." 

I suggested that it would be a comfort to her 
to visit his little bed, which she could not have 
done had he died on the voyage and been buried 
in the deep. 

" Then the fishes would have ate him ; and 
here twill be the crawling land-beasts. And we 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 305 

got ye through all the throuble of the ship and 
the bad storms jist for this, ye darlint. Oh! 
what for did ye die ?" 

I began to despair of comforting her. But, as 
I was going, she seized my hand as with a lion s 
grasp, exclaiming, 

"Oh, but ye re kind and good, so ye be ; for, 
indade, there s a tear in your own eye. I see it." 



With what a holy charm God s consecrated 
day steals over us, like an angel s pinion. It 
makes a pause in the world s discordant song. 
To the throng of cares it says, like the kingly 
patriarch, " Abide ye here, while I go yonder to 
worship." It uplifts from earth the powers that 
were not lent to die there ; it inspires new 
strength for coming duties ; it brings armor for 
unknown trials ; it soothes the spirit into pa 
tience, that it may have victory. Never have I 
so fully realized its influence as in this little un 
pretending chapel, surrounded by humble com 
panions, divested of all pomp of ritual, confessing 
with one voice to Him whom they worship that 
"they have erred and strayed from His ways 
like lost sheep." Sometimes their earnest hu 
mility of devotion suggests the thought that 
"such the Father chooseth to worship Him," 



306 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

when not "many mighty, not many rich, not 
many noble are called." 



Is it possible that I shall never look again 
upon the beauty of that venerable brow? My 
blessed grandfather, standing ever to me in the 
place of a departed parent, how dear thou wert 
to me ! dearer for thy silver locks, the dignity of 
thy saintly age, the child-like confidence with 
which, in advancing years, thou didst rely upon 
those whom once thy strength protected. Alas ! 
wherever I go, whatever I do, a voice of lamen 
tation is flowing through my soul. 



His last letter was so cheerful, who could have 
thought that the change was so near? He had 
mourned much for little Willie, his namesake 
and idol ; but the sorrow had gone by, and he 
spoke of him only as a lamb in the fold of the 
Chief Shepherd. Life brightened until its latest 
drop mingled with that Kiver of God which is 
clear as crystal. His transition was with brief 
warning. So he wished it to be. 

"Sing, my own daughter, sing! Give me 
back, with the hymn that I love, to the God of 
love. Gently hath He led me all my days." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 307 

Sweet messages he sent us. and other friends 
flowers cast back from heaven s gate as he entered. 

"There is no fear in death. Perfect love 
take th it away. He maketh the valley light. 
Henceforth there is no more darkness." 

Radiant grew his features, as if youth had re 
turned. Raising his eyes, he murmured for the 
last time, like the tuneful cadence of a harp, 

"Give praise! give praise!" 

And so he departed. 



Thoughts from thy grave, dear saint, how strong their trace! 

Bright wings unfold, and seraph voices cry, 
There is no death, but only change of place ; 

No death ! no death to immortality ! 
In God s great universe is room for all 

The souls that He hath made. The shroud, the pall, 
False trophies of a fancied victory, 

Behold their boasted terrors fade and fall ! 
Out of the ship, pale trembler ! Tread the shore 
Of the eternal life ; thy voyage with Time is o er. 

Question not God, oh being of the dust ! 

Make no conditions what thy lot shall be ; 
Ask for no pledge of Him. Be still, and trust ; 

Trust, and be joyful, for His grace is free. 
So pass in faith where er He bids thee go ; 

Gird thee with truth, in sunlight or in shade ; 
Uproot the weed of self, and meekly sow 

Sweet seeds of love for all His hand hath made ; 
Build not on rituals : make His love thy text, 
And all shall work thy good, in this life or the next. 



308 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

Now my blessed mother will come to us. She 
will dwell under our own roof. We shall be sun 
dered no more. Have I ever before written words 
so full of joy ? Shall not the whole of my life 
below be one unmixed strain of gratitude to God ? 



My dear husband is so delighted at the coming 
of my mother. Had he been nurtured at her 
breast, he could not more perfectly participate in 
my feelings. Continually he is forming plans to 
promote her convenience and comfort. He is 
constructing two additional apartments, that she 
may have the consciousness that a portion of the 
house is peculiarly her own. When she has 
completed her necessary business, Edgar will ac 
company her a part of the way, until Henry 
meets and takes charge of her in the public 
coaches as far as their route coincides with ours ; 
then faithful Sandy, in our own carriage, will 
convey the precious travelers to this peaceful ru 
ral abode. Constantly am I now devising or ex 
ecuting something to accommodate or give her 
pleasure. Is it indeed true that I shall see that 
serene, heavenly face here, in this room, under 
these trees ? Fly swiftly, intervening moments ! 
Beating heart, be still ! 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 309 

I am thankful that we have been enabled to 
do something to improve the premises, originally 
so rude, ere my mother saw them. The inclosed 
grounds in the immediate vicinity of the house 
might seem to have really been under longer cul 
tivation. Fruit-trees have been set out, a garden 
of esculents is in full prosperity, vines encircle 
the rustic piazza and trellises, and a rich morn 
ing-glory, from home-seeds, looks in at my win 
dow. Immense flocks of poultry flourish in their 
own proper domain ; beautiful cows add healthful 
luxuries to our table ; fine horses are ready to bear 
us wherever the still improving roads invite. On 
every one of these objects I now look with an 
interest unknown before, saying perpetually in 
my heart, my mother will see, my mother will 
share them. 



Sandy, who has remarkable constructiveness, 
has made, out of common boards, sofas, toilet-ta 
bles, and a variety of seats, which, with the aid of 
Orra s needle, I have covered with rich, highly- 
glazed chintz. Recently, also, we have been able 
to procure pretty paper for our walls ; and Hen 
ry, who determined, soon after our arrival, to have 
carpets, procured them at a great expense of 



310 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 

transportation, so that I hope my dear mother 
may find her Western home not comfortless, nor 
wholly devoid of taste. 



My blessed husband has left me to meet our 
mother. I would fain have gone with him, 
but he feared the fatigue for me. I count the 
intervening hours, and talk with them. Every 
parting one I thank, for it has brought them 
nearer. Every opening one I charge to take up 
ward my supplication for their safety. I think 
it was a rule of the excellent Bishop Taylor at 
the striking of every clock to lift up the heart for 
a blessing on the new-born hour, and for strength 
faithfully to discharge all its duties in the fear of 
God. Such a numbering of our hours would, 
indeed, insure the growth of wisdom. 



The last day of expectation. I keep myself 
employed as much as possible in little services for 
the comfort of the darling travelers. Still, I am 
ashamed to say that the hours seem interminable. 



As sunset approached, I walked forth, hoping 
to meet them. Twilight found me thus roaming 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 311 

and listening for the sound of wheels. At early 
eventide, having assured myself for the twentieth 
time that every article was in readiness for their 
refreshment, I caused the whole house to Ibe light 
ed, that through the vistas and arches of the 
groves every window might be to them as a star. 



They have come! they have come! the two 
dearest beings on earth my all the world. 
Paler and thinner is she, but with the same se 
rene brow and soul of love. Henry put us in 
each other s arms, and wrapped his own around 
both. It was no time for words. Poor, poor 
words ! 



Faithful Amy stood waiting for some token of 
recognition, the tears upon her cheeks. Warm 
was our welcome of the good creature to her new 
home. She and the kind forest girl will be con 
genial companions. Sandy, too, who had borne 
an active part in bringing these treasures, was 
comprehended in our congratulations. 



It cheered me that my mother was pleased 
with the spreading of a Western table. With me 



312 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

there is a certain sort of pride, and innate inde 
pendence, that most of its viands are of our own 
production. I can now understand the exulta 
tion of Dioclesian over the cabbages which he 
had reared. We have, indeed, a commendable 
variety ; our sense of abundance is as limitless 
as the soil we cultivate, and what we miss of for 
eign luxury we perhaps gain in health. It grat 
ified our dear observer to see that we mingled 
with the simple life of new settlers attention to 
neatness and order, and some attempts at the 
taste of those more refined habitudes in which 
we had been educated. 



Inexpressibly sweet was our united worship 
that first night of meeting. Bowed down with a 
weight of gratitude, chastened by a mutual grief, 
bound together by links of love, sustained by 
faith in Him who died for us, most precious were 
"the means of grace and the hope of glory." 
Music was with us too, in her fervent simplicity. 
Our small household had been duly trained to 
the melody of the devout old tunes, and the voice 
of my mother, on whose knee I learned them in 
lisping infancy, had lost none of its warbling pa 
thos. We sang the hymn that our departed pa 
triarch loved, " There is a land of pure delight," 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 313 

and his favorite chant, "Blessed be the Lord God 
of Israel, who hath visited and redeemed His 
people." The memory of those who were once 
with us around our two family altars melted our 
hearts ; but the chastened tear had lost its bit 
terness. Some above and some below, joined 
they not still in the same symphony of praise? 
A deeper lowliness had been gathered from our 
sorrows, befitting creatures of the dust ; yet, 
guided by the Divine strength of our religion, we 
could trust to be made heirs of glory when this 
brief probation closes. At retiring, methought 
there was on every countenance, in different de 
grees, some expression caught from that passage 
of inspiration so adapted to the weariness, the be 
reavement, and the trust of our earthly natures, 
" He giveth His beloved sleep." 



Exhaustless are our themes of discourse, my 
mother and myself. Side by side we pursue the 
employments of the day ; hand in hand we seat 
ourselves when they are over. Each hour sup 
plies some description of what occurred during 
our separation, some bright sunbeam flashes over 
the disk of memory, some silver ray of moonlight 
lingers there, or some tearful cloud passes, leaving 
its blessed rainbow. Even the silences that some- 
O 



314 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

times settle upon us are understood and enjoyed. 
This perfect confidence is precious. It seems al 
ways due to the "being who has borne so much 
for us. I can scarcely imagine how it should 
ever "be otherwise between a mother and daughter. 
Henry is unspeakably cheered by it. He says 
he can now leave upon his necessary avocations 
without anxiety for my loneliness or pressure of 
care. When he returns, the gladness of a double 
welcome awaits him, and his tender consideration 
as a son heightens his honor as a husband ; so a 
new tide of joy flows over our peaceful habitation. 
We know that its fountain is above. The heart 
of our servants is made glad by it. We delight 
to see their faces decked with smiles, and to know 
that their willing aid is rendered from love. Can 
we ever be unmindful of Him whose " mercies 
are thus new every morning, fresh every mo 
ment ?" 



The good, kind creature, Amy, is teaching my 
forest child all the best modes of household work 
and attendance. I could not be myself so per 
fect a trainer. She finds a docile pupil, and their 
zeal is wonderful. They keep my house and table 
in speckless sanctity, and every window as clear 
as crystal. Not content with former limits, they 



LUCY HOWAKD S JOUENAL. 315 

explore new ground with a sort of patriotic ardor. 
They have obtained permission to take one of 
the finest cows from the farmer, whose wife has 
charge of the dairy, that the golden butter for our 
own board may be made and stamped in the most 
approved fashion. Moreover, they have set up a 
spinning-wheel, of a wondrous brisk, monotonous 
chorus, and a reel, whose sharp snap makes one 
start like a pistol, to supply some deficiency in 
what the Scotch call "napery." It is pleasant 
to see such an active partnership so amicably 
conducted. It is founded on love, and that de 
sire for the general good that makes industry 
thrice blessed. I trust, also, that the fear of 
God mingles with their fidelity. We all feel it 
a privilege to be served from such motives. Hav 
ing been through life thus indulged, it would be 
to me a serious trial to depend on hirelings, where 
pecuniary gain is the only acting motive, and who 
mete out sullen service without a consenting heart. 



We have stood together by the spot where 
Willie slumbers. With him the bitterness of 
death hath passed ; with us, the keen anguish of 
sorrow. Birds poured deep melodies from the 
trees around. Oh, winged child, dost thou hear 
and answer them ? 



316 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

A little stone of the purest marble marks his 
rest. The loving father has caused to be en 
graved upon it his mother s lines : 

Released without a sorrow, 

Exhaled without a stain, 
We, on whose hearts that angel lay 
A little while, to cheer our way, 

Give God his own again. 



Through the influence of my mother s heaven- 
born piety, we are learning to speak of our dead 
not as the heathen do. Freed are they from the 
temptations which life might have brought them, 
from the misery of breathing on through weary 
years after the light of mind has departed. No 
"leap in the dark" have they made, but through 
the lighted valley gone peacefully to the loving 
Redeemer. They have exchanged earth s soiled 
garments for the white robe of immortality. The 
victor s palm has been given them. Would we 
take it away? Would we force them back? 
Would we repine that they have entered before 
us the gates of the celestial city? Should we 
not rather praise the hand that has earlier drawn 
them from the tossing of the deluge, and which, 
from the window of the ark, is still stretched forth 
for us? Should we not give higher thanks for 
that part of our family who are at rest, over whom 



317 

no change can pass, whose feet may never fall, nor 
their treasures fleet away ? Yes, let us praise 
God for them, and take earnest heed so to walk 
that we fail not to meet them at last, a family in 
heaven. 



The poetical element, like the religious one, is 
a source of happiness. It may be so cultivated 
as to soothe suffering, to refine enjoyment, and to 
sublimate our whole nature. I speak of only the 
very limited measure in which I have been ena 
bled to taste it. Those who have taken deeper 
draughts can better set forth its Bethesda prop 
erties ; but often throughout my not yet very 
long life have I thus apostrophized the spirit of 
poetry : 

I bring a broken spirit. Make it whole 
With the sweet balm of song. 

To her I spake 

Who rules the spirit s inborn harmonies. 
And not in vain ; for as she struck her harp 
Of varied symphony, and claimed response, 
Forthwith the brooding sadness fled away, 
And, sitting at her feet, I was made whole. 



318 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 



Tuesday, January 1st, 1822. 

Great Maker of the universe, all worlds, all 
systems are Thine. They keep the order that 
Thou hast established, and hearken unto the 
voice of Thy word. All their countless habi 
tants are Thine. In Thee they live, and move, 
and have their being. 

Yet Thou dost not overlook us on this poor 
planet we who, like moths, nutter a moment and 
disappear. Atoms of dust, how are we worthy 
to come into remembrance before Thee? Not 
worthy ; but we have an Advocate with whom 
Thou art well-pleased. We would hide our 
selves in Him. Not worthy ; yet in the rich 
ness of Thy great mercy Thou dost listen to our 
supplications. Thou art even more ready to 
hear than we to speak. Blessed be Thy name 
that we are not left to build our faith upon the 
shifting sands, the broken cisterns, the fleeting- 
dews of human goodness. 

Oh, teach us to pray. What the disciples be 
sought of Jesus while still in His presence, with 
in the sound of His voice, much greater need 
have we to ask, who are so far away from both. 
Lord, teach us to pray with the concentration of 



LUCY HOWAKDS JOUENAL. 

every faculty, with entire homage of the soul, 
with love stronger than death. 

We believe that there is within us a hope that 
can not die. Thou hast planted it. Crown it 
in Thine appointed time with the glory which 
Thou hast laid up for those that love Thee, which 
the eye of man hath not looked upon, nor his 
heart conceived. So, uplifted by Thine immu 
table promise, leaning on Thine omnipotent arm, 
striving to leave nothing undone which Thou 
hast commanded us to do, . may we pass on this 
beautiful pilgrimage till the whisper of the death- 
angel summons us, and we are at home with Thee. 



In the vision of an immense temple, which, 
with its minute admeasurement, is described by 
one of the prophets, he mentions, among the or 
naments upon the walls and massy doors, palm- 
trees and cherubims alternately placed : "so that 
a palm-tree was between a cherub and a cherub." 
Did these beautiful objects, in their fair order, 
shadow forth the peace of earth and the music of 
heaven ? mutely enforcing that 

"He who hath God s spirit here 
Shall see His glory there?" 



320 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

Henry is busying himself with a good and 
great plan. It occupies his thoughts and con 
versation. It is to lease, at low prices, small 
portions of his lands to industrious settlers, for 
whom he will put up simple but convenient ten 
ements, keeping in view a pleasant degree of ex 
ternal uniformity. Afflicted as he has been, he 
says he renounces the desire of becoming rich, 
but will enrich his country as far as he is able by 
a thrifty, meritorious population. He is determ 
ined to admit only such as have a correct moral 
character, and are willing to work. His wish is 
that they should derive subsistence for their fam 
ilies, or the principal part of it, from llieir leased 
lands, and to furnish employment on his own, at 
fair wages, for such time as they can spare. To 
that end he is to devote large expanses to the 
culture of grain, lest their own element of bread 
should fall short, and to cover his pastures with 
sheep, whose fleeces will be salable in distant 
markets. He contemplates, also, that each house 
hold, according to its ability, should sustain do 
mestic manufactures for the supply of its own 
coarser and necessary fabrics. Sandy is en 
tranced with delight at being told a Scottish 
weaver has decided to come, and I have been al 
most equally uplifted at hearing that a physician 
and merchant from our own native region may be 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 321 

expected, each of whom are also to take a glebe 
for cultivation. Henry, with his ardent fancy, al 
ready sees this Laconian community in full op 
eration, and intends to offer agricultural and hor 
ticultural premiums at the earliest possible op 
portunity. But his colony is not Utopian, for 
applications have been already made, though he 
wisely examines credentials so scrupulously ere 
he accepts, that it will scarcely increase too rapid 
ly to be healthful. I tell my lord of the manor 
that I have also some private ambitious views to 
gratify, and foresee among the children who will 
thus come together materials for such a kind of 
school as cheered our dear old home. He as 
sures me that I shall be advanced to the honor 
of domineering over them for one afternoon in 
the week, but that his plan, when completed, com 
prises a school-house and regular teacher, as well 
as a clergyman and church. May God grant 
him life and strength to mature his designs, for I 
am sure they spring from unselfish motives and 
a pure patriotism. If his purposes and prayers 
could be perfectly illustrated, he would, in the 
words of the eloquent prophet, "make the wil 
derness an Eden, and the desert a garden of the 
Lord." 



322 LUCY HOWAKD S JOURNAL. 



.home-happiness to ,be the .secret.- of 
national prosperity. Men who have not this 
fountain of peace, this wing of love folded around 
them, are more ready for " treasons, stratagems, 
and spoils." Herein is the patriotism of woman 
and her privilege. Not to wrestle at the ballot- 
box ; not to shout in popular assemblies ; not to 
steer the ship through the blackening tempest, 
nor sound the trumpet for the battle-field, but 
to cheer and charm at board and hearth-stone ; 
to teach the sanctities of deathless affection ; to 
breathe heaven s melodies over the cradle-sleeper ; 
to fashion by holy example every soul under her 
roof for a realm of harmony and peace. Homes 
thus ordered, sprinkled over a land, are as dew- 
drops, giving freshness and beauty ; as the hid 
den salt, preserving the great heaving ocean in 
health and purity. Who can desire more honor 
than thus to be priestess at the shrine of the 
household affections till she finds her place among 
"an innumerable company of angels, and spirits 
of the just made perfect, whose names are written 
in heaven ?" 



In my stated perusal of the Scriptures this 
morning, I was impressed with the great beauty 
of a promise in the Divine name which occurs 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 323 

in tlio tliirty-fourth chapter of Ezekiel : "I will 
seek that which was lost, and bring again that 
which was driven away, and bind up that which 
was broken, and strengthen that which was sick." 
Methinks it would be an excellent text for a con 
solatory sermon, as comprehending the prominent 
varieties of human suffering with their merciful 
antidotes. A passage in the thirty-seventh chap 
ter of the same book, at the sixteenth and sev 
enteenth verses, furnishes a natural foundation 
for the structure of a discourse on national union, 
should any dissension ever arise among these 
banded states, this spreading, happy, and pros 
perous family ; which may our Almighty Pro 
tector avert. The prophet from whom I have 
quoted, though overshadowed in eloquence by 
Isaiah, and surpassed in pathos by Jeremiah, 
has occasionally great vigor and picturesque pow 
er. He seems, also, to have been an observer 
of dates, or of that minuteness in chronology 
which I so much regard, as he thus records the 
period of one of his visions : u In the five-and- 
twentieth year of our captivity, in the tenth day 
of the month, in the fourteenth year after the 
city was smitten, in the self-same day, the hand 
of the Lord was upon me." Sometimes I find 
striking texts which ministers seldom use. Would 
not this from Kings, " Then he said, What title 



324 

is that I see ? And the men of the city told him, 
It is the sepulchre of the man of God," be a good 
one at the funeral obsequies of a distinguished 
saintly person ? And might not the solitude and 
meditation which are salutary after any great af 
fliction be enforced by the description of Moses : 
" While the cloud tarried upon the tabernacle, 
remaining thereon, the children of Israel abode 
in their tents?" The question of the lawless 
Danites to the recreant priest of Micah, " What 
maJcest thou in this place? and what hast thou 
here ?" might be made to rebuke that venal spirit 
which counts the gain of money above the gain 
of godliness ; and the accepted prayer of Jabez, 
" Oh that Thou wouldest keep me from evil, that 
it may not grieve me," shadows forth that eleva 
tion of spirit above the ills of time which should 
be sought for by those whose home and heritage 
are in heaven. 



People who enter on the roughnesses of West 
ern life will do well to divest themselves as soon 
as possible of enervating associations. This is 
not merely an accomplishment, but a species of 
self-defense a heart-shield. "Forgetting the 
things that are behind" is essential to a brave 
"pressing onward to those that are before." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 325 

"Behold, all things are become new," says the 
wondering housekeeper, who, entering her rude 
mansion, misses the carpeted floor and the marble 
mantel-piece. Yes ; "but it is of no use to com 
plain or to compare. The direction to the nephew 
of Abraham and his emigrating family, "Look 
not back," is appropriate to you ; for, though 
you might not, like his wife, in case of disobe 
dience be turned into a pillar of salt, you might, 
perchance, become a stumbling-block to those, 
around, or be reminded of the regrets of the good 
lady who said, "jT m a stumbling-block to my 
self" Go ahead and work. See where there is 
any good to be done, and do it. Look aloft, and 
gather strength, and wear the smile of the " angel 
who came and sat under the oak at Ophrah while 
they were threshing wheat," or of him who found 
Hagar a wanderer in the wilderness, and comfort 
ed her. 



In reading the touching narrative of the last- 
named exile, who, when her slender store of wa 
ter was spent, " cast her son among the shrubs, 
and sat down a good way from him, as it were a 
bow-shot, saying, Let me not see the death of the 
child," I am sometimes troubled by an associa 
tion quite at war with the spirit of the scene. 



1 



326 

It is of a picture I once saw, from a school for 
embroidery, wrought out with much labor, and 
many stitches in gay-colored silks. Of Hagar 
and Ishmael I wish to say little, save that their 
attitudes and perspective destroyed the pathos 
of their condition. The principal figure was a 
winged creature, descending with a huge cistern 
of indigo-tinted water, whose immense curved 
and twisted handles were done in a profusion of 
gold thread. His back was crooked, as if in 
jeopardy from the weight he bore, and under his 
eyes was a thick stripe of purple, perhaps to 
show that the blood settled there from over-ex 
ertion. A distant view of a fine bay, with a 
vessel under sail, completed the artist s idea of 
desert scenery. 

It is unfortunate when any ludicrous recollec- 
tion mingles with those sacred pages, which we 
would fain regard with the highest reverence. 
It is not enough that the art which seeks to il 
lustrate them should be honest in its purposes ; 
it ought to draw from a pure taste the ability 
not to injure them, or debase the conceptions of 
other minds ; it should have some fitness and 
consecration for the office, as the sons of Levi 
were required to purify themselves, and put on 
holy garments, ere, even in the humbler services 
of the sanctuary, they were held worthy to " light 
the lamps and bear the vessels of the Lord." 



327 



In our own far home we were greatly interest 
ed in a little deaf and dumb girl. Its babyhood 
was singularly thoughtful, and the mother won 
dered why it would not smile at her caressing 
voice, or be soothed to sleep by her lullaby. 
When old enough to speak, it mingled in the 
sports of other children, but heeded not their call, 
and when it was spoken to, answered not. The 
poor mother was slow to admit what others dis 
cerned, and what she perhaps inwardly believed. 
To her it seemed a blemish to have borne a 
child doomed to perpetual silence and ignorance. 
When she could no longer conceal the fact that 
the loved creature was indeed forever shut from 
the world of sound and of speech, her agony was 
intense. Our sympathy for her and for the little 
one, who, though sprightly, was somewhat unruly 
and wayward, caused us greatly to rejoice at hear 
ing that an institution for the instruction of deaf 
mutes had been projected, and a philanthropic gen 
tleman sent to France to learn the system in 
vented by the Abbes L Epee and Sicard. This 
unique and ingenious mode of education com 
menced a year or two since, under the Rev. Mr. 
Gallaudet and Mr. Clerc, the latter a professor 
from the Institute in Paris ; and we were look 
ing forward with pleasure to the time when our 



328 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

silent neighbor should Ibe old enough to be sent 
from home and share in its benefits. Recent in 
telligence from the East announces that a line ed 
ifice, devoted to that purpose, has been erected at 
Hartford, one of the pleasantest cities in Connect 
icut. It was consecrated with solemn religious 
services on the 21st of April. My dear mother, 
who, warmly remembering all the circumstances 
connected with the little deaf mute who had so 
often sat on her knee, and whom we both vague 
ly endeavored to teach by pictures and signs, ex 
claimed, " The 21st of April, 1822, is a date that 
should be ever bright in the annals of benevo 
lence." Henry, whose mind is rich in historic 
lore and its coincidences, said that the era had 
been long since distinguished, the building of 
Rome being announced by chronologers as on the 
21st of April, 753 years before Christ. Differ 
ing events, indeed, were those thus divided by 
the solemn march of more than 2500 centuries. 
One, the birth of that heathen empire, the clangor 
of whose arms disturbed the world, and whose 
tyrant foot trod upon the neck of kings, gather 
ing their meat under her table ; and the other, 
the quiet rising of that peaceful dome where the 
dear Redeemer still says to the deafened ear and 
the sealed lip what he once said when on earth to 
the blinded eye, " Ephphatha be opened." 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 329 

Cowper, in his " Task," asserts that we might 
learn, if not too proud, many good and useful les 
sons from animal instructors. How true is his 
remark ! The dog and horse have long been au 
thorized teachers. To descend somewhat in the 
scale of quadruped preceptorship, I have thought 
that the quiet movements and noiseless footsteps 
of a mouse might not be valueless models in the 
nurse s chamber. 



The needle, that sure friend of our sex, still 
affords unabated pleasure. A stated part of each 
day dear mother and myself enjoy it together, 
engaged on a beautiful set of shirts for the be 
loved husband and son, and reading alternately. 
Orra considers it a privilege to be permitted to 
sit with us and pursue her plainer work. She 
also takes her turn in reading, having been dili 
gently instructed. She is readily adopting by 
this practice a correct emphasis, without any di 
rect teaching except example. She is growing 
a girl of rather striking appearance, with her 
wealth of raven hair, a complexion not too dark 
to show changes of color, a form rather more en 
Ion point than appertains to her race, and the - 
sweet, low voice, and delicately-shaped hands for 



330 

which their women are remarkable. Her mind 
readily opens to knowledge, and her heart to re 
ligious feeling. In speaking of the Author of all 
our mercies and hopes, she prefers the epithet of 
her own people, "The Great Spirit," which she 
always utters reverentially. Her warmth of grat 
itude is intense, and might disprove the assertion, 
so sweepingly made, that the " lower classes are 
not susceptible of it." I should like to have the 
believer in this philosophy see her glistening eye 
and expressive features when she says, as she 
often does spontaneously, 

" The Great Spirit gave me life. You saved 
it." 

Her attachment to the memory of little Wil 
lie is very touching. The sudden mention of 
his name, the unexpected finding of any article 
that he wore, or any toy he played with, calls 
forth a burst of irrepressible sobs and tears. 
Sometimes she steals silently to his grave, and 
hides her face among the long grass there, as if 
the love of that innocent being could never be for 
gotten by her lone heart. These things endear 
her to us, and we thank Him who enabled us to 
throw our protection over this outcast daughter 
of the forest. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 331 

Letters from our New England home some, 
times come to cheer and keep our interests awake- 
Our last convey information that dear Mary Ann 
and Edgar, so long affianced in heart and congen 
ial in spirit, are soon to enter the holy estate of 
matrimony. They have prudently waited until 
he should have completed his medical studies, 
and obtain a feasible prospect of establishment 
in his profession. It is decided that in the course 
of the present year he shall become an assistant 
of his father, whose amount of business and de 
clining years render such a connection desirable. 
Their wedding journey will be to visit us. Oh, 
with what delight shall we welcome her whose 
friendship from our school-days has known no 
interruption or shadow of change, and who has 
proved by services and sacrifices that this holy 
sentiment is more than a name. Blessings be on 
her true heart and that of her chosen life s com 
panion. 



Dear mother much enjoys our drives through 
the forests and their fair openings, and to notice 
the vigorous productions of this fertile soil. She 
does not mind an occasional jolt, though Henry, 
with his laborers, has made our favorite rides as 
smooth as possible. One of our more distant ex- 



332 LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 

cursions is to the nucleus of a village, where, on 
a fine, bold stream, a grist and saw-mill are in 
busy operation. The latter transmutes with won 
drous rapidity immense trunks into the boards 
that form our habitations. 

In a small tenement adjacent is an old man, 
who removed thither from New England with the 
family of his son, and officiates as the Crispin of 
the surrounding region. He is a happy Metho 
dist, and from his work-bench, which stands under 
the trees, near the door, in pleasant summer days, 
his voice may be heard ere you approach singing 
the hymns of his sect. It is cheering to be met 
in the primeval forest by the echo of such soul- 
strains : 

" Oh tell me no more 

Of this world s vain store, 
The time for such trifles 

With me now is o er ; 
A country I ve found 

Where true joys abound, 
To dwell I m determined 

On that happy ground." 

He is greatly pleased when we stop to see him, 
and ask for some story of his early days. To 
talk is a luxury, since most of those around are 
too hard-working to listen to him. He spon 
taneously falls into themes connected with the 
Revolution. The taking of Burgoyne, in which 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 333 

he was a participator, is his chief and choice sub 
ject. 

" Five-and-forty years will it be, come next 
October, since that time. I was a smart young 
fellow of five-and-twenty, with a long gun, which 
spoke up pretty sharp and often, when there was 
a good chance to take aim. To see them hand 
some red-coats lay down their arms, polished just 
as bright as a dollar! Oh, what a day for the 
country!" 

Down go last and awls, and up jumps he, if 
not to " shoulder a crutch," at least to " show 
how fields were won." 

" I got a shot in my knee. I did not mind it 
much, though I ve limped some ever since. Gen 
eral Arnold was a courageous critter, real Con 
necticut born. Why, I ve seen him in the bat 
tle of Stillwater storm the enemy s works at the 
head of his rigiment, and leap his horse first over 
the breast-work, and fight like a dragon all alone 
by himself till his men came up. The sogers 
liked him, he was so darin ; but he was a wicked 
body, and come out at the leetle eend of the horn, 
as he desarv d to." 

One of his favorite forms of narrative is the 
circumstance of some British prisoners being 
quartered in his own town while he was remain 
ing at home in consequence of his wound. 



334 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

" Fine fellows they was too, them British of 
ficers and sogers, when you did not have to fight 
em. Plenty o gold they had, and spent it as 
free as water. The old king, George the Third, 
paid his troops well, I ll say that for him. Why, 
I guess the women-folks there took as much spe 
cie from them for eggs, and chickens, and butter, 
and sich-like, as their husbands got through the 
whole o the war-time ; cause, you know, they was 
paid in Continental money, which was no better 
than rags, and finally dwindled down to nothin." 

We like to make his honest heart happy by 
leading it through the past, as well as by gifts of 
some article of apparel we have made for him, or 
something for his palate, founded on its New En 
gland fondnesses, which he always receives grate 
fully; but the principal benefaction is that of 
listening with a marked attention. They with 
whom the old dwell should find time for their 
recitals, for it keeps the mind from becoming 
dormant ; and should feel it a duty, not only to 
have patience with, but to cherish the garrulity 
of venerable age. 



Dear little Willie! How often he glides be 
fore me in dreams. I stretch out my arms, but 
the vision mocks my embrace. I say, "Darling^ 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 335 

speak to mother," hut there is no sound. Yet 
ever on the brow is that same sweet smile. 

Oh, lamb of my bosom, still come to me, 
though it be in silence and in mystery. Still 
dwell beside me, though shadowy and impalpa 
ble. When this sleep that we call life breaks, 
shall we not meet, and be as one soul in thy 
Shepherd s fold ? 



Is it not an unspeakable privilege to "live, 
and move, and have a being" in God s beautiful 
world ? My heart is filled to overflowing with a 
sense of the Divine goodness. How can I tes 
tify the gratitude that it creates? Shall it not 
be by doing good to His children according to 
my ability? Are not all mankind His children? 
the creatures of his power ? the partakers of his 
bounty ? To the lowest, the most unrefined, the 
maimed, the mendicant, the despised, the fallen, 
I would turn with an aiding hand or a prayer of 
pity, and, for my dear Savior s sake, who died to 
save the lost, embrace all with the love of untir 
ing benevolence. 



It was mentioned at our breakfast-table this 
beautiful autumnal morning that it is the nine- 



336 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

teenth anniversary of the death of Herder. That 
event took place on the 18th of October, 1803, 
when he had attained the age of fifty-nine. While 
composing a hymn to the Deity, every thought 
uplifted and absorbed, the wheels of life ceased to 
move, and he was summoned to His presence. 
What a sublime transition ! The last theme of 
earth caught up and finished in heaven. 

While conversing on this subject, a feature of 
similarity was recollected in the passing away of 
Poliziano, the Italian poet, more than three cen 
turies since. Smitten with sorrow for the death 
of his munificent patron, Lorenzo de Medici, and 
while fitting to his harp some elegiac verses he 
had composed as a tribute to his memory, he 
suddenly fell from a high flight of stairs, and re 
ceived such injury that he expired. He died at 
the age of thirty-nine, the same year that Amer 
ica was discovered. Though in the unwarned 
departure of these poets of the Tiber and the 
Rhine there is some resemblance, the contrast is 
still more marked, inasmuch as the grief and 
gratitude of earth are inferior to the aspirations 
of saintly piety. 

The circumstances in the life of Herder have 
always been interesting to me. Self-made men 
are especially so to us Americans, because we 
have so many among us who have thus attained 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 337 

distinction. The poverty of liis father stimulated 
his filial heart to do something toward his own 
support. He sought the employment of copying 
for his minister, who, discerning the talents of 
the diligent boy, gave him gratuitous instruction 
in the classics. The young hand, so faithful to 
make every written character true and clear, 
was in due time to be raised in the dignified ex 
planations of the professor s chair, and in the 
strong eloquence of the pulpit, where he received 
the appointment of court preacher. As an au 
thor as well as theologian, he occupies a high 
place in the literature of his native land. His 
works on Nature have her own vividness and life ; 
his philosophy breathes a hopeful spirit; and 
his poetry Jbears the varied impress of genius. 
One of his most popular volumes, the "Voices 
of the Nations," has been called by a critic from 
his own clime the "great song-book for all man 
kind." From the Scandinavian ices, from the 
sands of Arabia, from the islands of the sea, from 
the long-veiled shores of the Western world, he 
has gathered characteristic harmonies, opening to 
the ear of Germany the choral heart of all the 
world. Among those lesser lyrical pieces I have 
been pleased with the tender simplicity of an 
"Esthonian Bridal Song," which thus closes: 
P 



338 LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 

" Put on thy head the band of duty, 
On thy forehead the band of care, 
Sit thee down in the seat of thy mother, 
"Walk in thy mother s footsteps ; 
Yet weep not, weep not, maiden ! 
For if thou weepest in thy bridal garments 
Thou shalt weep all thy life." 



The wise monarch of Israel spoke to me this 
morning as I perused the inspired page, and, 
among other sublime teachings of the Great Be 
ing whom we worship, said, 

" He hath made every thing beautiful in its, 
time." 

Oh God ! how beautiful is earth, 

In sunlight or in shade, 
Her forests with their waving arch, 

Her flowers that gem the glade, 

Her hillocks, white with fleecy flocks, 

Her fields with grain that glow, 
Her sparkling rivers, deep and broad, 

That through the valleys flow, 

Her crested waves that clasp the shore, 

And lift their anthem loud, 
Her mountains, with their solemn brows, 

That woo the yielding cloud. 

Oh God ! how beautiful is life 

That Thou dost lend us here, 
With tinted hopes that line the cloud, 

And joys that gem the tear, 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 339 

With cradle-hymns of mothers young, 

And tread of youthful feet, 
That scarce, in their elastic bound, 

Bow down the grass-flowers sweet, 

With brightness round the pilgrim s staff, 

Who, at the set of sun, 
Beholds the golden gates thrown wide, 

And all his work well done. 

But if this earth, which changes mar, 

This life, to death that leads, 
Are made so beautiful by Him 

From whom all good proceeds, 

How glorious must that region be 

Where all the pure and blest 
From chance, and fear, and sorrow free, 

Attain eternal rest. 



In our highest requital of earthly hope, our 
fullest measure of joy, there seems to me a hid 
den proof of immortality. We are still conscious 
of capacities that aspire to higher gratification. 
Something that the world gives not, the soul 
reaches after. Would it thus reach if there were 
nothing beyond ? Would He who so wisely and 
kindly proportions means to ends have implant 
ed such desires if there were no state of existence 
in which they could be satisfied ? 

With me, the argument of future, unending life 
is not derived so much from what is called the 



340 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 

insufficiency, the infirmity of human happiness, 
for it often seems as if our finite nature could 
bear no more than is here given us ; but from a 
conviction that we possess innate powers, press 
ing toward a larger development, for which this 
sphere of action has neither space or permanence. 
What can I ask to render my lot of happiness 
more complete? Nothing. Nothing, save a heart 
more gratefully and intensely to appreciate it. 
Yet is there a fixed and glorious trust of a high 
er condition of being, where, through the merits 
of the Almighty Intercessor, the cup now so full 
shall be enlarged, and overflow with " all the full 
ness of God." 



A blessed Sabbath has this been. The em 
ployments and meditations of that hallowed sea 
son, prized from early life, grew more and more 
dear. Their tranquilizing, sublimating influence 
becomes every year more apparent. Its various 
departments, in the closet, the family, the loved 
little chapel, impart from week to week a height 
ened joy. One cause may be the reciprocity in 
the household. My mother s time-tried piety is 
ever an example ; my husband evidently makes 
progress in the Divine life ; every one under our 
roof concur, according to their ability, in calling 



LUCY HOWARD S JOUENAL. 341 

"the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, 
honorable." Its balm-drops are with us through 
out the week, and, ere they are exhaled, it again 
returns. 



All the way in which God has led me from my 
birth has been full of love. All the discipline I 
have had has been but for my soul s good. Al 
ready I can see it has fitted me more rationally 
to enjoy earth s happiness. Ever in view, as a 
consummation, is God s reserved happiness. In 
the glimpses of that noontide glory, how beauti 
ful to walk through this silvery moonlight below, 
admiring the foundation and the columns of the 
"temple not made with hands," catching even 
in its vestibule some echo of its high celestial 
symphony, " Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Al 
mighty, heaven and earth are full of the majesty 
of Thy glory." 



The homeless child, the unshelter d guest, 

Whom thou on earth didst cheer, 
Perchance, when cares no more infest, 
Shall rise in Heaven among the bless d, 
And greet thee to that realm of rest 
Which sorrow comes not near. 



342 LUCY HOWARD S JOUKNAL. 

She whose intimacy we have so long shared 
through these pages thought not to write in her 
journal, "These are my last lines." Prescience 
was not hers. 



He, the utterly bereaved, is as one amazed 
one whom God hath forsaken. Ever before him, 
as if still in life, is an image paler than marble, 
the upraised eyes beaming with ineffable bright 
ness. Ever in his ear are the last faint tones, 
like a harp s cadence, 

"Beauty, and glory, and joy ! 
Come, come, beloved !" 

For this lightning stroke that hath scathed him, 
for the blight and blackening of all earthly hope, 
what we call language hath no tint nor pencil. 

"Talk not of grief till thou hast seen 
The tears of bearded men." 



Who can realize that to her home, where she 
was the tutelary spirit of gladness, she returneth 
no more ? Instead of that sweet voice, the echo 
of the soul s harmony, instead of the holy hymn 
at morn and eventide, is the wail of two new-born 
infants, left by the angel in her heavenward flight. 



LUCY HOWARD S JOURNAL. 343 

She, with the few threads of silver in her hair, 
whose loss is irreparable, murmurs not. Her lip 
trembles, but her trust is above. Where her 
treasure has gone, there is her heart also. Ever 
wrapped in her arms or clasped to her bosom is 
one of those motherless babes. The loving, dark- 
browed woman, so long comprised in the circle 
of home-charities, the poor forest girl, her raven 
locks disheveled on her shoulders, with tears per 
petually dropping, watch over the other. Help 
less, unfledged birds, there is still a nest of love 
for you. 



She lingered not to press the mother-kiss on 
those innocent brows. For her the parting scene 
had no terror. She saw in death only the mo 
ment when the soul draws near to its Father, the 
stream returns to its Source. 



THE END. 



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ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS. 

Renewals and Recharges may be made 4 days prior to the due date. 
Books may be renewed by calling 642-3405. 

DUE AS STAMPED BELOW. 



DEC 1 1 201 







































1 




FORM NO. DD6 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BERKELEY 
50M 5-03 Berkeley, California 94720-6000 




U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES