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MEMOIR

LIFE OF MRS. ANNE JEAN LYMAN.

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memoir"

LIFE OF MRS. ANNE JEAN LYMAN.

1 When thine Eye is single, thy whole Body also is full of Light.1

Luke

"Bear ye one another's Burdens, and so fulfil the Law of
Christ." — Galatians vi. 2.

Pribatclg ^tintcB-

CAMBRIDGE :
MASSACHUSETTS.

1876.

Edward H. R. L

1875.

Cambridgi :
Press of John Wilson 6-» Son.

1419159

To ANNIE LYMAN DELANO; To ANNIE JEAN LYMAN:

• To MY OWN DAUGHTERS,

THESE RECORDS OF THE LIFE OF THEIR GOOD GRANDMOTHER,

COLLECTED AT THEIR REQUEST, ARE AFFECTIONATELY

INSCRIBED,

By S. I. L.

NOTE.

Of the two portraits of my father, contained in this I k. the earlier one ia a

photograph from a small water-colored miniature, which must have been taken in
his youth, before his first marriage, about the year 1788. Very little is known of
this miniature, but we conclude that it was a good likeness of him in youth,
because it so strongly resembles some of his grandchildren. The later portrait is
from a very excellent likeness of him, by Mr. Chester Harding, and was taken
(I think) about the year 1828. It. is a matter of great regret to us all that no
portrait exists of our mother. Mrs. Ilillard writes : —

" Had she an unwillingness to submit to the surgical operation of being photo-
graphed? And was she too constantly occupied in being', and in doing for others,
to find time for seeming, and allowing her face to be put on canvas?

" Her figure was fine and commanding ; her whole appearance and manner were
dignified and queenly, — like an ideal queen, — not much like many of the queens
we see depicted. She had a Roman nose, and a very fine profile, beautiful dark
eyes that could laugh as well as weep, and a mouth expressive of character and
firmness as well as of sweetness and mirthfulness. She had a fine, clear com-
plexion, and a rich color ; and I have often been told that, when your father and
she were married and came home to Northampton, they were the handsomest
couple in Western Massachusetts, and were followed by all eyes as they drove or
walked. To those who knew them well, and held frequent intercourse with them,
their beauty ceased to be so impressive, because the beauty of soul and mind pre-
dominated. Their manners and conversation, which were quite in keeping with
their outward appearance, made one for a moment forgetful of that. Her children
have all certain points of resemblance to both parents, but are not strikingly like
either of them."

S. I. L.
December, 1875.

CHAPTER I.

From yon blue heavens above us bent,

The gardener Adam and his wife

Smile at the claims of long descent.

Howe'er it l>c, it seems to me,

Tis only noble to be good ;

Kind hearts are more than coronets,

And simple faith than Norman blood.

• Tennyson.

ANNE JEAN ROBBINS was born in Milton, Massachusetts, on
the third day of July, 1789. She was the fourth child of the
Hon. Edward Hutchinson Robbing, a man of noble character and
warm heart, who has left to his descendants the richest of all inherit-
ances, in the fine flavor of humanity that has kept his memory green,
even to the third and fourth generation. The house where Anne Jean
first saw the light is still standing on Milton Hill, and is known as
the Churchill house. The maiden name of Anne's mother was Eliza-
beth Murray, and Anne was named by her for two Scotch aunts,
Anne and Jean Bennet. She was a woman of great intelligence and
force of character, and had passed the greater part of her life in
Milton, — marrying in youth the son of the former beloved minister
of Hie town, the Rev. Nathanacl Robbins.

The history of any life must necessarily include the lives of many
others. A friend once said to me, "No ofle can be a Christian alone."
And in fact no human heing leads an isolated life. One is as surely
all the time acted upon by one's inheritance, surroundings, and com-
panionship, as one reacts on these. In the condition to which she

was horn, the scenery amidst which she lived, the persons by whom
she was surrounded, and the family traditions dear to her childhood,
Anne Jean was peculiarly blessed ; and I shall tell you all I know of
them, because her personal individuality, though striking, was not
more so than her quality of family and social affection.

My e nisin, Dr. Estes Howe, writes of our grandfather, and the
father of Anne Jean, the following sketch : —

"Our grandfather I presume you do not remember, as you weir so
young when he died, lie was a tall, large man, very erect and digni-
fied in his look. His face, as his picture shows, was very like his
son's, our uncle Edward's, in his later years. His countenance had
that same benign look — a look which I think comes finally to the face
of every one who leads, as he did, a life full of good will and good
works. He was born as you know in 1757, and graduated at Harvard
in 1775, being eighteen years old. He must have taken his degree at
Concord, to which place the college was removed when the army
were collected at Cambridge. The last time I saw him at Brush Hill
was on the 4th of July, when I was a freshman, in 1829. He pointed
out to me a wooden-bottomed, armed chair as his college chair, and
told me that be bad only one coat all the time he was in college —
this notwithstanding he was the son of a lady who was considered
rich.

" He soon became a person of note at home, and was, at the age of
twenty-three, a member of the convention that formed the constitution
of the State of Massachusetts. He was married in 1785, and went to
house-keeping on Milton Hill, where, I believe, all bis children except
my mother were born. She was born in Boston, in a bouse he inher-
ited from his mother, near- Brazer's Building, on State Street. In
1786, he bought a township of land in Maine, and called it Robbins-
ton. He took several Milton families down, whose descendants —
Brewers, Yoses, Briggs, &c, &c. — are still there. He built several

vessels there, and continued in fact to work busily and earnestly over
the enterprise, till the clay of his death. He always went there at
least once a year, — a voyage that had to be made in a coasting vessel.
His last visit was made only a couple of months before his death.

" The enterprise was not a profitable one ; and what with that and
the loss of several vessels by French privateers, he lost all his property,
and about 1804 sold out at Milton Kill, and removed to Brush Hill,
which place belonged in part to his wife, our grandmother ; the other
part belonging to her sister, aunt Forbes, was purchased. And so
the family ark rested there, where your mother and mine,- and all
the rest, grew up.

'•Our grandfather was constantly in public life ; and, in 1793, he was
elected Speaker of the Massachusetts House of Representatives. His
remarkable memory for men and their faces, his knowledge about
them, and his general popularity caused his re-election annually for
nine years ; at the end of which time he was chosen Lieutenant-gov-
ernor, an office he continued to hold for seven years, soon after which
he was appointed Judge of Probate. In this office he died.

"This last office gave special scope to his kindly qualities. The wid-
ows and orphans of the county found in him a sure and sympathizing
friend and guardian, and his wonderful memory made him in a short
time acquainted with the genealogy and business and property of the
whole county.

" But you want to know what I remember of him. I remember him
simply as one who always had a kind or thoughtful word for me when
1 met him; who see nod to be. as he was, most tenderly loved by his
children, and very full of love for them. He was away from home
almost every day, either over at Dedham or in Boston, and was very
apt to be at home rather late for tea. I recollect riding home from
Boston more than once with him. He had a habit of talking to him-
self, and I was a little frightened at it, which he seemed to appreciate,
for every now and then he would stop, whip up the horse, and begin

talking to me ; then very soon lie would fall off into his own line of
thought, and talk to himself again. When my father died, he was
deeply grieved, and his heart seemed to bo oppressed and full of sym-
pathy for mother. I was at that time at school at North Andover : a
few weeks after father's death, he drove up there in his chaise on Sat-
urday night, a journey of twenty-five miles, and brought up Tracy to
spend Sunday with me. He was then more than seventy, and I think
few old gentlemen of that age would have made such an exertion for
a school-boy; but it seemed so natural an act for him to do, that it did
not impress me then as it has since. But that was the way he passed
through life; and although never prosperous in business, indeed some-
times really pinched by poverty, 1 think he had a very happy life,
because he took so much pleasure in doing kindly acts, and he did so
many of them.

The last time I saw him was on his death-bed. He died at Aunt
Mary Kevere's, where he was ill about a month. A few days before
his death I went in to see him, and he gave me a most affectionate
parting benediction, with a few words of advice, which I have not fol-
lowed so well as would have been for my benefit. This seems a
meagre statement, and so it is. It is forty-five years since he died,
and what is left to me of him is the impression of a noble, high-
minded, affectionate man, whom I revered and loved. If 1 can leave
as pleasant an impression upon the memories of my grandchildren, I
shall be happy."

I will not add much to the simple and beautiful statement of my
cousin Estes about our grandfather, for I have only one recollection of
him, as I was but six years old when he died. I recall one of his
visits to Northampton, and his standing at our front door, where he
took leave of my father and my uncle, Judge Howe. Although they
were tall men, he towered above them, and there was something grand
and majestic in his whole aspect ; although nothing impressed one so

much aboul him as the wealth of affection in his heart, which gave to
his whole manner and bearing a warmth, cordiality, and sympathy
one rarely sees so fully expressed.

I remember our brother, Stephen Brewer, who knew him well,

speaking- of him in the highest terms, after 1 was a woman grown. I
had so little recollection of him myself, that it was delightful to me
to hear him talk of grandfather, lie told me once, that when he
was a boy, a clerk in some store in Boston, where grandfather had
placed him, the old gentleman walked in with a gray stocking in his
hand, the foot of which was full of Spanish dollars. " Stephen, my
little man," said he, "take care of this for me; it's a new stocking,
and my daughter ('assy knit it for me." So Stephen put it away, and
grandfather forgot it from that hour. But, three months later, he
came into the store in much affliction. "Stephen, my little man,"
said he, " I've lost a stocking like this," showing the mate ; " and I'm
so sorry. My daughter Cassy knit them," he said tenderly, "and 1
would not lose them for any thing." "I produced the stocking, with
the Spanish dollars tied up in the foot," said Stephen, " and there was
no affectation about it: he really cared more about finding the stock-
ing his daughter had knit him, than he did the money." His careless
habits were proverbial; and my cousin Bennet Forbes relates the
following : —

" Your grandfather Robbins was not remarkable for the nicety of his
dress or equipage. He for a long time drove around the country in an
old yellow-bodied chaise, with an aged bay mare, that he called 'the
colt,' for many years. I remember very well his habit of talking to
himself and to the mare, while driving along, and my amusement at
this, to me, great novelty. I remember his coming to see us before
we built the mansion house on Milton Hill, about 1828, in a sleigh.
The weather was very cold, and he had no mittens or gloves. I
bought a nice pair of fur-lined gloves, and sent them to him. He

came again, apparently nearly frozen, and still without gloves. I asked
him if he had received the pair I sent him. He answered. 'Oh yes,
my dear, they are in the sleigh ; ' on examination I found them under
the cushion, and it was elear they had never been worn." But cousin
Bennet adds, whal every one thought who knew him, that his desire to
bless and serve others, and his untiring kindness, were the prominent
traits of his character.

Of Anne Jean's mother, — there arc many that can still recall her
stately air and manner, her vigorous mind and high spirit. But she
must have been a very different person from our grandfather ; and I
cannot but think that her life had many trials. For she had strong
family feeling, and stronger proclivities for Old-World customs and
habits : and the restricted life she had to lead, with many cares and
small means, must have been hard for one wlio had been sent to Eng-
land for her education in youth, and who was not permitted by her
aunt to wear a thimble lest it should injure the shape of her finger.
The names of her children were Eliza, Edward, Sarah Lydia, Anne
Jean. Mary, James, and Catherine. They had reason to be grateful
for strong traits of character inherited from both parents.

Many interesting facts might be told about Anne Jean's ancestry to
those who are curious in such lore ; but, as the streams are numerous
which flow into the river of human character, our arithmetic fails us
when we come to trace the various lines, all more or less interesting.
She herself took pleasure in thinking of the homes in the Old World,
from which her mother's family, the Murrays, had sprung; but the
interest was purely romantic and historic, and only helped to inspire
her imagination. It was as far as possible removed from that family
pride that delights to claim connection with titled or wealthy ancestry.
In our late war, when all New England suffered from the lack of
sympathy with our cause, shown by Old England, it was impossible
for the English to understand our sensitiveness. They had no realiza-

fcion of the tenderness of our hearts towards the home wo came from,
nor how all descendants of the Puritans look back, as Anno Joan did,
to the birthplace of their ancestors, as if they have still a belonging
there ; — very different from any fooling we can have about any other
country. I never heard her speak of a crest or a coat-of-arms in her life ;
but the motto on the crest of the Hutchinson family, " Non sibi, sed toti,"
might well have stood for the watchword of her own unselfish life.

It is a little odd, that, out of one's eight great-great-grandmothers,
we should select one as our especial ancestor, and prize the infinitesi-
mal drop of her blood that has come down to us, more than an equal
amount from other good sources. But the truth is, it is impossible to
know much of any one whom history has not recorded ; and so it is
in human nature to value the known above the unknown.

The mother of Anne Jean's father, born Elizabeth Hutchinson, was
a descendant of the famous Anne Hutchinson, in the fourth generation.
The history of Anne Hutchinson and her tragical career has been ably
treated by many historians, — Drake, Hildreth, Ellis, and Bancroft; so
that it is not worth while for me to dwell on it here. In an account
of the Hutchinson family, written by my cousin Sarah Howe, and in
possession of my Aunt Revere, she quotes from Bancroft the follow-
ing sentence: "The principles of Anne Hutchinson were a natural
consequence of the progress of the Reformation. She asserted that
the conscious judgment of the mind is the highest authority to itself.
The true tendency of her principles is best established by examining
the institutions which were founded by her followers. The spirit of the
institutions founded by this band of exiles on the soil which they owed
to the benevolence of the natives (Miantonomoh) was derived from
natural justice. The colony rested on the principle of intellectual liberty.
The colony at Rhode Island consisted of William and Anne Hutchin-
son, William Coddington, and John Clarke. It was ordered in their
constitution, ' that none be accounted a delinquent for doctrine ; ' and
the law for liberty of conscience was perpetuated. They were held

together by the bonds of affection and freedom of opinion ; benevolence
was their rule; they trusted in the power of love to win the victory,

and the signet for the Slate was a sheaf of arrows with the motto,
'■Amor vincit omnia.' "

A little tract was published in 1676, under the title of " A Glass for
the People of New England," by S. Gorton; in which he says, '-The
next piece of wickedness 1 am to mind you of, is your barbarous action
committed against Mrs. Anne Hutchinson, whom you first imprisoned,
then banished, and exposed her to such desolate condition, that she fell
into the hands of the Indians, who murdered her with her family."

In contemplating the furious and desperate virulence of the colonists
towards Anne Hutchinson, we discern a striking illustration of the
destructive influences of bigotry and persecution upon all the finer and
more amiable sentiments of humanity. Indeed, no excellence of nature
or of principle, no strength or refinement of character, is proof against
the debasing power of intolerance. To be bigoted is to be cruel, to
persecute another is to barbarize one's self. Bancroft says of the
Antinoniians, that " they sustained witli intense fanaticism the para-
mount right of private judgment. The founder of this sect was Anne
Hutchinson, a woman of such admirable understanding and profitable
and sober carriage, that she won a powerful party in the colonies, ami
even her enemies could not speak of her without acknowledging her
eloquence and ability. She received encouragement from Mr. Wheel-
wright and Governor Vane, and a majority of Boston people sustained
her against the clergy. Scholars and men of learning, members of the
magistracy and the general court adopted her opinions."

I would record here the noticeable fact of which my cousin makes
mention, that the honored name of Edward Hutchinson was borne by
the father of Anne Hutchinson's husband, who lived and died in Alford,
England, not far from Old Boston, in Lincolnshire. It was very prob-
ably borne before his day. as the family can be traced back to l'J82.
But he was the first Edward Hutchinson we know, and the name has

been borne by some descendant in every one of the ten generations
since, — a period extending over nearly two hundred and fifty years. A
grandson of Anne Hutchinson, who bad the name of Edward, was one
whom we should remember with peculiar gratitude. He removed to
Boston in 1644-45, was chosen deputy from Boston in 1651, and in
1658, when (be sanguinary laws against Quakers were made, he and
his friend Thomas Clarke requested that their dissent might be re-
corded. The daughter of Thomas Clarke had married the son of Ed-
ward Hutchinson. In Drake's "History of Boston," he mentions that
" these two eminent merchants, Thomas Clarke and Edward Hutchin-
son, entered their dissent against the cruel laws in regard to the Qua-
kers, which seems a more potent expression in regard to the only men
who appear to have been influenced by motives of humanity towards an
oppressed class."

So much for Anne Jean's Hutchinson ancestry. I have heard her
say, in later years, that the virtues of one's ancestors were as much a
subject for personal humiliation as for family pride. For if we have
only taken the virtues handed down to us, without adding to them or
exalting them, we are like the receiver of talents who has laid them up
in a napkin.

CHAPTER II.

*' Assist us, Lord, to act, to be
What Nature and Thy laws decree :
Worthy that intellectual flame
Which from Thy breathing spirit came."

ANNE JEAN'S early childhood was passed on Milton Hill, and
through life she retained the happiest associations with that
beautiful scenery. As any other healthy child would, she lived much in
the open air, and roved about the hill, rejoicing in the distant view of
the Blue Hills, in one direction, and Boston Harbor in the other, and
in the rising and falling tide of the Neponset below the hill, which gives
such variety to the whole scene, at different hours of the day. She
was a remarkably vigorous child, and delighted in climbing trees and
walking on stone walls, and in all other out-of-door sports. She was
a great favorite with Dr. Holbrook, who was the esteemed and beloved
physician of that scattered neighborhood. He often took her in his
chaise when he went to visit his patients ; and in his old age he spoke
to me of her beautiful childhood, her witty little remarks, and her
ceaseless activity. He never tired of relating his difficulty in keeping
her quiet, after she had broken her arm in falling from a stone wall,
where she had climbed to witness a raising ; and wliat a miracle it was
that the bone knit so nicely, when she was in such perpetual motion.

Wlren I was a child, and visited at the Forbes' mansion house on
Milton Hill, the little old-fashioned school-house was still standing on
the opposite side of the road, where Anne Jean went to school in her
childhood. The little belfry, from which the bell sweetly called the

children to school, seemed to me then a fine structure. At one time
Miss Ann Bent, a woman of rare and noble character, and a life-long
friend of the family, kept the school ; and Anne always loved to recall
the months that she passed under her instruction.

The recollections of childhood seldom leave, in later life, especially if
that life be overflowing with activity, any very marked incidents to dwell
on. And this was the case with Anne Jean's. She once spoke of being
much pleased that, when the funeral celebration of George Washing-
ton occurred, she was dressed in white with a broad black ribbon
around her straw hat, and a black sash around the waist.

Some years the family were in the habit of going into Boston in the
winter, and they either took a furnished house for a few months, or
went to a boarding-house. They were always forced to practise habits
of close personal economy ; but an open-handed hospitality, united to
simplicity of living, made them rich in the best sense of the word.
And so Anne grew up in an atmosphere of cordial giving ; and that
quality which was hers by nature and inheritance must have become
a second nature, from the habitual influence of those around her.
My grandmother was kind to old family friends or dependants, never
forgetting the humblest servant who had at any time formed a part of
the household ; and Anne inherited this trait, along with that wider
humanity which belonged peculiarly to her father, — a humanity that
took in every one, of any name, or race, or color, that needed
kindness.

When Anne was ten years old, and many years after there had ceased
to be any young children in the family, my grandmother had a little
daughter, whose birth excited the warmest emotions of affection and
delight in Anne's heart. Her sister, my aunt Mary Revere, tells me
that when it was stated in the family a month later, that the baby was
to be sent to a wet-nurse who lived three miles away, Anne's grief and
indignation knew no bounds. When the nurse was starting from the
front door with the baby, she cried and screamed loudly, calling out,

" I can take care of the baby, I can bring her up by hand : I know
I can." And when, in spite of her protestations, both nurse and baby
disappeared, she cried till slie was nearly worn out. In this behavior
at ten years of age, a prophetic eye might have seen a foreshadowing
of that grand self-confidence that never in later years shrank from any
responsibility.

After passing her childhood, alternately at the Milton village-school
and a few months of nearly every year at some school in Boston, until
she was between thirteen and fourteen years of age, Anne was sent to
Dorchester for what was considered a rather superior course of edu-
cation, at the boarding-school of Miss Beach and Miss Saunders : and
there she remained two years. I have in my hand the old-fashioned
blank-book, — the paper yellow with age, — on the fly-leaf of which she
had printed, in large clear letters, " Ann Jean Robbins's hook, at the
Ladies' Academy, Dorchester; July 20th, 1803." One half of the
book is taken up with sections, as they are called, describing the " Use
of the Globes." And the fine, large, clear handwriting, the exact
definitions of globes, spheres, properties of spheres, climates, circles,
declinations, and ascensions, together with the perfect spelling, make
me believe that the child of thirteen received excellent instruction at
the Ladies' Academy; although she left school at sixteen, with few
accomplishments, and no knowledge of languages except a small ac-
quisition of French and Latin. Even these she valued, through life,
simply because they had taught her the derivation of English words,
and thereby enlarged her perfect understanding of her own language.
But she left school with that acquisition of intellectual taste and
higher wisdom which two years with a woman of so refined a taste
and strong an influence as Miss Beach, could not fail to impart.

Her room-mate at this school was a sweet, attractive, refined little
girl, two years younger than herself, named Elizabeth Beach. When
they went to their room the first night of their companionship, the
little girl looked at her elder acquaintance with a dawning respect, as

she was so largo and tall, and, to her eyes, almost a woman. " Which
side of the bed shall I sleep, Miss Robbins?" she said deferentially.
"Oh! it's perfectly immaterial to me which side you sleep," said
Anne in her clear, ringing voice, "for/ always ship in the middle."
The next morning, when seated around the breakfast-table, the other
girls eating with the pewter spoons which were thought good enough for
hoarding-school children of that day, — and really were so, — Anne
cheerfully pulled a bright silver spoon out of her pocket, and began to
eat her breakfast. " As long as there are silver spoons in the world,"
she said in an under-tone, " I shall eat with one ; and, when there
cease to be, I will put up with some inferior metal." When Anne
left the Dorchester Academy, her little room-mate and she were
parted, and they never met but once again in the whole course of their
lives. But, sixty years after those school-days ended, an accident, or
rather the good hand of Providence, led me to occupy the next house
to the dear old lady, Mrs. Richard Smith, my mother's early friend.
She came to offer kindness to a stranger, because she was a stranger ;
and when our conversation revealed to her that I was the daughter of
her old-time companion at the Dorchester Academy, nothing could
exceed her joy. She embraced my children with warmth, told them
the little tales I have repeated above, and ended with saying, " Don't
think, dear children, that your grandmother did not give me my full
share of the bed, and more too. That was just her funny way of
putting things. She was really the most generous girl in the whole
school." During the two years that we were permitted to enjoy the
society of this lovely old lady, we experienced untold pleasure in it,
and have never ceased to mourn for her since death removed her.

On leaving school, Anne Jean did not return to the home on Milton
Hill, where she was born. About the year 1805, the family removed
to the Brush Hill farm, two miles and a half from Milton Hill, a place
inherited by my grandmother and her sister, Aunt Forbes, and \ en-
dear to them from long and varied associations. As Brush Hill still

remains the home of their children, I cannot help wishing to preserve
some record of its history, so dear to us all. The house at Brush
Hill was erected in 1734, by Uncle Smith, a sugar-refiner in Brattle
Square, Boston, who was twice married, but had no children. His
last wife was the widow Campbell, formerly Miss Betsy Murray, who
survived him, and afterwards became Mrs. Inman. She was the aunt
of Elizabeth and Dorothy Murray, and they had passed their youth
with her at Brush Hill, and were warmly attached to the place. Eliz-
abeth afterwards married our grandfather Bobbins, and Dorothy be-
came the wife of a Scotch clergyman, named Forbes, and they were
the grandparents of our cousins Bennet and John M. Forbes.

A finer instance of the strength and durability of family attach-
ments and friendships can hardly be found, than those that were
formed among the young people who were brought together at Brush
Hill by the marriages of Uncle Smith, and which have been handed
down to this present time, from one generation to another. Uncle
Smith's first wife, whose maiden name was Mary Middleton, had three
nieces, — Mary, Annie, and Prudence Middleton, — who for years were
inmates of Brush Hill ; they were very fine girls, of strong and excel-
lent character ; and when Uncle Smith's second marriage brought to
Brush Hill the two Misses Murray, an ardent attachment sprang up
between the five young people, which was destined to exercise an im-
portant influence over their whole lives. One of the Miss Middletons
married Mr. Lovell, and became the mother of Mrs. Pickard, who was
the mother of Mary, afterwards Mrs. Henry Ware. Another was
always called "Aunt Whipple," by my mother and aunts; and the
third, Mrs. Bent, was the mother of Miss Ann Bent, a woman whose
unique character and large benevolence will never be forgotten in the
Boston circles where it was so widely cherished.

Such were some of the fine characters who had passed either the
whole or a portion of their youth under the hospitable roof of Uncle
Smith at Brush Hill ; and the traditions of that time were still vivid and

oft repeated when Anne Jean and her brothers and sisters went with
their parents and Aunt Forbes to restore the liome of their mother's
youth. Brush Hill had been rented for many years, and though it was
a magnificent farm of one hundred aud fifty acres, with fine orchard,
large garden, meadows for grazing, and lawn covered with ancient elms,
it had sadly run down for want of care, and needed all the industry of
the whole family to put it in the old condition of thrift and comfort
it had maintained in Uncle Smith's day.

To this beautiful home, where Nature had done her best, and where
the whole scene glowed with associations, came Anne Jean, at the age
of sixteen, with an eye quick to perceive and a heart to feel all the
glories of the landscape, and an enthusiasm and energy and health to
rejoice in aiding in every possible way all the hard-working family on
the Brush Hill farm. She rose early and sat up late, and no day was
long enough for the varied occupations that filled the hours. But first
among her self-imposed duties was the care and education of the little
sister, over whom she had cried so bitterly that she was not permitted
to bring her up by hand. My Aunt Revere tells me that she was full
of theories of education, delighted in teaching; and, as it was very
much the fashion of that day to follow Miss Edgeworth's views on
these subjects, she adopted them with much enthusiasm, and was
never so happy as when she had induced our cousin Emma Forbes and
Mary Pickard, who were near the age of her little sister, to come and
pass a few weeks, when she would practise her theories of education
on all three, with great perseverance and success.

My Aunt Catherine writes : " I have some strong impressions of my
childhood, but for the most part they are vague. We came to live at
Brush Hill in the spring of 1805 ; your mother had then finished her
schooling, and returned home to live. Our family was a large and
confused one, with many interests to be cared for ; the children all
lived at home at that time, except your Uncle Edward who was away
at school, and afterwards at college, and was only occasionally an

inmate. When we came to Brush Hill, Aunt Forbes came to live
with us. She had before lived in Boston, but had become too in-
firm to live by herself any longer. She was a settled invalid, crippled
fur thirty years with the gout. She never left her room, except
occasionally during the warm weather, but was always to be cared
for in it, food specially provided to suit her, and all the little things
so helpless a person needs, to be attended to, and no special attendant
to do it. Your grandmother and your Aunt Howe did it for the most
part, but the others took their share of it at times. All of us were
glad to sit with her, and help to entertain her and hear her Old-World
stories, for she was a very bright and cheerful person who did not
lose her spirits through all these many years of suffering. Your
mother was thought to resemble her in temperament and in looks,
more than any of the family. Except under severe attacks, which
occurred two or three times a year, she saw all the visitors, and was
interested in every thing that went on in the family.

" Our farm arrangements were a great care and occupation. The
place had been sadly neglected for years, and your grandfather employed
many men to get it into condition, and all were provided for in the
house. It was not unusual for us to have eight or ten men in the
summer, which complicated the house-keeping very much. I assure
you the providing for numbers, caring for the house, nursing the sick,
and receiving friends (which went on all the time), with a great many
changes, and coming and going both in parlor and kitchen, made an
establishment which required skill and industry and activity to carry
on with any comfort to the members of it. Your grandmother always
superintended the kitchen department herself, including the dairy ; but
all the daily care of the house, the sweeping and dusting, and arrange-
ment of the table, with a small boy or girl to wait, came to the young
ladies of the house, with only occasional help from the second woman.
Then the sewing for so many persons — no seamstress ever called in,
except a dress-maker for fitting — was no light matter, but a business

never done, with the utmost efforts of the girls ; for your grandmother
never sewed. I assure you the younger members of this family were
in it in need of a ' career,' while they remained in it ; except your Aunt
Eliza, who hated domestic business, and stayed away at Hiugham and
other places, a great deal of the time. Your mother also visited a
great deal, but when she was at home she took a full share in all these
various works, and was very helpful and efficient. She taught me my
early lessons, and took more care of me than any one else, and made
my clothes. Then I think she learned that peculiar style of dress-
making that you remember, exercising it upon me and certain small
maids that we had at different times, to whom it was well adapted. I
tell you these things, not that each one is important, hut to show you
that your mother's life was by no means vacant or inactive, in conse-
quence of her isolated position here. Her music, too, was a great
interest and occupation to her; she had begun to take lessons while at
school at Dorchester, and continued to do so for some time after leav-
ing there, and made a regular business of practising while she remained
at home.

" Then all the family were readers, the old ladies and the young, and
among them were all kinds of tastes ; and they did a great deal of
reading aloud, while the audience were diligently sewing. Our sister
Eliza would have one kind of reading going on in her room with some
of the children, and the old ladies another kind in theirs. History,
philosophy, poetry, novels, and plays, each had their turn. I well
remember hearing the ' Paradise Lost ' read, when I was between eight
and nine years old ; and I received it as an authentic record of the
beginning of the world, and recurred to it as such, in imagination many
years after. Reading was the constant resource and amusement when
the more exacting business of the day was over.

" Your mother was, as you know, very handsome and animated, and
a favorite with all the family friends. She would often tie invited in
Boston and other places, and make up her things to wear, often out of
3

remains oflier mother's dress-clothes, with the least expense possible ;
and she looked handsomer and better dressed than many who were
elaborately adorned.

" The winters of 1809 and 1810, she spent entirely in town, with an
old friend of her mother's, and went constantly into society, and was
much admired and attended to. The next winter she spent in Ww
York, with the Murray relatives ; she also visited her cousin James
Forbes' family.

" With regard to our visitors at Brush Hill, it is difficult for me to
tell you much. Your grandfather never had dinner company, or formal
visiting in anyway; he would bring home a stranger from town,. or
some person with whom he had business, to spend n night, or stay over
a day, but seldom invited company on his own account. Mr. Fisher
Ames, of whom Channing's biographer says that 'he held private
circles and public assemblies spell-bound by the charm of his rich elo-
quence,' was his most intimate and life-long friend. He was a man of
great ability, and rare conversational powers. He died in 1808. I do
not remember ever seeing him except the last time he came to the
house, when he was far gone in consumption. With Mrs. Ames we
always kept up a most friendly relation ; and a rare person she was: a
large, stately woman with fine eyes and a remarkably dignified and
gracious presence, most friendly to all sorts of people. An immense
reader and an admirable talker, it was always a privilege to be with
her. I do not know any one at all like her now. There was about
her a certain largeness of nature that was full of repose ; perfect self-
possession ; with great consideration for others, and desire to give
pleasure and put one at their ease, entirely apart from conventional
politeness.

" But the most constant visitors at Brush Hill were Mr. and Mrs.
Pickard, the parents of Mrs. Ware, and other members of the Lovel
family, who were often coming out from Boston in the pleasant season,
and whose houses were always open to us when we went to town. The

Miss Bents and Mrs. Barnard were cousins to Mrs. Pickard, and inti-
mately associated with her; and there was a great deal of friendly
intercourse among us all. Mrs. Pickard was more a woman of the
world than Mary Ware, and not so spiritually-minded a person; hut she
was a very admirable woman, very agreeable in conversation, kindly
in her nature, and fond of young people. She was warmly attached to
your mother and aunts, and often had them to stay with her. She had
been in England a great deal, and had seen something of the old world,
which was a rarity then, when very few women went abroad. She took
great interest in your mother and in her marriage. She died about six
months after that event, deeply lamented.

" Your mother used to visit both the Perkins families. Mr. James
Perkins, the grandfather of Mrs. Cleveland, was a very cultivated and
agreeable man, fond of the society of women : and he liked to talk with
her and make her talk, which she was never slow to do, in her early days,
as well as later. The Brimmer family were among your grandmoth-
er's early friends, and when Mrs. Inches came to live in Milton, the
younger members of the family became intimate with her, which
intimacy lasted as long as she lived. She was a remarkably disinter-
ested and conscientious person, always ready to serve others, though
she was literally worn to death with an immense family, and with
trying to do more than any mortal could.

" The Brush Hill family also kept up a great deal of friendly inter-
course witli the people of the town. They had quite an intimacy with
the Sumner family, but none of them exercised any special influence
over your mother's mind, like the other friends I have mentioned.

" I must not omit to mention the Misses Barker, also hereditary
friends. They always visited at Brush Hill every year, often passing
several weeks. Three single ladies of very peculiar and original char-
acteristics, they lived in Hingham, were quite poor, owning a house
but having a very small income; they lived in the most frugal but
independent way. About twice a year your grandmother would go

down to Hingham, with her chaise laden with all kinds of good things
in the way of provision, to give them a little help and comfort. They
were great readers, two of them especially, — readers of history and old
English literature ; and, when Miss Debby was eighty years old, she
would repeat her favorite passages of poetry in the quaintest way.
They were remarkable also for having kept up the idea of loyalty
to the king all their lives, and would talk about William IV. as their
liege lord fifty years after the Declaration of Independence. "When
they came to visit us, the talk was very much about things before the
war, and the friends who went back to England, with whom they kept
up correspondence.

" During the period of your mother's youth, whenever people came
together, politics was the all-absorbing subject of conversation. Your
grandfather was a strong federalist, and in common with others of
those views, through the administration of Jefferson, when the em-
bargo was made, and other measures carried which culminated in the
war of 1812, they all felt that the country was ruined, the republican
experiment had failed ; and these subjects for years kept up as much
excitement and as constant discussion, as slavery and the prospect of
war did with us during the last conflict. This made a lasting impres-
sion on my mind, because I had a vague terror of evil to come, and
knew not what it might be.

" I do not remember that the conversation at home was often on
abstract subjects, or even upon religious topics ; for the Unitarian con-
troversy had not then begun, and we went to church as a habit and
matter of course, without the least interest in the preaching. Your
mother, even in her youth, was fond of fine preaching, and would
make great efforts to go and hear Dr. Channing or Mr. Buckminster,
who was a great favorite for a few years.

" In closing these brief reminiscences, I ought to mention one condi-
tion which exercised a continued influence upon the lives of all the
Brush Hill family, restricting them in many ways, and occasioning a

great deal of worry and anxiety. Your grandfather and grandmother
had an ample income for many years of their married life, and lived
much as they pleased ; but he was a person fond of new enterprises and
large experiments, which by the time they came to Brush Hill began
to cause embarrassments, and later when the difficulties in business
came on, and the war disturbed everybody's plans, occasioned him a
great deal of trouble. In so large a family this was peculiarly trying,
an.d could not but occasion a good deal of unhappiness. Yet it never
depressed the spirits of the young people, so as to prevent their enjoy-
ing life a great deal. But it affected their general condition, and
allowed them fewer indulgences than the beginning of their lives had
promised."

CHAPTER III.

Ami perfect tlie (lay shall be when it is of all men understood that the beauty of Ho-
liness must be in labor as well as in rest. Nay! more, if it maybe, in labor; in our
strength rather than in our weakness; and in the choice of what we shall work for
through the six days, and may know to be good at their evening time, than in the choice
of what we pray for on the seventh, of reward or repose. . . . For the few wdio labor as
their Lord would have them, the mercy needs no seeking, and their wide home no hal-
lowing. Surely, goodness and mercy shall follow them nil the days of their lite ; and they
shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever. — Luskin.

ALTHOUGLT my clear Aunt Catherine only wrote the letter that
closes the last chapter, as a sort of guide to me in this life of
my mother, and without thought of my printing it, yet I have copied
it entire ; for what could my imagination do towards piecing out the
records of a life that went before me, that could be half as valuable as
these simple outlines. I remember my mother's frequent and warm
allusions to her early life, the lovely walks up and down the piazza at
Brush Hill with her beloved father, the shadows of the old elms upon
the lawn in the splendid moonlight evenings, the view of the distant
light-houses in Boston Harbor, which they would pause in their loving
talks to watch. These evening strolls on the wide piazza were brief
but happy rests after days of activity and healthful toil and hours of
separation, and they were enjoyed as only hours of rest from toil can
he. My Aunt Mary, Anne Jean's younger sister, tells me that there
was no clay in summer, when it was not considered the established
duty for Sally, Anne, and herself, as soon as their dinner was over,
to prepare two large trays containing plates of bread and butter, cut
very thin and doubled ; silver baskets of cake which they had made in

2:3

the morning, and dishes of strawberries, which they had gathered
and hulled themselves. These trays, covered with white napkins, were
placed in a .dark, cold closet, ready for their addition of the tea-pot and
pitchers of rich cream, to be brought out at evening, when the friends
from Boston would be sure to come out, always a number of uninvited
but most welcome guests. Cousin Mary Ware once said to me: " (Mi.
if I could give you a picture of the Brush Hill girls, — how they
worked, how they read, what a variety of things they accomplished !
There was your Aunt Howe, — Sally as they called her then ; why the
girls of the present day would think themselves rained if a tenth part
of what she did was expected of them ! All summer she rose at four
o'clock, that she might weed the strawberry beds, or make her cake,
or gather the fruit, in the cool of the morning. But I have seen her
many, a time, when things crowded, obliged to gather the fruit under a
broiling sun. But never an impatient word fell from her lips. She
was one of the most self-sacrificing, hard-working, devoted creatures
the sun ever shone on."

To this beloved sister Sally, nearest to her in age, and enough older
for Anne Jean to look upon with a special reverence as well as affection,
she owed through life a debt of love and gratitude that cannot well be
computed. It is hard to speak of her as she deserves, or to find
words that can describe her beautiful character. She was a person of
very uncommon powers of mind ; yet, the necessities of her life always
obliging her to be constantly active, reading and intellectual reflec-
tion were her pastime, and rarely an occupation. She had the same
ardent temperament as Anne Jean, the same deep and glowing affec-
tions, the same love of Nature, and the same appreciation for fine
character. But here the resemblance ceased. For Sally was from her
youth to old age a wonderfully chastened spirit, her ardor tempered
by deep religious trust, her vivid imagination held in check by an ex-
cellent and considerate judgment. So rare a combination of noble
qualities it is not often our fortune to meet, and Anne Jean justly

looked upon her as a superior being; and while she valued every
fine trait her sister possessed, she said in herself, " It is high, I cannot
attain unto it." I can scarcely think of her, even at this distance of
time, without a crowd of images forcing themselves upon my mind,
full of tenderness and unspeakable pathos. In youth, the mainstay
and dependence of her excellent father, the devoted care-taker of her
beloved invalid aunt, the confidential friend of every brother and
sister, 'ready to devote herself body and soul to each member of her
family, — she became later in life the chosen companion and wife of one
of the noblest of men, my father's cousin, Judge Howe. Not many
years permitted to enjoy this rare companionship, she took up her
solitary burden without a murmur, devoting herself for the remainder
of her days to the care and education of her large family of children,
and earning for them by personal labor a large portion of their means
of support. And this hard-working woman had a thirst for knowl-
edge, a love of intellectual pursuits, rarely to be met with. How
often, when a day of toil had ended, she has sat up late at night to
write a lovely story for some Fair for a charitable object for which she
had no money to give, or a beautiful poem full of freshness and orig-
inality, or a volume of charades ! With as bountiful and affluent a
nature as Anne Jean's, and as fine health, Sally possessed a more
rarely-cultivated intellect and a more delicate imagination. She was
less brilliant in conversation than Anne Jean, partly from a sweet ab-
straction and profound humility very genuine with her. But her
judgment on all matters of importance was more reliable than her
younger sister's.

I never heard any one read heroic, or fine, or pathetic passages of
poetry or prose in so moving a manner as my dear aunt did. She
lost herself completely at such times, ceased to be, for the time being,
and was her character. I walked into her dining-room one day at
Cambridge, with a paper in my hand containing Mrs. Browning's
poem, then new, of " My Kate." She had just sent off her army of

young men from the dinner that had occupied her for hours to super-
intend, but laid down the dish she was removing, and read the poem.
1 shall never forget it, and can never read it again without recalling
her (ones. When she came to the line, "She has made the grass
green, even here, with her grave," I could not speak, but had to leave
the room.

1 cannot help pausing thus over the recollection of my Aunt IIowc,
for her companionship and sisterly affection were so much to my
mother through a long life, that they form a striking part of her
history. Rarely is it permitted to one to enter into life in such pre-
cious companionship.

My Aunt Mary tells me that when Anne Jean left the Ladies' Acad-
emy at Dorchester, though only sixteen, she was and had been for two
years a very large and fine girl, with the form and figure of a woman ;
and also, that she was very handsome. Besides the time which she
now gave to the education of her little sister, her elder sisters Eliza
and Sally thought it best for her own mind that she should give daily
some hours to the study of metaphysics, which was considered more
important then than it now is. Accordingly, the three read together
wiib great avidity Dugald Stewart's " Philosophy," "Alison on Taste,"
Smith's " Theory of the Moral Sentiment," and other works of the
same character. They became intensely interested both in meta-
physics and ethics, and before Anne Jean was twenty years old, she
had n-ad all the authors on these subjects that were then best known.
I have beside me her commonplace book of this period, a singular
medley of poetry and prose, with recipes of various dishes pinned to
the fly-leaves, and rare quotations from various authors. There are
newspaper slips pinned to blank leaves, Bryant's earlier hymns and
poems, and many fine copies of passages from her favorite authors;
such as Hannah More's " Ccelebs," Dr. Johnson's " Rasselas," "Os-
sian's Poems," &c. Several pages are devoted to Blair, wherein
sincerity and truth are recommended; and a wonderfully beautiful

" Evening Prayer,"' whose author is not named, fills several pages.
There is a letter from Madame de Roubigne- to her daughter, which
reads like a translation, and is full of pious advice. Then follows
what is called "A .Matrimonial Chart," and "An Enigma," by Lord
Byron; some lines written by Miss Cranston, wife of Professor Du-
gald Stewart, the four first lines of the last stanza being' added by
Burns, as he himself says in one of his letters. There is also, "The
Burial Hymn of Sir John Moore ; " " The Flower Angels," translated
by Mr. George Bancroft; a poem by Professor Frisbie, and a few val-
uable extracts. Evidently she thought that a sonnet of her beloved
sister Sally's, on the death of the old friend whom they both called
"Aunt Whipple," ought to be saved from destruction by insertion
here at a later day, and for the same reason I copy it: —

U 'm n in Jfiittift/ tif Mrs. Whipple.
" When the free spirit wings its heavenward flight,
And sears to realms of everlasting light,
All human praises may superfluous seem ;
But memory still must dwell upon the theme
Of one whose patient virtue, kind and wise.
Humble and cheerful, was above disguise.
She drank affliction's liitter cup. and uwuel
The hand that gave it. and her griefs were crowned
With hopes that reached beyond the grave ;
She knew her herd, and felt His power to save.
]STor yet disowned the social ties that fund
(While being lasts) each creature to its kind,
Felt Friendship's power to soothe the wounded heart,
And knew to take the sympathizing part ;
Forgave all injury, and is forgiven
If inward peace marks the sure path to heaven.''

Anne Jean also kept a journal, as well as a commonplace book ;
but. alas ! that has perished, as well as many another record of the
Brush Hill life, that now never can be recalled. The time of her youth,
with its varied and incessant occupations, passed swiftly by ; but each

and all were fitting her for the life of responsibility that was to c< ,

and leaving behind recollections of useful and happy years. Tlie
winters at Brush XI i 11 were long and cold; the appliances for beat not
what they are now, the large open chimneys and wood fires being
cheerful to the eye, but with their ample draughts not warming to the
body. " We wore our great coats in the house half tbe time, Sally
and I," said my mother once ; " and even then could not have been
warm without the active employments that kept us constantly busy."
Often came from their city friends urgent invitations to pass a lew
weeks. Anne Jean went oftenest, because Sally could less easily be
spared from household cares; but now and then they went together.
In tbe long summer days, with all their multifarious occupations, they
found time to embroider tbe cambric or muslin dress, which was to be
their party dress the next winter, — and the only one. Tbey chose
their patterns with care, and t lie dress made up in the latest style of
that day seemed to them very elegant. An embroidered cambric
dress of exquisite fineness, and an India muslin for a change, worn
wilh various-colored ribbons, were Anne .lean's party dresses, through
several successive seasons, while going into Boston society. And few
of her companions of that day were more handsomely dressed. Wben-
cver she and Sally were in town over Sunday, it was a rare pleasure
to them to go and listen to Mr. Channing and Mr. Buckminster; and
at tins time, although the Unitarian controversy had not then begun,
was laid the foundation of that large, broad, and hearty adoption of
liberal views that characterized both of their lives. Sunday bad always
been a dull day to them at borne, listening from habit to general
platitudes on the " exceeding sinfulness of sin." And to have tbe life
of Christ preached to them as something to be taken home to their
own hearts, and lived in every fibre of their being, filled these young-
minds with an undying enthusiasm, and forced them to surrender
every unworthy desire, and devote their lives to the highest aims. A
volume of Buckrninster's sermons, containing his portrait and a short

memoir, was one of Anne Jean's most treasured books through life.
She would read us certain sermons, with kindling eyes and a voice of
emotion, saying, " Oh, if you could have heard him deliver that dis-
course ; it loses so much in being read by another ! " Buckminster's
biographer says of him : " I cannot attempt to describe the delight and
wonder with which his first sermons were listened to by all classes of
hearers. The most refined and the least cultivated equally hung upon
his lips. The attention of the thoughtless was fixed ; the gayety of
youth was composed to seriousness ; the mature, the aged, the most
vigorous and enlarged minds were at once charmed, instructed, and
improved."

CHAPTER IV.

THERE are very few of Anne Jean's letters during the period of
her youth left, but I shall insert those few in this memoir, not
because they are of special interest, but because they were hers. And
even though written, as most of her letters were through life, in the
careless haste of a person whose thronging occupations made time of
value, they are still genuine, simple effusions that will show her
grandchildren how little she was ever occupied with herself, and how
deep was her interest in others. In the piles of her letters I have read
over, I am struck with the fact that no trace of ill-will or discontent
ever appears in them. It seems to have required more words for
people to express their ideas in the style of that day than now, and
one sometimes tires of what seems so diffuse. And yet there is some-
thing of the stateliness and dignity of a former time left in my mother's
and aunt's letters, which is very interesting. The first note was written
to her Aunt Forbes, when stopping in Boston on her way to Hingham
to visit the Misses Barker, not long after leaving school, about 1804 or
1805, when she was sixteen years old.

Pearl Street, Boston.
According to your request, my dear aunt, I will relate what has
occurred to me in this great town. I came to Mr. Lovell's to break-
fast ; sat till eleven with Mrs. Pickard ; then waited on Mrs. Perkins:
she had been down stairs, and was then lying down. I then passed on
to Mrs. Powell's, and had a chat with her, and engaged to breakfast

with — who do you think? It is impossible you should make any
conjecture, and I will relieve your mind, — Judge Powell ! lie arrived
on Wednesday, passed the evening at Mr. Lovell's, and Mrs. Pickard
engaged him to meet mamma on Friday. I am hall' in love : he is a
charming man ; he came at twelve and sat till one o'clock ; but 1 was
gadding after a shawl, and a very smart one, I have purchased. In
the afternoon Mrs. Pickard, Mary, and myself walked to see Mrs. I>ix.
I think her much altered since I last saw her; she is getting a nurse
for her child. Returned to tea, and Mis. Whipple passed the evening
with us. This morning, Saturday, kept my appointment, and have
only to regret its short duration; for I found by Mr. Gay the packet
was going early ; made a hasty breakfast, and returned to Pearl Street,
and sat down to perform my promise to you. I had scarcely finished
three lines when the coach came, and 1 was hurried off. My time was
so short I could not call at your friend Paine's, hut will when I return.
I have engaged a proxy, and hope she will be intelligible to you. My
haste I have transmitted to her, as there is danger of missing Mercury,
alias Nat Ford. I have forgot the most important news: I have had a

letter from Eliza; they were still at Mrs. M y's. F.'s heart is at

home, and I expect her person will be there before long. Mr. Bent of
S. is dead : and there is a letter from C L., who was well in August.
Respects and love to mamma. Kiss my dear Kate, and accept the
love and good wishes of

Your affectionate niece,

Anne Jean Robbins.
By her proxy, Mart Pickard,
who is, with much respect, the lady's must obedient servant.

Anne, in after life, often spoke of her visits to Hingham, as among
the delightful episodes of her youth. She said that Hingham resem-
bled "Cranford" more than any place she ever saw. and that, there
was quite as much that was quaint and original and intellectually

.31

bright in the society there, were there only a historian like Mrs. Gas-
kell to take it off. And I have no doubt when she returned to Brush
Hill she did take it off, to the untold amusement of her Aunt Forbes
and her sisters. I have often heard her say of certain habits of people
who visited Northampton, or of certain conversation, "Oh, that's so
Binghamy!" Or, "It is not possible for you to understand that, because
you never stayed in Hingham." In one of her visits there, she met a
brother of Mr. Andrews Norton ; and I remember her telling me how
he came in one day, and found the young ladies in a house he visited
very busy embroidering mourning pieces, ■ — a fashion of that time,
in which very tall women with short waists and long black dresses
were always standing weeping by a monument. The young girls asked
Mr. Norton to compose a verse for them to have inscribed on their
mourning-piece. He hastily seized a piece of paper, and wrote these
lines : —

" In useless labors all their hours are spent,
They murder Time, then work his monument.''

In these visits to Hingham, Anne Jean often also met Henry and
William Ware, — boys some years younger than herself. "I was
often permitted by Mrs. L.," she said, " to wash their faces, or tie up
their shoes, or help them off to school. And they were such little
gentlemen, so good and so grateful for any small attention, I thought
it a great privilege."

The letter that follows was written from Brush Hill, at a later date,
to her sister, who was then staying at Hingham : —

To 3Iiss Eliza Rollins.

Brush Hii.i,, Wednesday, March 15, 1808.

My dear Eliza, — Experience has taught you sufficiently the state of

Brush Hill for me to give you any thing new upon the occurrences which

it is subject to; they still remain monotonous and uninteresting; we

are all well and negatively happy. Since my return from Boston,

three weeks since, I have been out of the house to make a visit but
once. Our new neighbors, Mr. W.'s family, were then my object; I
was charmed by the beauty and unaffected diffidence of the girls, to
which was added the most active industry. I was sorry to hear their
mother say (who interested me more from the warmth with which she
spoke of her children than any other circumstance) she had moved to
Milton entirely for their advantage, hoping to polish their manners by
refined society, and cultivate their tastes by a familiar intercourse
with it. I saiil nothing to discourage her, but think time will prove
to her how mistaken the calculation. Mr. S.'s family are so engrossed
by their genteel acquaintances, and the very flattering reception they
met with among their Boston friends, that they have bad very little to
do with us who are quite in a different style. We tried to give a party
yesterday, bul could get nobody to come but Mrs. S. ami Mrs. W. The
only new thing that has or is going to take place in this town is C.
H.'s marriage, which has not interested me very much. It is a very
long time since we have heard from Mrs. Willard ; and I wish, when
you write again, you would say whether Mrs. Gushing went, and what
you have heard respecting Mrs. Barker, for I apprehended great
depression of spirits must have been caused by the news of her mother's
death, which must have been very unexpected to her. If you could
be made comfortable here, 1 should very earnestly desire your return ;
but am quite reconciled to the absence of my sisters (much as I love
them), upon the ground that their happiness is promoted by it. I am
going into Boston in about ten days, to a ball at .Mrs. Arnold Welles's,
till which time I shall be assiduous as I have been for the last
month in the care of the little girls, who I have been (I think) suc-
cessful in improving very much ; and I should be very well content to
make that my future employment could I have insured to me such
pupils as Emma and Kate. Mary docs not begin to think of leaving
home yet, but I suppose the first visit she makes will be at Hinghara.
I heard Mrs. Barnard say she expected you would make her a visit

when you returned from Eingham, but I hope you will come home
first. Ask the Hiss Barkers if none of them think of making us a
visit ? Mamma says so long a time never elapsed since she was married
without her seeing .Miss Sally. 1 wish, too, that you could secure the
promise of a visit from Mary Thaxter and Peggy dishing, to whom 1
beg you will remember me affectionately. Nothing tends to warm my
heart more than the idea of the remembrance and affection of those
who are away from me ; and 1 beg you will continue to give me proofs
of yours ; and believe me, affectionately yours,

Anne Jean.

During the winters of 1808 and 1809, Anne's elder sisters, Eliza and
Sally, had visited their relatives in New York, and enjoyed a great deal in
the society of many superior people. While they were visiting at Mrs.
Kane's, they went out a great deal, and constantly met Washington
Irving, Mr. Paulding, and Jeffrey, who was still there, with many
other of the literary men of that day. It was the period of the " Sal-
magundi," in which Sally took a lively interest ; and when she returned
to her isolated, bard-working life at Brush Hill, she set about privately
editing a little paper for herself and her friends, which she called
" The New Salmagundi," to which she and her friend, Eliza Cabot,
were the principal contributors. It afforded them much pleasure, and,
no doubt, gave them great facility in writing criticisms, essays, and
poems. But in one of Sally's letters to Miss Cabot, she states that her
sister Eliza has cast great indignity on " The New Salmagundi," and
has even gone so far as to call her, the worthy editor, " Sally
McGundy." Still they seem to have continued the little paper for
some years.

In the winters of 1809 and 1810 Anne Jean was invited to visit New
York, and the following letters were written during those visits : —

To 31iss Eliza Rollins.

New York, December 30, 1810.

My dear Eltza, — It was with much regret I left Boston without
seeing you again, as it prevented me from soliciting the favor of your
correspondence during my visit in this place. Much engrossed as you
must necessarily be in your present pursuit, you are not, perhaps,
entirely indifferent to the happiness of one who will ever feel her own
inseparably connected with the interest of those between whom Nature
has so kindly placed the bond of sisterhood, — a tie, my dear Eliza,
never so sensibly felt by me as in the present instance. How is it that
distance, merely the effect of a wider space existing between us, should
produce so strong a conviction of our dependence on one another ?
This I certainly feel, but cannot tell why.

I arrived in New York on Thursday, and received the cordial wel-
come of sixteen who called me cousin. I found Mrs. M. quite sick
with a cold, and A. P; acting in character of housekeeper with great
dignity. She is in every thing the reverse of what she has been repre-
sented to me. She is not handsome, but, in every sense of the word,
good-looking, well-behaved, though not polished ; appears to be thor-
oughly versed in every branch of housekeeping, and very amiable,
though not very literary.

On Friday evening J. M. carried us to the theatre ; himself and
Cousin J. are both pleasant lads, but not very interesting. Yesterday
we went to Mrs. B.'s coronation and fair, which was for the benefit of
the poor. I was extremely entertained and pleased with this exhi-
bition, and am inclined to think better of the whole system than I was
before I came here ; it is very little approved by the people here
generally. Mrs. B. delivered an address, which I did not think a very
extraordinary production, though it drew tears from almost everybody
but myself. She told them she had no other end in view than their
improvement ; and, so far from making any thing by her profession,

1419159

this year had brought her in debt fourteen hundred dollars. ... I
wish you had been with me to have witnessed the various convent ncea
for conveying instruction ; among which was a magic lantern, by which
means she displays to them, by the aid of very fine prints, every battle
which occurs in the course of the history which they are reading.
The queen recited a piece of Mrs. B.'s own composition, which I shall
send to you if I can procure it.

I passed last evening at Cousin J. F.'s with a party, some of whom
were very agreeable people. Mrs. Pascal Smith, Miss Sands, and
Mrs. Prime promised to call on me, and were very civil ; as was Mrs.
Howell, who inquired for you. Mr. Goodhue and Mr. Swett, of Salem,
were very polite to me upon the strength of my having come from the
northward, — a combination of which circumstances rendered this
evening very pleasant. I met with Miss Gibbs at the theatre, and was
invited to see them. The famous Cooke performed, to the admira-
tion of every one who saw, except myself, — who had seen Cooper in
the same character, and dared to think him preferable. As I have a
number of letters to write besides, and have been in New York but
three days, hardly time to look about me, I must close, with a request
that you will believe me most affectionately yours,

Anne Jean Robbins.

To Iter Sisters.

New York, January 0, 1811.
My dear Sisters, — I feel truly mortified and hurt that a fortnight
should have elapsed without my receiving any intelligence from you.
Mr. M. lives directly opposite to the post-office, and I have watched the
arrival of the mail with no small share of disappointment, when I
found I was not remembered. As there are few pleasures I can pur-
chase here (at any rate) equal to that of hearing of the welfare of my
friends at home, I hope you will not deny me that as often as once a
fortnight.

Thus far (with the exception of the little misery just mentioned), I
have been perfectly happy. Nothing can exceed the harmony and good
order of this family, or the kindness and unremitting attention they
have shown me, which is a great deal more than 1 can wish, because
a great deal inure than 1 shall ever have it in my power to repay. They
both discover the same interest in my amusements that I might expect
if I were their child, and the same anxiety lest 1 should deny myself
any thing for their convenience. Mrs. M. will not suffer me to dress
myself to go out, without a lire in my chamber ; with a great many-
other indulgences which it would he uninteresting to name.

Thursday last was to the fashionable part of New York a memora-
ble day ; and was by me pretty much given up to the vanity of running
about the streets with J. B. M., for the purpose of learning the way to
different places, and preparing tor the evening. Mrs. i>. gave me a
very Uattering invitation to go with her to Mrs. G.'s (the bride), which,
added to the request of Mr. W., her father, induced me to go. A tire
took place about eight in the evening (which was the time appointed
for making this call ), and prevented our going till nine, when we found
all that call themselves great in this place assembled ; but there was
nothing at Mr. W.'s half as splendid as 1 have often witnessed in Bos-
ton. At ten they all left Mr. W.'s for the ball, where I had been
invited to go witli J. M. in company with the bride's party. 1 had
only time to dance two cotillons before supper, which was at eleven.
.1. lv., who is now a married man and a papa, and J. M. were my part-
ners : though Mr. (i. (a brideman) was my standing beau for the eve-
ning. As far as variety could lie agreeable, this evening was, which
wound up with my taking a violent cold; as also did A. P., who went
to the ball after a great struggle on the part of her uncle G., with Mrs.
J. W. .Miss Sally Gracie has since called on me, and invited me to a
ball at her house for to-morrow ; which 1 should have declined on A.
P.'s account, but Mrs. M., with whom she is not a favorite, would not
permit me to. A. is a clever girl, but not very fascinating in her ex-

terior. John warns me not to quarrel with her, which 1 am very sure
I never shall, though he occasionally amuses himself thai way. Mr.

D. lias made me frequent calls, but, as he is rather funny, Mrs. M. is
very well pleased with him. Mr. G. also has her sanction for visiting
here. Mrs. Pascal Smith and her daughter, Mrs. and Miss Sands,
with the Misses Gibbs, have also called on me. Mrs. Fanny Forbes has
made me a wry handsome bonnet, and has been wonderfully kind in
lending me a pair of bracelets, which were very essential. 1 wish you
would send to the G.'s those old-fashioned gold earrings with the dia-
mond in them (for those I have are not considered smart enough by
J. G. P. and his wife) ; and they will forward them to me by some
private opportunity. I should like also to have the " Deerfield Collec-
tion" sent at the same time, which, when I go to J. B.'s, will be a very
agreeable companion to me. You must not expect many mental
acquisitions, for this is not a family to promote it; but I have read
"The Man of the World," Young's "Revenge," Lowthe's "Choice of
Hercules," Shenstone's " School-Mistress," and Mrs. Barbauld's po-
ems, all of which 1 am very much delighted with. Now, for all this
nonsense, I expect a rational, serious letter, such as perhaps I shall
write after hearing Dr. Romeyn a few times more.

I am yours, witli a great deal of love to mamma and papa, and all
the rest of the family.- Tell Edward and James 1 wish they would both
write to me.

To Mrs. Uobbins.

Xew York, Tuesday, January 8.

My dear Mother, — I received your kind letter just after 1 had
finished one to the girls, and was preparing to go to Miss Gracie's
party, from which I could not anticipate much pleasure (at that time),
so very anxious was 1 to hear from home; and though I regretted very
much a part of the information which you communicated, yet, upon
the whole, my mind was relieved of a very great burden. The enter-
tainment at Mr. A. G.'s was not more extraordinary or expensive than

I have often met with in Boston, and the ladies (generally speaking)
neither as handsome nor as well-dressed as the Bostonians ; but the
splendor of the house, and the taste and elegance of the furniture, sur-
passed any thing I have ever met with. I was never treated with such
unreserved and flattering attention in any party where I was myself a
stranger. The ladies or gentlemen who are next you never wait for
an introduction before they converse with you, but seem to think their
being nearest sufficient to sanction a mutual interchange of civilities,
which entirely excludes that stiffness and ceremony which I think char-
acterize our Boston parties. Mrs. Derby constituted all the beauty there
was there, and was kind enough to take me in her train. Mrs. Gracie
is a very pleasant, agreeable woman, as is her daughter likewise.

A. P. is now at Green Vale, where I expect to go next week. I
have not met with any young people in New York, that please me more
than Mr. J. B. M.'s family, who have shown me every possible attention
since I came to this place. The weather has been such as to prevent
my walking about much, so that I have seen very little of the city. I

have spent one evening and one day at Mr. 's, and never saw so

completely childish a couple, or children so perfectly Satanic; for 1
know no other term sufficiently expressive of their ridiculous behavior.

Mrs. W. is quite well, and desires to be remembered to you and aunt ;
she appears to be very pleasantly situated, though I am told he has
failed. I drank tea at Mr. J. McC.'s on Sunday, with Miss N., who
appears to be perfectly satisfied with presiding over a dozen children
of all sizes and ages ; as four of Mr. M.'s children live in town. Miss
MeC. with her sister Mrs. M. desired to be remembered to you.

For further particulars respecting the manner in which I have passed
my time, I must refer you to S. and M.'s letter. I shall be disap-
pointed if I do not receive a letter by the 14th of this month ; and you
may be sure of receiving one from me before the 20th.

Mr. Murray requests you will pay Mrs. Pickard six dollars for him,
which he will either return to me or you when next you meet.

A letter which I wrote to Aunt, to go by private hand, was acciden-
tally, through the mistake of the boy who lives here, put into tin' post-
office ; but I suppose has not reached her.

I am, with the most sincere affection, yours,

Anne Jean Rohbins.

P. S. I am going to-day to look for Mrs. Pickard's bag, which I
should have done before, had it not been for the badness of the walking.

To Miss Sully Robbins.

Saturday, January 2.">th.

I have this moment received your letter, my dear sister, which I
think you will readily believe gave me a great deal of pleasure, though
I am grieved to hear of the approaching death of that interesting youth
H. ; and also regret the imputation of negligence in writing, which I
fear has been brought upon me in consequence of your not having
received earlier intelligence concerning myself and friends. You say
I have not taken any comparative view of New York with Boston.
Indeed, if you mean the city itself, I have not had it in my power, for
there has not been but three pleasant days since I came here, and
those I could not wralk out to look at the city in, for want of somebody
to accompany me ; so that I can only judge of the manners of the
people, which are very various, as in most other places. I have met
with a great many agreeable and a great many disagreeable people, and,
1 am sure, the greatest proportion of ugly women I ever saw in my life.

Mrs. Derby was very much admired, as you may suppose, for possess-
ing so rare a quality as beauty. Miss Sally Grade and Miss Rhinelau-
der, with our cousins Anne Jean and Eliza M., are the only tolerably
pretty girls I have met with; and at large parties there is never a belle
in the room, which you know is very essential in exciting a general
interest, and which we are never deficient of fyou know) in Boston.
The manners of those that I have become much acquainted with are
easy and unreserved ; much more so than I think those of the Boston

ladies generally are to strangers. But I meet (that is to say, I see) a
great deal more of rudeness and familiarity between those that are

called fashionable people, than I ever witnessed in Boston. Mr. ,

who is one of the greatest beaux in the city, dues not mind roaring like
a lion, for the entertainment of a large company, by the half hour; and
is very much encouraged by the ladies, by whom he is very much

admired. lie is courting Miss -, who is just like himself.

On Monday last I passed the day at Mrs. J. Gr. F.'s, who is ex-
tremely kind and attentive to me, and as amiable as ever. On Tuesday
1 was at a very splendid party at Mr. Howell's. There I met with
Colonel Berkeley and his lady, with many others of equal rank. We
had no other entertainment than music, which I, being tired of, at ten
o'clock left for tin.' peaceful fireside of Mr. Murray, who continues to lie
the most invariably attentive kind friend lever met with. On Wednes-
day I went to a very agreeable party at Mrs. Pascal Smith's: and on
Thursday A. ami myself went to Mrs. P.'s, where I commenced a very
intimate acquaintance with a Miss P., who though very plain I found
very agreeable. She has seen a great deal of the world, and been ex-
tremely well educated. She called on me the next morning, and gave
me an invitation to sec her. Friday I went to Mrs. Sands', where Mrs.
Prime. Mrs. Ward, and Miss Rhinelander formed the whole party.
Mis. S. entertained us witli music, and Miss F. with a great deal of
nonsense. 1 am going to Madame Jervais's dancing-school ball this
evening with Mrs. P., to sec her children perform ; not for my own
entertainment 1 am sure, for 1 am worn out with visiting, which I trust
will cease by next week. Put both Mr. and Mis. Murray arc so very
desirous that 1 should see and hear every thing that is going on, that
they will not permit me to refuse any invitations which 1 receive. If
you had been witness to the variety of interruptions that I have been
subject to since I began this letter, you would not be surprised at the
mistakes, inaccuracies, and nonsense it contains. Miss A. P. is gen-
erally most agreeable when I wish to write, which is always in the par-

lor ; and J. most noisy, though let me tell you a very fine young man,
divested of some few affectations which I believe arc peculiar to his
age rather than any real fault in his disposition.

Yours, Anne Jean.

I shall write to Mrs. B. and Mrs. W. by the same opportunity.
Write me if Aunt ever received my letter.

My dear Sally, — Though I had closed my letter (for I was going
nut ), upon a second perusal of yours, I determined to open it, to inform
you that my opinion respecting the earrings perfectly coincided with
your own. But Mr. J. G. F. undertook to prove that those I had were
not fit to wear into company, and that I must get another pair, which
I refused to do ; telling him that I would send for others that he might
have a choice which I should wear. And he is very much satisfied
with those you sent me, which are not at all out of place for this city.

To Miss Eliza Bobbins.

Sunday, 27th.

Your letter, my dear Eliza, I received more than a week ago, nor

was cause for pleasure more opportunely administered. For although

all which surround me are pleasant and excite my esteem, there are

none who invite my confidence, none to whom it would be proper to

make known the daily impressions made by the circumstances which

take place, or the actions of those who come immediately in contact

with me. Nor is there any who have the same kind of feelings to

repose in a sympathetic heart, unless I except , who has been so

unfortunate in domestic life as never to have met with any one so

much disposed to be his friend as I am. He has a mind calculated to

receive pleasure from a continual interchange of social endearments,

which an absence from his father in early life prevented him from

receiving, and the misfortune of living with indifferent people was an

42 *

equal prevention of. Mrs. is a good step-mother, and any inatten-
tion towards proceeds entirely from his own unengaging conduct

towards her, which arises from a thorough contempt he conceived before
he became acquainted with her, and which lias produced an unwillingness
in him to look upon or treat her as his mother, — which, I am sure,
the goodness of his heart would have led him to have done had she been
a different kind of woman. He conceives of a life wit hunt sympathy
very much as you and I do; which is to lie as had, or, to say the least
of it, as cruel a state of existence as a mind of sensibility can be sub-
jected to. This amiable youth's situation teaches me to appreciate the
invaluable blessing of brothers and sisters who, though their fate is
often the cause of anxiety, still affords more than an equivalent in the
pleasure they give ; from them, my dear Eliza, we are sure of indul-
gence to our faults, and interest in our happiness. We are very apt
to require blindness to our imperfections rather than a toleration
towards them, accompanied by discrimination..

Your observation respecting the situations which preclude correct
views of the prevailing characteristics of such a place as this is, applies
perfectly well to mine; for, as yet I have not had an opportunity of
judging of any thing that did not relate to the fashionable world,
which, you know, is contained in a very contracted sphere. 1 went
out to large parties, though not with my own consent, I assure
you, every afternoon last week. There is but one respect in which I
prefer the New York society to Boston, which is the estimation in
which they hold a stranger's rights,- — the manners of winch universally
proclaim that " stranger is a sacred name." I have never met any
lady or gentleman who have not treated me as their friend. Perhaps
this is a prevailing hypocrisy, lint it is very flattering, and makes us
feel satisfied with ourselves. My dear E., I did not intend to have
sent you any blank paper, but the multitude and noise of the present
company must prevent my saying more than that 1 am yours.

Anne Jean Robbins.

P. S. — Noise having subsided, I will answer some of the inquiries
contained in your letter. 1 have heard Dr. Romeyn preach ever since
I came, who is not to lie compared with President Kirkland, Mr. Chan-
ning, or Mr. Buckminster. As it respects professional men, I have never

seen any except Mr. , at whose house I have been. He is a very

agreeable man, and has been very polite to me, but talks nothing but
politics; and, I should judge from every thing that surrounds him, is
a man very much embarrassed,- — which is a prevailing opinion here, —
which could not have had a more striking confirmation than permitting
a girl of sixteen years of age to marry a man of forty. A. P. is a very
clever, uninteresting young lady, whose jealousy of the attentions paid
to me makes me quite miserable. I have seen L. P. and her sister a
number of times ; she is quite low-spirited.

To Miss Sally Rollins.

Gkeen Vale, January IS, 1811.
I received your letter, my dear sister, last evening, which would
have produced no other than sensations of pleasure had it not informed
me that you had never heard from me ; which was truly mortifying,
as I have written seven letters since I have been in this place. For,
amidst all the dissipation which lias been offered, there is none from
which I can derive so much pleasure as that of communing with the
friends from whom I am separated. It is only a repetition of what
I have before communicated, to tell you that I have received a great
deal of attention which was altogether unexpected, and, I am very sure,
totally unmerited. The meeting so many of my Boston acquaintances,
who have here really acted in the character of friends, has greatly con-
tributed to my comfort and happiness. Mrs. D. introduced me to her
sister, Mrs. C, who is a very charming woman, and I should consider
her a great acquisition to my acquaintance, had it not been for that
unfortunate enmity which exists between herself and my relations
here. Last Saturday, A. P. and myself were at a small party at her

house, which has been as pleasant as any one I have been at. I there
met with Mrs. Patterson, whom you may have heard Eliza speak of.
On Sunday (after a personal invitation from Mrs. Prime, who called on
me a short time after I arrived), I went to Mr. Prime's, where I spent
the day ; which would have been very pleasant to me on any other,
for not going to church was a disappointment which nothing but bad
weather could have reconciled me to, as that alone would have pre-
vented my walking out, and she was so polite as to send her carriage.
I have not been free from a bad cold since I have been here, which

has led me to decline an invitation from that odious little Mrs. ,

and the last public assembly, wdiich were for last evening and the
evening before. Mrs. H. called on me, and afterwards sent me an
invitation for a ball at her house on Monday next, which I should not
have accepted on account of very rude treatment to A. P. ; but both
Mr. M. and Mr. F. would not permit me to do otherwise. The atten-
tion I received, though truly flattering to my vanity, is, upon the whole,
painful to me, as A. P. seldom shares in it, which keeps her in a kind of
misery she cannot conceal nor I alleviate. A. possesses a jealousy of
disposition, which is her greatest fault. But the consequences to herself,
I am sure, are a sufficient punishment, without the reproof she too often
receives from the most amiable of men, her uncle ; whose attentions to
me, with that of both Mrs. M. and J., she is as much displeased with as
with those of indifferent people. But I expect, by constant kindness and
attention (which, I am sure, my own feelings towards her will induce
me to pay), to dispel all those sensations wdiich now cause her so much
uneasiness. I 'have been extremely happy ever since Monday at Green
Vale ; both A. J. and E. must have improved astonishingly since you
saw them. A., without any remarkable natural endowments, has the
most judgment, and the most firmly-fixed good principles of any young
person I ever met with. She is a most indefatigable and patient in-
structress to three children, the two eldest of whom are Emma and
Catherine's age, who stammer out words of two syllables all the fore-

noon for my amusement. E. is the industrious manager ami house-
wife of the family. They both daily regret that they cannot become
Calyinists, which is all that is wanting to make them perfect in Dr.
Romeyn's eyes. Owing to my wicked influence they concluded to go
to a party this evening, instead of going to Dr. Romeyn's lecture ; and
have promised to go to the next assembly with me, to the astonish-
ment of all their friends.

All our cousins desire their love to you and the rest of the family.
Do remember me particularly to Mrs. Inches, and to all my other
friends who expressed an interest for me, — Mrs. W. excepted, to
whom I wish you would give a great deal of love, and say I mean to
write. The G.'s have got a bundle for you, which I hope you have
received before this. Do, to oblige me, call on Mrs. P. ; you can't
conceive how melancholy she made me feel the last time I saw her.
My best love to mother and father, and all the rest of the family, par-
ticularly aunt, to whom I have written. To mamma I have written
twice. I received a letter from school-ma'am, though none from
master, last wyeek. Tell James I prefer love to respects.
Yours, my dearest sister,

Anne Jean.

CHAPTER V.

Let other Iianls of angels sing

Bright suns without a spot ;
But thou art no sueli perfect tiling :

liejoice that thou art not !

Such if thou wert in all men's view,

A universal show,
What would my fancy have to do,

My feelings to bestow ?

Wordsworth.

IT was in the spring of 1811 that Anne Jean, after passing some
months under the hospitable roof of her cousins in New York,
accompanied them to the early home of Mrs. Murray, at Green Vale,
Connecticut. From her own letters it is easy to see that her visits in
New York had been crowded with gayety, and filled with kind atten-
tions of numerous friends. That she owed these attentions to her own
personal beauty or talents in conversation, or other attractions, never
seems to have crossed her mind. She was at all times simple and
unconscious, which constituted one of her greatest charms. My aunts
have told me what I never could have learned from herself: that she
had many admirers, both in Boston and New York society, and that
she was solicited to remain for life in either city. But it does not
appear that her heart responded to any of these appeals.

It was at Green Yale that she met her fate. Among the guests at
Mr. Branson's came Judge Lyman, of Northampton, with his eldest
daughter, a beautiful girl of eighteen, to pass a week. He went to see
his friend on banking business, little expecting to find there his future

partner for life. lie was soon attracted by her beauty and her superior
conversation : and she, on her part, was inspired with a most ardent
loye and admiration for the man who was old enough to be her
father.

I dare not trust myself to speak of him even now, but must use the
words of another, — our beloved pastor, Mr. Rufus Ellis, — written long
after his death, to show that the young girl loved one who might well
have been the ideal of the most enthusiastic youthful fancy : " To
many, many hearts the words 'Judge Lyman' are charmed winds.
They call up the image of one, the manly beauty of whose person
was but the fit expression of a most noble soul; they recall a man
singularly gifted and singularly faithful, — a thinker, clear-sighted, yet
reverent, — a lover of religious liberty, yet only for the pure Gospel's
sake ; a devoted friend, a self-sacrificing philanthropist, an ardent
patriot, a man diligent in business, yet ready to meet the largest de-
mands of every hospitable office; a cheerful giver, one who made
virtue venerable and lovely by the uniform dignity, grace, and courtesy
of his manners, and by the sweetness of his speech ; a man whose
moral and social qualities so occupied attention, that we could hardly
do justice to a very wise, discriminating, and cultivated intellect."

When the news of Anne's engagement to Judge Lyman, of North-
ampton, reached Brush Hill a few weeks later, the sisters were thrown
into a state of much excitement and commotion. But their feelings
are well described in a letter written by Sally to Eliza, who was then
absent at Hingham : —

Miss Sally Robbins to Bliss .Eliza Robbins.

Brush Hill, July 21, 1811.
Deab Eliza, — In these hours of more than common agitation, I
think you will like to know what is going on, and what my opinion
upon the subject is. Last Saturday evening as I was sitting, watch-
ing for the return of pa, ma, and Mr. Forbes, some one drove up,

and I thought it was Mr. P., and addressed him as such, when much
to my surprise the answer was in Judge Lyman's voice. The family
collected in the course of the evening, and the Judge, Mr. Forbes and
son, and our own two boys were here all Sunday. John Knapp break-
fasted here, and James Lovcll and wife took tea here; so that, amid the
whole of it, I was not very sorry that Anne was not here. Monday be
went into town and brought her out. She introduced him to some of
her friends there, — the thing took air, and is now circulated far and
wide. Yesterday they spent the afternoon in riding together, and
called at Mr. James Perkins's, and at Mr. Prince's ; and to-day they
have gone into Boston together again. As you must have perceived,
she is very much pleased with it herself. / should like it better if she
did not express it so openly; and it is mysterious to me how a hand-
some young woman, who has been caressed by the world as she has,
should be so nattered and delighted with the love and admiration of a
man old enough to be her father. Sometimes I feel grieved that she
should undertake such cares, and such responsibility. Sometimes 1
feel angry that she should allow this prepossession apparently to occupy
every feeling of her heart, and so entirely to engross and swallow up
every other, as never to have named as a privation that she has to
remove a hundred miles from all she has formerly known and loved.
Indeed, I do not think that if he was five-and-twenty, unincumbered,
handsome and rich, good and estimable, that she could have been more
pleased with it, or decided upon it with less reflection. Sometimes I
am pleased that she is to be so well provided for, to have so excellent
a guardian, and so kind a friend. Amid these various sensations I am
in constant agitation, and really do not know how to set myself about
anything. Thus much I have to comfort me: in my disinterested
estimate of the character of the man, I do not think that 1 could desire
a better one for the dearest friend I have on" earth. Respectable tal-
ents, chastened sensibility, and pure benevolence beam from his coun-
tenance, and enliven his conversation.

But twenty-one years is an awful chasm in human life, and five chil-
dren a great charge! I will not "forecast the fashion of uncertain
evil." hut trust all to the mercy of that God whose protection has hith-
erto hecn abundantly granted to us. With respect to his proposals,
nothing can be more entirely honorable ; he wishes that a speedy close
may he put to the matter. We wish to have Anne make a visit at
home first. Pa's opinion corresponds exactly with mine ; he says
nothing would have induced him to consent, but a knowledge of how
good a man he is.

Surely this summer is the most eventful period of my life; it com-
menced with sickness, death, and sadness ; it advanced in dulness
and retirement. My dear James's new establishment prompts some
hopes and excites some fears, — and now agitation has ensued, and
matrimony will close the scene.

Good-by ; I shall write again soon. I do not know how long the

Judge will stay, but I guess not a great many days longer.

Yours ever, c, T r>

S. L. Robbixs.

Mrs. Whipple sends her love. We long to see you.

The. allusion in this letter to the sickness and death that had occurred
in the family at Brush Hill was that of Aunt Forbes, who ended her
life of suffering in the spring of 1811, and died, deeply lamented by all
her nieces. I have heard my mother say that it seemed to close one
of the most interesting chapters of their early life. There had always
been an atmosphere of romance about her, because in youth she had
lived in remote parts of the world. Her three children, born in distant
countries, she had never once seen together. For many years crippled
with rheumatic gout, she was always full of cheer and sympathy for
the young, and a bright light seemed to go out from their home when
she had left it, A full-length portrait of her by Copley, taken when
she was sixteen years old, still hangs in the dining-room at Brush Hill.
The face is fall of character, vivacity, and sweetness.

On the 30th of October, 1811, Anne Jean Robbins became the wife
of Judge Lyman, of Northampton; and bidding farewell to father and
mother, brothers and sisters, and troops of friends, she went to her new
home on the banks of the beautiful Connecticut, "a hundred miles from
all she had formerly known and loved." It makes us smile now in
these days of railways and rapid transition, and constant travel, to
think that this removal seemed so serious a distance, in the minds of
the sisters. But we should remember that it was then a long, tedious,
and expensive journey, taken in a stage-coach ; also that a letter sent
by post cost twenty-five cents, so that the means of communication
were very infrequent. One continually finds reference in the letters
of that time to the fact of having found an opportunity to send a letter;
a rare and delightful circumstance.

From this time on I shall no longer speak of Anne Jean, but shall
tell her story as that of my mother ; although I was the youngest but
one of her children, and therefore must continue my narrative for
some years mainly from the anecdotes of others, or from her own
letters.

Probably no young girl ever more completely realized the glowing
dreams of youth than did my mother in her marriage ; and, certainly,
she " builded better than she knew " when, with her free and untram-
melled nature, her warm and impulsive temperament, she chose the
companionship of the country gentleman of already established repu-
tation, to that of any city-bred man in whose home the formalities of
wealth and fashion would have been, under the best of circumstances,
a burden and a trial to her. For although there were people who
called my mother aristocratic, it was only because they did not know
her. A certain grandeur of manner, nobility of figure and outline, a
flow of elegant English in conversation, may have given that impression
to a casual visitor; but no friend or neighbor in Northampton during
all her life there but saw and knew that she was essentially a woman
of the people ; full of sympathy for all classes and degrees, claiming no

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superiority in any department, and having no higher aim than to light
and warm the neighborhood where God had placed her. I have often
thought how lost her talents would have been on any other scene of
action than just the one where she was placed ; how the utter absence
of care for externals would have been noted as a fault rather than a
virtue in a different state of society; how those little beneficences,
which flowed from her as naturally as the air she breathed, would
never have been desired or appreciated among the denizens of cities or
of fashionable life. I count her to have been happy also in the period
in which she lived, as well as the home in which her lot was cast. All
times are good, but for her peculiar nature and disposition no time
could have been better.

Northampton was at that period one of the most beautiful of New
England villages. My father's house stood in the very centre, — a
large, old-fashioned square house, with a wing on each side back from
the main building. Each wing had a little covered porch looking out
into the main street. A small yard on one side separated the house
from a brick store, whose upper floor was occupied by a printing office.
The other side-yard was much larger and more rural. There was
almost a grove of beautiful acacias there, and in the little front
enclosure was a tulip-tree and many flowering shrubs ; a row of five
horse-chestnuts and a large elm shaded and protected the house some-
what from the glare and dust of a main street. Had it not been for
the kind thoughtfulness and perseverance of our sister, Mrs. Joseph
Lyman, we should never have had the picture of that happy home at
the opening of this chapter. The outlooks from the house were all
charming. On the opposite side of the street, and separated from it
by one of the loveliest front yards, stood our neighbor's, Mr. Eben
Hunt's. That place was always kept in perfect order, and an exquisite
taste presided over all the hedges and flowering plants and lovely vines.
Near to it came, a W'w years later, our little church, — a small Grecian
temple, — with its avenue of trees leading to it, and with Mrs. Hunt's

garden on one side of it, and on the other my father's garden, — in (lie
very spot now occupied by the public library. From every window in
our house there was something pleasant for the eye to rest upon, and
little vistas of exquisite beauty, even though in the heart of the village.
As soon as the autumn leaves had fallen, the west end of Mount Tom
appeared to us through the interval between Mr. Hunt's house and the
little church, — a grand and noble peak, that well repaid us for the
loss of foliage and summer beauty; and from our front door, winter
and summer, we could always see Mount Holyoke in varying lights and
shadows, — sometimes cloud-capped and dark, sometimes resplendent
with the sun-tipped mists that were rolling away from it. My mother
delighted in natural beauty, and no one ever enjoyed more than she
did the sights and sounds that surrounded her.

Few young persons ever came to a happier home, or were surrounded
with an atmosphere giving freer scope to their peculiar faculties. In
the husband of her choice she found not only warm and constant love
and appreciation, but a patience with the faults of her impulsive tem-
perament, randy equalled and never failing. In his eldest daughter,
who united personal beauty to loveliness of character, earnestness of
purpose, and much helpfulness in household matters, she realized for
three years a pleasant companionship, and the greatest assistance in
the care of the younger children, and of her own first child, — to whom
this beloved sister was devoted through the whole of his beautiful
infancy. Doubtless my mother made many a mistake with regard to
these children ; she made mistakes about her own. l>ut, so tar as I
know, they never doubted the real friendliness of her designs and pur-
poses with regard to them, or her unselfish pursuit of their good, — so
far as her different temperament enabled her to understand theirs. If
it was otherwise, I can only say that my elder brothers and sisters had
too much good taste and good feeling, too much love for their father
and for us, and too much of his own patient and warm-hearted view of
things, ever to make us aware that they had any but kindly feelings

towards one whose heart was so large it could never have stopped at
her own hearth-stone.

I do not think that my mother or her sisters had ever dreamed of a
life of ease, or of freedom from care, as any tiling to he desired. On
the contrary, they gloried in responsibility, believed in activity and
earnest work, with all the intensity of simple and healthy natures.

During my father's widowhood, his cousin, called in the family
" Aunt Dwight," had kept house for him ; and she remained for a time
after his second marriage, until the young wife became wonted to her
new position. I have heard my mother speak of her as one of the
kindest and best of women, and also as having a sunny temper, and
much of that strong common sense and ready wit so characteristic of
New England countrywomen of that day. My father's house had always
been noted for hospitality ; and what with the throng of visitors brought
there by his various offices of trust, which had made him the friend of
the whole county, and the large circle of family friends of whom he
was the centre, and the townspeople who had always considered the
house as their place of meeting, — the care of providing for such
numbers was no small matter. But in this particular my mother
always went heart and hand with my father. Unlike as they were,
both in temperament and character, they were most perfectly agreed
in their social ideas and sentiments, and never considered it any effort
if they could only make large numbers of people happy under their
roof. Besides our elder brothers and sisters, wc had five cousins to
whom my mother was quite as strongly attached as my father was.
They were the daughters of his only brother, and for many years they
came and went with the freedom of children ; some passing months
of every year, and two of them spending several years, with us, for the
purposes of their education. My mother loved them all with great
devotion ; but few mothers ever feel an intenser affection and sympathy
for an own child than she felt for Abby, the eldest, who lived with her
for several years, and was married from the house. There are very

frequent references to her. in her letters. I greatly regret that so few
records remain of the first five years of my mother's married life, and
that 1 know so little of them. But they were busy and happy years,
crowded with home cares and social duties.

She had the power of attaching to her the domestics who helped to
carry on the household, and made very few changes. At that time a
class of respectable American women did our family work, and the
relation between mistress and servant had in it more affection and con-
fidence than are common now ; though these sentiments are never absent
in the best families in any age. When my brother Joseph was born, an
excellent woman took possession of the nursery (who abode there fifteen
years), named Mrs. Burt, — or Burty, as we called her; and she only left
to marry again late in life a man whose descendants are among the most
honored citizens of our commonwealth. Burty's name was always a
household word in our family, many years after she had left us : for she
had been the trusted and confidential friend of parents and children,
nieces and cousins, and visitors, — taking hold of every sort of nonde-
script work that turned up in the large family, with the heartiest inter-
est, and tending her babies by the way. There could not have been a
pleasanter nursery than ours was, nor was it possible for children to
be taken care of in a more entertaining way. There sat our mother
with her great mending-basket and her book, and there sat Burty
alternately sewing and attending to her children. Elder brothers and
sisters and cousins came in and went out, each lending a hand at
some domestic service, or reading aloud to my mother if the babies
were quiet or asleep. Our father came in, and would take her often
out with him in the chaise, if he were going to summon a jury, or do
any of his various business in neighboring towns. And how quickly
she found her bonnet, and wrapped up the baby to take with her, so as
to leave Mrs. Burt more time for other labors !

Children who grow up in large families, and are taken care of in that
way, and always in the society of their elders, are favored beyond meas-

urc. Handed about from one to another, the care seldom falls heavily
on any one person; and the being mostly with refined natures has an
insensible influence on theirs. Then the amount of entertainment to
young children, coming without any expense of time or means. Iron,
the mere spectacle of numbers of grown people actively occupied, is
incalculable. I have heard it objected that the conversation of grown
persons cannot go on unreservedly in the presence of children. i>ut
any that cannot, ought not, as a general thing. Children do not under-
stand what is above or beyond them, though they may be insensibly
elevated by high-toned conversation which they cannot understand.
And what is beneath them had better never be discussed. If a little
child is a restraint on such conversation, then by all means let him be
" set in the midst of them." My mother seemed to go on with every
thing with her children all around her. In all large families there
must be some friction; days when things go wrong and the atmosphere
is heavy. We had those days. The dear woman had not a perfect
temper, and had her share of things to ruffle it ; and more than once
the cook has said to Sally Woodard, our dear second girl, " Mis Ly-
man's got up wrong-eend foremost this day, sure." And Sally would
say, " Yes, but she'll come round before night." And so she did.
There was nothing wicked in her fits of temper ; though violent, they
were usually only like the summer thunder-gusts in our beautiful valley,
that cleared the air, and renovated the landscape.

Yet it would not be quite truthful not to record the fact that her
strong and breezy movements about the busy house were sometimes a
trial, either to the sluggard or the invalid ; and that sensitive hearts
sometimes experienced a hurt she had no intention of leaving. My
father and all his children were of a highly emotional cast of char-
acter ; both his elder children and her own inherited this trait, and
she was sometimes at her wits' ends to account for it. "Oh! those
Lyman flood-gates," she said once to one of the nieces, " those Lyman
flood-gates seem to me to be always open. What have I done now ? "

She was very entertaining to lier own children. .Some of my young
friends have told me that they were a little afraid of her when children,
although they became warmly attached to her as they grew up. And
I think this was very likely, because she had such grand ways and im-
pressive gestures. But, in us who were familiar with them, they
inspired no such awe. She never nagged children, or contradicted
them, or made them naughtier by observing on their little naughti-
nesses. She had the finest way of diverting them without their know-
ing it ; calling off the attention from a troublesome habit, by proposing
some new and interesting occupation. She had a quantity of " nursery
rhymes" at her command, which she repeated on occasion in such
mock heroic style, as to fix them forever in the memory. One favorite
occurs to me now, which she used to say in a sort of breathless under-
tone, that nearly took away my breath.

"If every tear that sin- hail slieil
Had been a needle full of thread ;
If every sigh of sad despair
Had been a stitch with proper care, —
Closed would have been tin.' luckless rent,
And hi > t. her time have been mis-spent."

My mother gave appropriate names to every part of the large house.
There were " the old parlor " and " the best parlor," and " the hall,"
and "the nursery," and "the library," and " the corridor," — a covered
way that connected " the library " and "the office," — on the first floor.
The kitchens and their appurtenances were in a basement, where the
ground fell off at the back of the house. Of the chambers, one was
always called " Sister Mary's room," through all the long years after
she had left it; and another " Brother I) wight's room;" and then
there was Justin's room (the man's), and the two best chambers, east
and west ; and last, not least, " the turnpike," a lovely chamber through
which one had to pass to get into the west wing, and where there was
always the finest view to be caught of the west end of Mount Tom.

Visitors used to be amused to hear my mother say, " Go call Jane,
she sleeps now on the 'turnpike;'" or, "Bring me such a box or
basket from 'the corridor.'" But to us they were all magic designa-
tions that now call up a hundred precious memories. Our father and
mother occupied the library as their sleeping-room. It was so called
because a large and deep recess, corresponding to a closet, on one side
of the fireplace, had been partitioned off, and the ceiling of a dark
cupboard below formed the floor of the library, which had -lass doors,
lined with plaited green silk. This library was the home of mystery
and romance. The lower shelf was Idled with bound volumes of the
" American Encyclopaedia," the next with the " Waverley Novels."
There were volumes of the " North American Review " and the " Chris-
tian Examiner ; " sermons without number, from Jeremy Taylor and
Dr. South to Buckminster and Channing; and one shelf quite devoted
to the children's books of that day, — " Evenings at Home," " Sandford
and Merton," " Robinson Crusoe," Miss Edgeworth's charming series,
— the little pocket edition of " Harry and Lucy," and " Frank," being so
dear to the heart of my brother Joseph, that he was wont to read them
over once a year as long as he lived. A whole row of little volumes
of the " Juvenile Miscellany," edited by Mrs. Child, possessed an in-
finite charm for us. By standing on a chair, the very young children
could climb into this library, "tote" in a little chair, close the glass
doors with silk lining, and be perfectly concealed from view.

The dark cupboard underneath had been inhabited from time im-
memorial by a family named " Bideful," — perfect figments of the
imagination, but who, nevertheless, lived through several generations,
and had the most wonderful histories and experiences. If any child
were missing too long from parlor, or hall, or nursery, my mother
would say : " Look in the library, they must be there ; or, stay, possibly
they are passing the afternoon with 'the Bidcfuls.' " And when we
returned, she would inquire in the most tender and affectionate manner
after the well-being of " the Bidefuls ; " and add new interest to their his-

tories and fate, by her brilliant or witty suggestions. Were there really
no little people that lived in the little cupboard under the library ? It is
so hard to believe now that it was all a myth : and that the lovely Lucy,
the last of that ancient family, had no material existence.

With all the fine health of my father and mother, we had a great
deal of sickness in our house. Our elder brothers and sisters had
inherited delicate constitutions from their mother, and three of my
mother's children were far from strong. This may have been caused
by the disparity of years in our parents. But I think the health of all
was materially affected by our mother's entire ignorance on the subject.
It was the one great delect of her intelligence that she had no appreci-
ation of that ounce of prevention which is worth more than a pound of
cure. With an iron constitution herself, strong nerves, and healthy
blood, she had no understanding of how the lack of these things may
be supplied and built up by patient forethought and care. But when
her warm heart was wrung by the sufferings of those for whom she
would have cheerfully given her life, we could only regret that she had
known so little how to avert the calamities she deplored. She was a
very faithful and devoted nurse in the severe illnesses that occurred, uot
only in her own family, but in those of her neighbors and friends :
always ready to lose her sleep, night after night, as long as any one
needed it. But, the moment all danger was over, the patient was well
to her mind, and it was high time to set about the real business of life,
in which sickness was an untold interruption. Usually, if an illness
was a low nervous fever, not dangerous, but requiring much care, she
thought it a good time to improve all our minds by a course of reading
aloud, such as there was never any uninterrupted time for in our ordinary
life. And 1 remember one such illness, when Ranki's "History of the
Popes," and Carlyle's " French Revolution " were manfully put through
under what would have been serious difficulties to am one else. She
always seemed to consider nerves rather as vicious portions of the
human character than as constituents of the mortal frame ; and as they

interfered sadly with duty, with benevolence, and every other virtue,
they must be discharged without delay. She desired to be thankful thai
she was born before nerves were the fashion. She believed entirely in
the power of mind over body. Alas', she forgot that, so long as the

two are united, there must he constant action and reaction of each upon
the other; and we, who saw her mistakes in this wise, knew that some
of the heaviest trials of her life came from this one-sided view of the
subject. Yet even here her forcible character implanted a grand out-
look in the heart of an invalid ; and one, at least, of that large family
has never known whether most to deplore the ignorance and false view
that wrought such sad consequences, or to thank and bless her for the
belief so powerfully inculcated, that though the outward man perish the
inward may lie renewed day by day.

CHAPTER VI.

Let a man, then, say : " My house is here in the county, for tlie culture of the county ;
an eating-house and sleeping-house for travellers it shall be, but it shall be much more.
I pray you, 0 excellent wife, not to cumber yourself and me to gel a rich dinner for this
manor this woman, who has alighted at our irate, nor a bedchamber made ready at too
great a cost. These things, if they are curious in, they can get for a dollar at any village.
But let this stranger, if he will, in your looks, in your accent and behavior, read your
heart and earnestness, your thought and will, — which he cannot buy at any price, in any
village or city, ami which he may well travel fifty miles, and dine sparely and sleep hard,
in order to behold. Certainly, let the board be spread, and let the bed he dressed for the
traveller; but let not the emphasis of hospitality lie in these things. Honor to the house,
where they are simple to the verge of hardship, so that there the intellect i< awake and reads
the laws of the universe, the soul worships truth and love, honor and courtesy tlow into
all deeds." — Emekson.

MY father was forty-four years old, my mother twenty-two, at the
time of their marriage.
It lias been said l>y such numbers of people that they were the
handsomest couple that ever came into Northampton, that I think it
must have been true. Beauty is certainly a passport to all hearts, and
when, as in their ease, the life is " in accordance with the curious make

ami frame of one's creation," there is an influence about it that cai t

well he computed. They now became the centres of a social circle,
not easy to describe in these days, — for sixty years have changed the
physical aspect of the times, and removed so many old landmarks, and
created so much hurry and bustle, that events formerly marked and
distinguished, now chase each other with rapidity ; and we can scarcely
go back and put ourselves in the rural village where railroads and
telegraphs had never been heard of, where one church gathered all the

(51

inhabitants, ami where the life of each family seemed of vital import-
ance to every other.

There were no very rich people in Northampton; but many persona
of elegant culture, refined and aristocratic manners, and possessing a
moderate competence, lived there in much ease, envying no one, really
believing themselves highly favored, as they were, and practising a
generous hospitality at all times. It was a county town, and so
seemed a large place to the people on the outskirts ; but it really num-
bered only four thousand inhabitants. If there were no rich people,
there was certainly an almost utter absence of poverty, and none of those
sad sights to meet the eye reminding one of a destiny entirely different
from one's own. Little or no business was done there; but Shop Row
contained about ten stores, all of them excellent, — dry-goods and hard-
ware stores, and an apothecary's, — which made a little cheerful bustle
in the centre of the town, — especially on certain days of the week, when
the country-people would come in their old-fashioned wagons to do
their shopping. There were two United States senators residing there
for life, three judges, many eminent lawyers and scholars, — retired
people who had no connection with the business world, who lived
within their moderate incomes, and never dreamed of having more.
The matchless beauty of the scenery attracted many visitors. The
more wealthy families in Boston were fond of taking carriage journeys
of two or three weeks, and would take Northampton in their way as
they went into Berkshire. Many a family party came in this way to
our two hotels in the summer and autumn, and would stop two or three
days to ascend Mount Holyoke or Tom; to drive to Mount Warner or
Sugar Loaf; to walk over Round Hill, or round and through the rural
streets of our village, which were so lined with magnificent elms that,
from the mountain, it always looked as if built in a forest. Every
morning the stage for Boston — the old-fashioned, yellow stage-coach,
with a driver who was the personal friend of the whole village — drew
up in front of Warner's tavern, with a great flourish of whipping up

the lour horses; and every evening' the singe from Huston was known
to lie approaching about sunset, by the musical notes of the stage bugle-
horn in the distance. I think the driver always wound his horn just
after he crossed the great bridge from ITadley.

There was a story told very often of one of our dear stage-drivers of
that period. He had a wonderful memory, and trusted if entirely, and
so did all the town. For they brought him notes and messages and
errands of every description, to attend to all the way to Boston ; and
he never took any memorandum, yet always returned with the long
list of things properly attended to. Once he took his wife witli him to
Boston, the plan being that she should come back the next week. After
he was on the stage-box on his return home, he carefully made his
mental estimate of all the commissions entrusted to him by the town
of Northampton, and could not see that he had forgotten any thing.
Yet nil the way to Worcester he was haunted by the impression thai
he really had forgotten something, though what he could not tell ; till
just as he whipped up his horses to leave that town, it suddenly came
to him, and he exclaimed, " Oh I it's my wife ; I've left my wife ! " < >f
course it was too late for him to return for her, and of course he never
heard the last of it in Northampton.

My father was one of the most industrious of men ; all through
winter's cold and summer's heat he labored faithfully at his law busi-
ness, from morning till night, for the maintenance of his large family.
If ever man fulfilled the injunction, "not slothful in business, fervent
in spirit, serving the Lord," he did. Social enjoyment was his great,
in fact his only, recreation ; and the sound of the stage-horn at even-
tide was like martial music to a war-horse. His face would glow in
the evening light, his step become alert. He reached his hat from the
tree in the hall, and hastened out to be at the tavern before the stage
appeared. With a shining countenance, he would return and tell of
the line people who had arrived; how he had offered his carriage and
horses to Mr. A., or Mrs. 15. and her daughters, to go up the mountain

next day; how he had invited this friend to breakfast with Irim,i ther

to tea. More often he caine home wit.li a tale of some person in ill-
health or in sorrow, not likely to be made quite comfortable at the
tavern ; and a " Wouldn't it be well to send Eiram for their trunks, and
tell them to come right here ? " To which my mother's quiet response,
■• Why. id' course, that's the only thing to do," made him entirely
happy, as lie hurried off to summon his guests.

Once I recall his coming home from Mount Holyoke in great glee,
because his friend Judge Dawes had made the ascent with him; and
he told how, as they rounded the last steep of the mountain, and the
whole glorious view burst upon him, Judge Dawes bad -rasped bis
hand fervently and said, " Why. Judge Lyman, it's a perfect poem."

The number of really fine gentlemen of the old school, who assembled
at our house to see my father, almost every day for, at least, seven or
eight months of every year, was very great. The judges of the Supreme
Court were all warmly attached to him, and they delighted in my
mother's society. Judge Williams once said: " When I go on the cir-
cuit, I try to find some young person who has never been at North-
ampton ; and then I take them to Judge Lyman's, because 1 consider
that a part of a liberal education." As I remember, — and it must
always have been so, — the conversation of my lather and his friends
■was, a great deal, upon the events and the history of the times, and
never on any small or local gossip.

Three years after my mother's marriage, the Hartford Convention
came off, and my father, being a member, took her with him there ;
and they both had a very delightful time, and received a great deal of
attention. As the objects and purposes of that celebrated body were
always kept strictly secret, my mother never referred to it in any way,
except in its collateral enjoyments.

Although she bad left her old home far behind her, and was now
absorbed in a round of household cares and social duties that were
most engrossing, yet the family-life at Brush Bill was still a deep in-

teresl in her heart ; and she kept up a constant and ardent correspon-
dence with her parents, brothers, and sisters. The Forbes cousins
also came in for a large share of her affectionate remembrance; and
with Cousin Emma, — the frequent companion of her little sister in
her early efforts at teaching, — she corresponded for more than twenty
years. Both sisters and cousins began to visit her soon after her mar-
riage, and these were always occasions of heartfelt pleasure.

On the 14th of August, 1812, my mother's oldest child was born ;
and never did the birth of a son awaken deeper emotions of love and
gratitude than did our dear Joseph's. How carefully she watched .
over the moral and intellectual influences that surrounded his youth,
only those knew who lived with her then. From this time forth she
was constantly occupied with the care of young children, as well as of
those who were growing up, — at. the same time uniting with my
father in what our friend Mr. Rufus Ellis has since called "a hospital-
ity that carries us back to early days in the East."

In her account of my mother's youth, my Aunt Catherine has spoken
of her music, as being a great occupation and pleasure to her ; hut
after her marriage she hail little time for practising, and confined her-
self to playing for a half hour at twilight or after tea, the short time
before the children went to lied. The " old parlor," where we lived
for eight months of the year, was a square room of moderate size, with
two windows on the street, and one on tin' side-yard towards the print-
ing office. It was a simple room, hut very pretty. The walls were
covered with a pale-yellow paper, and varnished; the broad wooden
pannels lining the room for three feet in height. The floor was covered
with an English Kidderminster carpet of bright colors. A large Frank-
lin stove, with brass finishings and fender and andirons shining
brightly in the firelight, gave warmth and cheerfulness to the room.
A clock of alabaster, with swinging pendulum, stood on a bracket be-
tween the two windows. The furniture was cane-seated, but had hair-
cushions covered with bright chintz. A sofa and two rocking-chairs,

a centre-table and an upright English piano (the only one in the town
for many years), constituted the remaining furniture. Over this piano,
in an old-fashioned gilt frame, hung a picture of Domenichino's St.
Cecilia, a beautiful engraving, which was the delight of my childhood.

Before the children were sent to bed, my mother always played the
"Copenhagen Waltz" and "The Battle of Prague," with variations,
with much vigor. She was guiltless of ever having heard of " classical
music;" and I fear the performance would hardly satisfy us now,
though we thought it charming then. On Sunday nights she played a
number of psalm tunes, singing also with much feeling and fervor;
" Dundee," " Federal Street," " Calmar," and "Pleyel's Hymn " were
always favorites. "When on week-day evenings she played the former
tunes, we always expected to have a waltz with the dear old father.
But, though much past sixty years of age, how young he seemed, how
vigorous! lie called us his "little pigeons;" and, bending down to us,
would lift us off our feet, and whirl us round the room, till we were
all satisfied with the dance. Then suddenly he shook us off, as if we
had been so many flies ; declared he had " a bone in his back" (which
we supposed to lie a disease peculiar to himself), and seating himself,
quite spent, in his high-backed leather rocking-chair, he was soon gone
off in las evening nap, glad if he had been helped thereto by little
fingers softly stroking his white hair. Oh for a picture of that noble
face, as it looked then in sleep, when the evening firelight lit up the
peaceful features that had for sixty years been "the home of all the
benignities ! " Then came a solemn moment. When we went to say
" good night" to our mother, she would exclaim, " And now, children,
where are your monuments?" Then we made haste to bring her any
little task we had completed, any small work done, and received either
her commendation or an emphatic urging to do better next time. But
this was not all ; she would often remark on the friends who had come
and gone Unit day, and say: "When 1 was out to-day, I heard that
Mrs. So-and-so called. She is old and poor, and had walked a long

distance. Did you ask her to stop, and give her a warm seat, and tell
her to stay to dinner, or wait till I came home ? " Alas ! intent on
play, we had never thought of it. " Well, -Miss 1). came this afternoon;
she wanted a book : did you tell her you would find out about it and
bring it to her?" No! we had not. '-Oh, my dear children," would
be the answer, given with some emotion, "you've lost your opportu-
nity" These words made an intense impression on my mind. Surely
no loss could be so great as that, the loss of an opportunity to do a
kindness. Ah ! if children in that home grew up selfish and inconsid-
erate of the claims or rights or needs of others, it was their own fault;
for they were better taught.

She loved to give us pleasure ; and on her yearly visits to Boston or
Brush Hill, would always take one or two of us with her, — never feel-
ing us a care or an encumbrance, in the long journey of eighteen hours
by stage-coach, which had to begin at midnight. Yet how much of
the wear and tear of our present life was escaped in those days, by
not having to hurry to a railway train. There were no expresses then,
and so when it was known in the village that Judge and Mrs. Lyman
were going to Boston (and they always took pains to make it known),
a throng of neighbors were coming in the whole evening before ; not
only to take an affectionate leave, but to bring parcels of every imag-
inable size and shape, and commissions of every variety. One came
with a dress she wanted to send to a daughter at school ; another with
a bonnet; one brought patterns of dry goods, with a request that Mrs.
Lyman would purchase and bring home dresses for a family of five.
And would she go to the orphan asylum and see if a good child of ten
could be bound out to another neighbor till she was eighteen ; and if
so, would Mrs. Lyman bring the child back with her? Another friend
would come in to say that her one domestic had an invalid sister living
in Ware ; and another a mother in Sudbury, on the stage route. When
the stage stopped for breakfast or dinner, or relays of horses, would
Mrs. Lyman run round and hunt up these friends, carry them messages

and presents, ami bring back word when she came home how they were,

— it would make Sally or Amy so much more contented through the
winter !

The neighbors walked into the library where the packing wa
on ; and, when all the family trunks were filled, my father called out
heartily, " Here, Hiram, bring down another trunk from the garret,
the largest you can find, to hold all these parcels ! " And on one occa-
sion, when all were finally packed, a little boy came timidly in, with a
bundle nearly as large as himself, from another neighbor, and " would
this be too big for Mrs. Lyman to carry to grandmother; mother says
she needs it so much, this time of year? " "No, indeed," my mother
would say: "tell your mother I'll carry any thing short of a cooking-
stove." "Another trunk, Hiram," said my father; "and ask the driver
to wait five minutes." Those were times when people could wait five
minutes for a family so well known and beloved. If a little behind
time, our driver had only to whip up his horses a little faster before
he came to the Belchertown hills ; and when he came to those, the
elders got out, and lightened the load, to facilitate the journey. What
journeys they were ! How full of romance and adventure ! The first
one I recall was when, at five years old, I was taken up out of a sound
sleep at one o'clock at night, by my cousin Emma Forbes ; dressed by
her in a very sleepy state, she not failing to encourage me by telling
me that I was a " good little kitten," who was going to Boston with
her and my mother ; then dropping asleep in her arms as soon as the
stage started, and not waking till sunrise. And such a sunrise ! I had
never seen it before ; and having in a childish way had my vague ideas
of another world, I started up, and looking beyond the Belchertown
hills, at the glorious horizon, I asked Cousin Emma if we were goiug
to heaven.

My father and Uncle Howe always met with wonderful adventures
on these journeys. When they stopped at the good breakfast at Bel-
chertown, they were sure to meet some one they knew, who brought

them tidings they had been waiting for. At Ware, later in the morn-
ing, a concourse of stages met from the west and south ; and some of
the passengers would be transferred to our stage for Boston. Then
often, what handshakings, what lighting up of countenances, as friends
parted for many years met in this seemingly providential way, and
knew they were to pass at least twelve hours in each other's company,
within the friendly limits of the stage-coach ! Now and then they met
agreeable strangers, who became friends for life ; for on such a journey
conversation flowed freely; all were enjoying that delicious freedom
from business and household care, that is so favorable to the inter-
change of thought, and the comparatively slow progress of the coach
over a country rich in beautiful scenery gave a peaceful flow to the
ideas, not interrupted by the shriek of railroad whistles, or the sudden
arrival at some crowded station.

I remember one such journey, when a distinguished politician opened
a lire upon two worthy Quakers from Philadelphia, which brought out
from them, though in gentlest terms, their anti-slavery sentiments. My
father, being an old federalist, — while he believed slavery to he a
great crime against God and man, — was still of the opinion, held by
many good men of his time, that it was a question which belonged to
the South to settle for themselves ; and that, it was both useless and
dangerous for the North to meddle with it. Yet he was disgusted at
the manner in which the politician attempted to brow-beat the excellent
Friends; and stood up so manfully for their right to their own opinions
and to the expression of them, that, thirty years later, when accident
brought one of his children to their acquaintance, they expressed a
most grateful remembrance of his courtesy and support through a day's
journey that would have been made intolerable by the presence of their
other companion. This was before the days of the abolitionists, —
years before Garrison and Phillips had sounded the tocsin.

Their visits to Boston were enchanting to hear about ; and when
they returned home after an absence of two or three weeks, again the

neighbors collected to hear the news. And as they sal around the
blazing wood-lire, the evening after their home-coming, all the trunks!
unpacked and put away, and the return-parcels and messages delivered,
all those children who had not accompanied them on the journey were

allowed to sit up as long as they pleased. As one friend after another
dropped in, the talk became most animated. To one they told of their
dinners at Judge Shaw's, Judge Wilde's, or Judge Putnam's ; or of the
signs gathering in the political horizon which they had heard discussed.
To another they descanted on the Sundays they had enjoyed : how the
eloquence of Dr. Channing had uplifted their minds, and how their
hearts had burned within them as they talked with dear friends on the
rise and growth of liberal Christianity in New England. And then
how many friends of their friends they had contrived to see, and how
many salutations they brought to those less-favored neighbors, who
could not go to Boston once a year as they did. Yes, these visits made
a festival for the whole neighborhood as well as for themselves.

CHAPTER VII.

What wouldst tliou have a good great man obtain '

Place, titles, salary, a gilded chain '.

Or tin-one of corses which his sword hath slain '.

Greatness ami goodness are not means, hut ends ;

Hath he not always treasures, always friends,

The good great man ! — three treasures, love and light,

And culm tlmiiijlits regular as infant's breath ;

And three firm friends, more sure than day and night,

Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death.

Coleridge.

MY father's best-beloved and most intimate friend was liis cousin,
Samuel Howe, — a man whose pure spirit and high character,
united to an intellect of unusual vigor, made him the choicest companion
in the home circle. He lived at Worthington, — one of the beautiful
hill towns of Hampshire County, so situated as to enable the resident
lawyer to practise in several counties. He had always been a frequent
visitor at our house; and, as he had lost his wife a few months before
my father's second marriage, and was left alone with two young chil-
dren, it was natural for him to seek the solace of his friend's home,
alter my mother came there. What his society and friendship were 1
can only estimate by the life-long allusions to his judgment and his
heart by both my parents, and to a memory always kept green to their
latest day.

During the winter of 1812, my father sent his hired man, with
a double-sleigh and two horses, to Boston, to bring home his oldest
daughter, Eliza, who was there on a visit ; and, to my mother's great

delight, her sister Sally also returned in the sleigh, to make her a long
visit. One can imagine the long two-days' journey, in mid winter, in
the open sleigh ; the keen, frosty air, the young girls well wrapped in
buffalo-robes, and Northampton as their goal, with its hospitable home
to welcome them, when the cold and weary journey was ended. In
Sally's letters to Miss Cabot at this time are frequent allusions to Mr.
Howe's visits at the house ; and she always speaks of him as " the
mountaineer." Evidently she had not regarded him in the light of a
lover ; and the entirely unrestrained and natural intercourse that fol-
lowed was the best possible preparation for that rare union of mind and
heart that can only subsist between beings of the finest mould. Writing
to her dearest friend of the result of this intimacy, she speaks of him
as possessing all those qualities she most desires in a companion ; and
adds, with characteristic humility, " If I have not the pleasure of ex-
citing a first attachment, I cannot doubt that I am beloved, for it is
impossible that any man should choose me from any other motive."

And so, in little more than two years after her own marriage, my
mother experienced the purest pleasure in the union of her dear sister
Sally to this friend of friends. My father's happiness in this event was
fully equal to her own ; and from this time the most delightful inter-
course went on between the sisters, and the two homes at Northampton
and Worthington were gladdened by a constant interchange of warm
affection. My Aunt Catherine writes: —

" With regard to your Aunt Howe's life at Worthington, I question
my power of writing any thing that will be interesting. I have no
special faculty of making an interesting narrative out of simple things,
and would on no account ornament, or throw any false hue of senti-
ment over a life of plain duty, governed by high principle and animated
by the purest sentiments.

"Worthington is a mountain town, much higher above the Connecti-
cut valley than the hills that immediately overlook it. It is approached

by the ascent of long hills, over rough roads ; and the transit, about
twenty miles, with their own horses, as the two families usually made
it, took much longer than a journey of a hundred miles now does.

" There was no village, or centre of things about it, more than a
tavern, a store, and half-a-dozen houses, where were gathered together
such conveniences as belonged to the place. In the midst of this your
uncle's house was situated ; a large, square house, with an ample yard
open to the south, with a very pleasant aspect. It was much the best
house in the place, — built by the lawyer who preceded Mr. Howe in
(he town. Opposite was the public house, where the Albany sta^e
stopped each day, going up and returning on alternate days. This
coach brought the mail, and such travellers as came there, and afforded
the chief interest that they had, outside of the house. There were two
or three families with whom they kept up a friendly intercourse, and a
church a mile distant, which sent forth the hardest and dryest kind of
doctrine, and was a penance to attend. It was in 1813 that your aunt
went to live there, — in the middle of the war of that period. Every-
body was poor, and they furnished their house with plainness and sim-
plicity, but still comfortably. And here they set up their household
gods, and began life on a simple plan which afforded many enjoyments,
at the same time that it brought some important privations. There
were two children from the beginning. Mr. Howe usually had a stu-
dent in his office (adjoining the house), who lived with them ; and I
think it was in the first year that William Cullen Bryant was with
them in this position. Your aunt also often had some friend with her,
so that from the commencement of their married life they had a con-
siderable family, affording some domestic society, but increasing care.
The great deficiency of their life, in the way of comfort, was the im-
possibility of procuring domestics. Sometimes they were weeks with-
out a woman, but always had a man who performed some of the rougher
services. Though your aunt was capable and industrious, and knew
all about domestic business, this was hard to her: she had not been

7:3

accustomed to it, and her time was occupied in ways that did noi per-
mit the exercise of her favorite pursuits. Mr. Howe was the most
helpful and kindly of domestic companions, and did all that a man could
to lighten those cares. Still enough remained to make life laborious at
this period. Mr. Howe was full of occupations, and often absent from
home. He was away attending courts in all the adjacent counties many
weeks of every year. The winters were long and cold, the snow deep,
and the roads made indiscriminately over fences and fields, as well as
in the paths ; wherever was the most available place. These absences
were hard times to her during the first years ; later, I think after two
years, Eleanor Walker went to live with her as a companion and assist-
ant in all ways, and was the greatest addition to the comfort of the
household.

" Dr. Bryant, their physician, and Mr. Howe's especial friend (the
father of William Cullen Bryant), lived four miles distant, at Cumming-
ton ; he was a wise and learned man, and his society was at times a
great resource to Mr. Howe, though he was very reserved to most,
persons.

" Visits were exchanged between your mother and aunt, several
times every year. Mr. Howe always attended the courts at Northamp-
ton, and your aunt went when she could, but she was often prevented
by domestic circumstances. These visits were always seasons of great
social enjoyment ; the sisters had many interests in common, — your
mother with her more varied experiences had a great deal to tell of
her numerous and interesting visitors, or her journeys to Boston, and
sojourn among old friends, which were more frequent than your aunt's.
It was a period full of excitement about public affairs ; the war and the
questions which grew out of it, the policy of the government, &c,
were never-ending subjects of discussion with your father and uncle,
who sympathised quite remarkably in their views, and prophesied
about the future, things very unlike the actual unfolding of the book of
fate, — as wise men still do, and always must.

" At a later period, when religious views and the subject of religious
freedom became exciting, it was discussed with the same intercsl and
general agreement. Mr. Howe had grown up in the acceptance of
Orthodox theology, then unquestioned in the society surrounding him ;
but after his marriage, he reviewed the whole subject with careful
study, heard our best preachers when he had opportunity, and became
a decided and conscientious Unitarian. This was a great satisfaction
to your aunt, and a new bond of sympathy between the two families.

" When at home, if Mr. and Mrs. Howe were ever so much occupied
during the day, some hours were always spent in reading aloud ; they
usually had some important work on hand, but were always ready to
interrupt it for matters of especial interest, or lighter character, if enter-
taining. Mr. Howe was a great and constant reader ; lie had always a
book on hand ; five minutes of waiting were never hist in impatience,
but occupied with book or paper. Scantily as they were supplied with
luxuries in those days, Mr. Howe seldom returned from a visit to more
favored regions, without a new book to enliven the home on his return.
Their tastes and feelings harmonized wonderfully well, but your aunt
was more fond of imaginative literature, and he of works which exercise
the reason and add to the store of knowledge. But she enjoyed all
these things with him.

" Mr. Howe had an admirable power of conversation, clearness of
thought, knowledge ready to be fitly used, and a natural gift of lan-
guage, which made his society a most welcome addition to any circle.
This facility of using his powers wisely and well was a great advantage
to him in the practice of his profession, and invaluable to him as a
teacher, when later he became the head of a law school, a guide and
leader of thought to young men.

" Your aunt enjoyed a great deal at times, in her isolated life at
Worthington, but at other times she felt the evils of it painfully. Mr.
Howe had always been of an infirm constitution, which he taxed to the
utmost in the performance of many duties; and she felt that the fatigue

and exposure of his long winter journeys over the hills and rough
roads were positively injurious to him, adding a cause of fatigue and
exposure that might be spared him. Then, as children multiplied and
grew older, she felt the want of advantages of education for them,
and of association with other young people who would be suitable com-
panions for them. The idea of change dwelt constantly upon her
mind, and more and more the conviction came to her that it was im-
portant for all of them. Many plans were talked of, and different
places discussed ; but at length, in 1820, a proposal from Mr. Mills, for
your uncle to go into partnership with him at Northampton, decided
them to move to that place; and I think it was always satisfactory to
both of them that they made the change."

As my aunt's letters of that period give a better idea of the Worthing-
ton life than any record we have of it, a few of her letters to her
dearest friend — Miss Eliza Lee Cabot, afterwards Mrs. Follen — come
naturally to mind here.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, October 31, 1813.
My dead Eliza, — Your letter did indeed arrive to welcome me in
Worthington, and I felt much gratified at the reception of it. I believe
our correspondence has never been suspended so long since the com-
mencement of it ; and I hope it never may be again, but from the same
agreeable reason that we have been able to make a frequent personal
intercourse a substitute for it: but this is a thing which we can scarcely
calculate upon. I cannot hope or even desire to leave my family for
any great length of time, and, though I do depend on seeing you here,
it cannot be often. One thing you may rest assured, that no change
in circumstances or situation can alienate my affection ; the last three
weeks has confirmed my hope that I should find my husband the kind-

est and best of friends, but I still recollect, with feelings the most lively
and affectionate, the companions of those early, happy days, which are
never to return. The sensations winch accompanied my separation
from them were such as can never be described, and a single comment
upon them would be useless: suffice it to say, I was not long the victim
of them. New duties offered themselves to my recollection, and new
pleasures promised to repay me for every privation. I recovered the
tone of my mind sooner than I expected, and even the first day of our
journey was not without hours of social communication ; the weather
was cold, and we met with bad travelling, but we were aide to pursue
the route we had marked out, and visited Stafford, Hartford, New
Haven, and Litchfield. At Litchfield 1 saw the Fosters only in the
street ; our stay there was short, as we did not find .Mr. and Mrs.
Gould at home. In New Haven we visited the Cabinet of Minerals,
with which I was much delighted, but do not think I enjoyed them as
much as you would have done ; many of the specimens are extremely
curious, and some of them very beautiful. This is an extraordinary
exhibition of natural productions^ because most of these things are
concealed in the bowels of the earth, and do not. like most others, intro-
duce themselves to our acquaintance and challenge our notice ; should
you ever go to New York I think you would be gratified by staying in
New Haven long enough to take a more accurate observation of them
than we were able to. New Haven is a very pleasant town ; I do not
believe there is one of its size ecmal to it in New England. The flatness
of the situation would remind you of Salem; but the streets are more
regular, and the public buildings better disposed, and there are more
trees than I ever saw in a place so compact. But you may look in the
'• Gazetteer" for the remainder of the description, and I will endeavor
to tell you a little more about myself, or rather about we. Then, after
stopping one rainy day in the last town in Connecticut, in a very un-
interesting tavern, we spent two and a half in making the tour of
Berkshire county, where we visited some interesting friends and

acquaintance, and were treated with much hospitality and attention,
particularly by the Sedgwick family: and 1 assure you, .Mi>s Sedgwick
appears incomparably more engaging in her own house, and at the
head of her own family, than she does in company in Boston ; ami my
visit was the more gratifying as it raised her much in my estimation.
Harry, too, appeared the affectionate brother and the attentive friend,
by far the finest parts I ever saw him perform. We readied our desti-
nation on Friday noon, and I was greeted by a letter from Mary, besides
yours. I must thank you again for writing to me at such a moment,
as it convinces me you will not suffer other avocations and feelings to
prevent your communicating yourself to mc. You arc surrounded by
so many objects in which I have been accustomed to interest myself,
that you can never want subjects for a letter, independent of the
resources of your own mind. And now for a description of my new
home. These blank fields and naked woods, I am told, are verdant and
beautiful in summer, but now have nothing in particular to recommend
them, and so I do not look at them often. The house we are to inhabit
stands on one corner of two roads. which cross each other, but not near
enough to either road to be incommoded by it, or to look ill ; the other
three corners are occupied by a tavern, a store, and a dwelling-house,
and this is the most considerable settlement in Worthington, there
being a few other houses in the vicinity. I will say nothing of the
interior of the house, except that it lias a very pleasant parlor with
southeast and southwest windows in it, which give us a bountiful por-
tion of sun (when it shines, mark ye, which is not very often) ; and in
this parlor I expect to pass the ensuing six months almost exclusively
(except when I am asleep), and in it I calculate to keep (besides tables
and chairs) a work-box, a writing-desk, and sundry books, so that 1
may have employment suitable to my taste and genius. I may occa-
sionally make a peregrination into the kitchen to superintend the con-
cerns there. But though my corporeal frame is to be thus limited, do
not think my soaring spirit and brilliant imagination will confine them-

selves ; on the contrary, I expect to search the records of ages long-
past, and to fly on the wings of fancy into regions the most remote,
and perhaps now and then condescend to use the same agency in con-
veying myself to your side on the sofa, where I picture you now sur-
rounded by your family. Remember me to them all ; tell Susan I shall
expect she will now and then write a postscript if she expects any good
advice from me; a thing which my present matronly character must
add much to the consequence of. If Sally is still with you, present my
best wishes for her journey, and hopes that she will return by the way
of Albany, that I may see her. Mary, I never forget ; and least of all,
you, my long tried friend.

Yours, &c.,

S. L. Howe.

I am not at housekeeping yet, but shall be next month. Mr. Howe
joins me in affectionate remembrance to you.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, December 31, 1813.

My drar Eliza, — The bundle containing the " Salmagundi" extract,
hooks and notes from yourself and Mary, dated in October, readied
here in December in safety ; and for Mary's kindness in copying t lie
first 1 feel much indebted. Tender her my thanks, and tell her it shall
lie preserved with care for her sake as well as its own, and that I am
sincerely obliged for her kind wishes, and hope I shall prove worthy
the fulfilment of them. And as for your ladyship, I cannot help be-
lieving you have practised making sweet faces in the looking-glass your-
self, the better to image us and to get yourself in readiness in case you
should find personal necessity for them; but I will not waste my paper,
for I despair of reforming your sauciness. "What's bred in the bone
cannot be heat out of the flesh."

7!)

I have received a letter from you, dated Nov. 16th, the very day on
which I commenced housekeeping; and I do not wish you to follow my
ill example in suffering this to remain as long unanswered as thai has.
My opportunities for writing are few, — not that I am much hurried by
business, but something or other always steps between me and the
pen, unless I make a previous determination, as I did to-day, that it
should fie the first object with me. My success in housekeeping, in
most respects, equals my expectations. I have been too much accus-
tomed to exertion, to find the little now required " a weariness of the
flesh;" and as to my success in managing the children, 1 never over-
rated my own talents in that respect. Although I could always per-
ceive an abundance of faults in the management of others, I was
sufficiently aware of the circumspection necessary, to think 1 should lie
likely to fall into many errors myself ; they have not however yet done
any thing very wrong, and I have strong hopes that with Mr. Howe's
assistance I shall be able to make them good and useful. The subject
of their education is one upon which I do not spare reflection, and hope
I shall not spare any attention which is in my power. I have specu-
lated a good deal on this subject when I had no personal interest in it,
and I feel sure that much may be done by careful parents for their
children. But after all is done which human foresight and exertion
can effect, circumstances will occur (sometimes) to influence the char-
acter of the child, over which the parent can have no control. This
consideration should make us eagle-eyed when we survey the condition
of our children, and the knowledge that they enjoy the protection of
Him that neither " slumbereth nor sleepeth " should prevent undue
anxiety. We must plant and water, and wait in patience and hope for
the blessing of God on the increase. I spend the days with Nancy
Sumner and the children. I sew, and she reads aloud. Mr. Howe
reads to us in the evening, and we on the whole are rather a bookish
family — being considerably excluded from " the pomps and vanities of
this wicked world," by our remote situation. Mrs. Lyman has been

ii]i to enlighten us by her counsel ; and really, my dear Eliza, if you
should ever change your condition, I hope you will not neglect to apply
lor a page or two of advice to that "matron sage," for I assure you
she understands bringing up a family much better than you or I do.
Raillery apart — her visit was one of the pleasantest circumstances
which has occurred in the six weeks we have kept house. Al this
season, 1 generally review tin.' past year in my letter to yon; but the
event which is most important to me is one we have often discussed,
and 1 do not know if any thing remains to be said upon it. I am per-
fectly satisfied that 1 have increased my means of happiness and use-
fulness: the employment of those means will be my future care, and
God grant the successful use of them! My near and dear friends are
preserved in life and health, and the number of them is added to
instead of diminished. I consider Mrs. Metcalfs friendship no small
acquisition ; the rectitude of her principles and ingenuousness of her
manners and conversation render her very dear to all her friends.
She promised to call on you whenever she visited Boston, and I dare
say you will see her soon. 1 am afraid you have found my shoes a
troublesome commission ; if they are done, you will let my sister Mary
have them, and I think it probable she will be aide to send them to me
before the spring.

Remember me to all friends in your circle. I hope that Mrs. Forbes
is not too much depressed by the absence of her husband, to enjoy some-
thing from society. I should delight to spend an evening with you all
at your house or your sister's. 1 beg yon again to write soon and tell
me all about everybody. I have not seen the poems you mention in
your letter, except a review of the " Giaour," which had a i'vw extracts
that pleased me. Mr. Howe is reading "Tacitus" to me; his ••Annals
and History" (which only comprise a part of the first century after
the Christian Era) are elegantly written, but afford a most melancholy
view of moral corruption, which seems the more mysterious as it was
a period remarkably enlightened by literature. You arc well acquainted

with the history of this age, and I do not believe you would derive
much pleasure from the perusal of " Tacitus."

The shades of night are coming on, and J can only offer my best
regards to Susan ; tell her 1 hope she will consider the increased hard-
ness of the times, and redouble her industry and economy. To you
and Mary 1 trust no such caution is necessary. I expect, when I next
see you, that you will have on an English gown, embroidered with
darns; for myself I shall have on the homespun which Eliza Robbins
prophesied. When tea,, coffee, and sugar are exhausted, I hope you
will drink milk or toast and water with dignity ; and as for me, what-
ever may happen to the quality of my food, I have decided not, to
diminish the quantity. Mr. Howe sends love, and would give a shilling
to see you any time, notwithstanding the embargo.
Yours ever,

S. L. Howe.

My little boy wants to get up in my lap, so I must say good-nig

bl.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Wortiiixgtox, February 28, 1814.
Dear Eliza, — Having deferred acknowledging yours of the 19th of
January so long, I have too many things to say to spare time for an
apology. I felt much gratified by the letter, and by your kind inquiries
about the society of this place. If there had been much to interest
you I should not have omitted so important a consideration in my
former letters, but the few with whom I am acquainted here would not
figure in description, even if I had better abilities to display their
characters. We have some kind friends here ; in particular one family
with whom Mr. Howe boarded during more than two years, and from
whom he experienced every attention which a brother could have
expected under the circumstances. Their kindness has been extended

to rue, and we enjoy a neighborly intercourse, which is (I hope)
mutually satisfactory and beneficial. Of our minister I cannot tell you
much, because I have no personal acquaintance with him ; of his
preaching I cannot say I think it as much " to the use of edifying "
as some I have formerly heard, by reason that the preacher docs not
write, hut depends on the present suggestions of his mind, or an indis-
tinct recollection of former thoughts ; and as his genius is by no means
of a vivid and brilliant class, his discourses are often extremely dull
and unsatisfactory. I believe he is, in general, liked very well by his
parish ; and, perhaps, is very useful among them, as their general < har-
acteristic is that of a sober-minded and religious people. They are, on
the whole, rather queer-looking; and, I suspect if you were to see such
a collection anywhere but in the house of God, your propensity for the
ridiculous would be amply gratified. There is no physician of any
eminence residing in this place, but one in a neighboring town about
four miles from this, who is highly respectable in his profession, and
is, besides, a man of considerable literature and science. He is a
friend of Mr. Howe's, and, of course, an occasional visitor here. And
I believe I have now mentioned all the resources of our immediate
vicinity, and you will judge that they are not such as to consume much
of our time.

The business of the office, my household cares, our children, and
our books have occupied us all winter, except two excursions from
home, — one to Albany, where Mr. Howe has a brother residing. Judge
Lyman, and Anne, and Nancy Sumner accompanied us, and we had a
very pleasant journey and visit, excepting the trifling inconveniences
which usually occur on such occasions. Some of the scenery between
here and Albany is very beautiful, — even clad in its wintry garb, —
particularly the view from the New Lebanon mountain ; which, I dare
say, Mary will recollect, as she passed the " same road when she jour-
neyed in these parts." We have likewise visited our friends at North-
ampton and Deerfield, and enjoyed ourselves very much with them.

We had, likewise, the pleasure to meet my brother James al North-
ampton, who has come to make us a visit, and it is probable will pass
some time among us. I think he will have the advantage of applying
himself more to books here than he has had for years, and that he
may make his visit useful to himself as well as agreeable to us. 1 am
calculating upon the pleasure of seeing some of my eastern friends here
in the course of "the summer. I need not say how glad I should be if
you could he one ; it is not probable that I shall visit Brush Hill and
its vicinity before the autumn. Nancy Sumner left me a fortnight
since, and was summoned home hastily on account of sickness in her
father's family. I now have my sister's two young daughters staying
with me, — Mary and Jane Lyman ; and I have been entertained ever
since I began to write, with their hearing each other and my Susan spell,
— a thing not quite as inspiring as the visits of the Muses, — so I cannot
be expected to be very interesting. Indeed, I do not find I have improved
my advantages for writing much by my change of situation, and I am
seriously afraid that my matronly cares will be fatal to the progression
of the " Salmagundi," especially as my husband does nothing to assist,
mc in it. We have been endeavoring to preserve our poetical taste by
the perusal of Virgil, and procured the " Giaour " at Albany, with which
I am much pleased. This story is exceedingly obscure, but the poetry
extremely feeling and beautiful.

You make some inquiries about that is to be ; I have no personal

acquaintance with her. Mr. Howe knows her a little, and thinks her
quite interesting. From all I can learn, her moral advantages have
been very small, — having been several years without a mother, and
under the guidance of an unprincipled father ; and, I believe, she is
not endowed with a very exquisite sense of feeling. So I think it very
probable she may find the situation and society in which she will lie
placed a remuneration for the character of her husband ; and, after all,
he may, as you say, conclude to try a decent life, and find it, on the
whole, the most comfortable. I am much shocked and surprised with

Mrs. 's marriage : and, I dare say, the town of Boston was quite in

a wonderment ; but these things affect me about as much as they did the
jackdaw on the top of the steeple. The interest and happiness of my
dear-loved distant friends is ever near my heart, and it will afford me
the sincerest pleasure to hear of you and yours, and your pursuits, as
often as you can spare time to write ; and you must not measure the
length or number of your epistles by mine. You have got all your
letters to me but two or three ; and, as they are my property, you ought
to pay interest while they are in your possession. My love to Mary
and Susan (I will say more to them when I have more time and room) ;
likewise to any of the rest of your friends who remember me. Have
you ever heard of my shoes ? And have you seen the " Bride of
Abydos " '( Other inquiries I leave to a future letter, and tell you, for
the fiftieth time, that I am

Your affectionate friend,

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

WoilTHINGTOIf, April L'l. 1814.

Mr. Howe has purchased the house in which we reside : it is a pleas-
ant situation, and ample in its dimensions, though not of the newest
fashion. However, wdien it is fitted up a little, it will be quite as
fashionable as its inhabitants; and, with a few alterations, it will be
convenient for domestic purposes, — the most essential point in a dwell-
ing. I have a back-parlor, with a painted floor and a whitewashed
wall, which is to be furnished exactly in the P'eabody style, and in
which I expect soon to lie domesticated for the summer. Mr. Howe is
much engaged in setting out fruit-trees, ami some other concerns of
that description; and we hope in time to have fruit and flowers to re-
gale our friends with. But these hills are very windy, and it is aol so

hopeful an attempt here as with you. I want you to be particular
about your health : when you write let me know if you expect to go
into the country this summer, and every thing else aboul yourself ami
friends : for, I assure you, I do not hear half as much about you as I
want to.

We have been reading Southey's " Life of Nelson," which I think
quite an interesting biography ; although he was a great man, and a
man of an amiable temper, I cannot help thinking him considerably
deficient in moral principle, ami had rather he would have died implor-
ing pardon for his defects, than thanking God he had done his duty ;
( it is humbling to us, poor mortals, that even the heroes of our race are
tarnished with great faults). The British nation, indeed the civilized
world, owe much to his exertions in having checked the power of the
tyrant ; and it would be ingratitude for any individual to deny him the
fame he so ardently desired and so well deserved. His memory will
live while Great Britain is a nation ; but the crown of glory, " which
fadeth not," may he reserved for humbler individuals. 1 have read
Mrs. Grant's " Sketches on Intellectual Education," which, I think, has
many good, though not many new, things in it ; and is calculated to
be of use to those who have not much time or opportunity to refer to
books of that kind, or much ability to make reflections or draw con-
clusions for themselves ; and she does not aim at any thing more
elevated. We are now engaged in Lee's " Memoirs of the War in the
Southern Department," but have not read enough to form an opinion,
and I have not room now to give it if I had.

You must remember me affectionately to the girls, and likewise to
Eliza and the Misses Magee, when you see them again ; and if you
should see my sister Eliza, tell her she must write soon, as I really
long for one of her letters, and should tell her so myself if the claims
of other correspondents did not forbid my ever writing two letters for
one. Mr. Howe joins in love, and hopes with me to have the pleasure
of giving you a welcome to our home whenever your arc able to come ;

willing I know you arc, but space cannot lie annihilated to please even
you and me, or I should be talking with you instead of writing. Good
night.

Yours,

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe to Miss ( 'abot.

Worthington, October 28, 1814.

My dear Eliza, —

My visit to you all was so short that it seems little more than a
dream. I forgot some of my business with you, which was to procure
your letters to me again, and to see your new piece for the " Salma-
gundi ; " if you will do them up carefully, and have them deposited at
Miss Bent's, it is probable I shall lie able to send there for them sunn.
Mr. Howe regretted it was nut in his power to call on you again as he
had intended.

Anne has been here once since our return ; she has been necessarily
disappointed of her visit to Boston this autumn, but calculates on
going in the winter.

I have procured " Patronage," but have not yet had leisure to read
it; when 1 have I will let you know my opinion of it. We have had
Madame D'Arblay's new work, " The Wanderer ; " and I must ac-
knowledge I should hardly have expected any thing so tedious and
indifferent from the author of" Cecilia." Indeed, I do not believe any
one would have taxed her with it if she had not published it as hers.
1 hear Lord Byron has produced another poem, but have not seen it;
and the nursery and the kitchen have excluded the thought of poetry
of late, if they have not destroyed the relish for it You must not
think I mean to complain of my cares ; I only wish to account for my
long silence and seeming neglect. I have had, and still have, great
reason to be thankful for my restored health and strength, and that
my child has so good a constitution and so pleasant a temper. I have

strength and spirits to meet most of the demands made by my duty,
and my failures arc owing to those errors in judgment which are so
apt to await us, and to an occasional inertness which creeps over me
unawares. A heavy storm has stripped all our foliage, and destroyed
the last relic of summer, and I begin to leave off looking out of doors
when I can help it, — you know I always disliked the latter part of
autumn more than any season ; and yet it has its peculiar comforts,
when the harvest is gathered, and everybody that has any industry
has hoarded something for winter's supply. The changes of season
are much more felt in the country than in cities, particularly by those
who earn their bread by husbandry. I think you would like to enter
some of the farmer's dwellings in this town at this season ; a large,
low kitchen, surrounded by dried apples and pumpkins, and the labors
of the wheel and the loom, would afford you a novel and not an un-
interesting scene.

When I first came home, I suffered some anxiety relative to the
apprehended attack on Boston; but I think the danger is over, — at
least for this season. I wish very much to hear from you, and I hope
you will write very soon, and I will try not to be so long again without
writing, — as I shall have more leisure when our workmen have com-
pleted their jobs, and I have arranged things for the winter. 1 have
not given up the hope of seeing you here ; try to come in the spring, if
it be possible. Remember me to the girls ; I have no time now to
answer their additions to your letter, but I shall always be glad to
hear from them, and will write when I can. Mr. Howe desires to be
remembered to you, and would add a line if he were not at least as
busy as I am ; his office of shepherd has made large demands on his
time of late. Do write soon and tell all the news, and I will do my
best to prove how much I am

Your affectionate

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, January 1, 1815.

My dear Eliza, — I did not write last evening as usual on the last
night of the year, because I was not very well, and found it necessary
to bathe my feet and retire early; but am to-day quite restored. As it
is so unusual for me to be sick, I felt a little apprehension, but I now
believe it was only a cold. In general, my health lias been as good
since I saw you, as it ever was. I have much to be thankful for, in the
restored health of my little ones ; the baby never suffered severely with
the cough, nor did Susan ; Tracy had it very violently, and (though
recovering) still coughs considerably. Catherine stayed with me to
help mo through it, which was a great comfort. I should have been
glad to have had her through the winter, but felt that, at her time of
life, it was necessary she should devote herself to the cultivation of her
intellect, rather than to the offices of the nursery. She is now attend-
ing a school at Northampton; though a creature of no pretence at all,
and not in the least calculated for display, she has all the rudiments of
a solid, useful character, — perfect integrity, a discerning mind, and a
feeling heart. I am led to make these remarks of her, because I have
lately seen her talents called forth in a way 1 never did before.

I had some expectation of seeing Eliza here this winter a short time
ago, but have since heard she had changed her place of residence and
was now in your street. I hope she will find time to visit you more
than she has done in the year past. I do not know when she will come
to see me ; and, though I estimate a sister to be a great acquisition in
my family, I do "not urge it because I am afraid her spirits would sink
entirely under our uniform and retired mode of living. I have not left
home since September, and scarcely left the house during the last six
weeks : but the necessity of active industry preserves my usual dieer-
fulness. The care of children occupies time in a way that produces the
least apparent effect of any employment I ever engaged in; and when

I have been as busy as possible a whole week, I cannot at the end of
it perceive any fruit of my labors. And even upon reviewing, I can
perceive but little progress in the minds of those I had a year ago.
My baby indeed seems to have a little more mind than he had at first ;
he can laugh and play a little, and distinguish the family from stran-
gers. He is the best blessing of the last year — as little trouble and as
much comfort as a baby can be.

The present situation of the country has deprived Mr. Howe of law-
business almost entirely, so that he is compelled to turn his attention
to other things ; and his sheep are no longer an amusement but a seri-
ous occupation, as he has taken them under his more immediate care.
It may be a very romantic thing to live upon these mountains with a
shepherd-swain, but as all our fleeces are not golden, your "hints on
economy" might be of use to us, if we did not understand the subject
at least as well as you can be supposed to. I can assure you that my
children are now warmly clad in the fleeces our sheep wore last winter;
and, though a homespun frock on the baby scandalized his Aunt Cath-
erine, he wears one every day and finds no fault with it.

Because three children were not quite a sufficient responsibility, I
have taken a little girl to bring up for a servant. This is a measure
which I have been driven to by the extreme difficulty of procuring even
necessary assistance here, and I hope I shall be enabled by some means
to discharge a duty which seemed to be forced on me.

You speak of the shortness of my visit. I assure you, whenever I
have any leisure for scheming, I employ it contriving plans to make a
longer one this year; and I do not despair of effecting it, though it is
not quite clear how I can in conscience say to my cares and duties,
'■ tarry thou here," and I am sure it would be very burdensome to
transport them all with me. Anne has been twice to see me since I
have been there, and is now at Hartford with her husband, who is a
member of the convention there ; when she will go to Boston I do not
know, but I hope this winter.

I have read " Patronage," and think it quite an interesting thing,
and highly calculated to inculcate the independence and exertion she
recommends. I have read no other new thing of late, except the "Life
of Bishop Porteus," which is a short account of one of the best and
most useful of men, and as such has a claim upon the attention of all
who meet with it. The end of my paper warns me to conclude, which
I cannot do without a happy new year to you all — wishing and hoping
it may afford you an opportunity to visit us, as well as every other
comfort you may desire. You do not tell me you are sick, so I hope
you are at least as well as when I saw you.

Mr. Howe joins in love, with

Your affectionate

S. L. Howe.

Did Manlius Sargeant write " Lara" ?

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, March 12, 1815.

My pear Eliza, — I have at length rallied my dormant powers
sufficiently to thank you for your " Peace " letter, and endeavor to
give you some account of myself. We sincerely and cordially joined
in the general rejoicing, and regretted we could not be with our friends
in Boston at the time. Your last letter was a peculiar cordial, because
it arrived in my husband's absence, and seemed to come on purpose to
cheer a solitary hour.

Anne tells me you think it probable you may visit us in the course
of the summer. I sincerely hope you will. I could take so much com-
fort with you here, and can have so short a time to see you when I go
■to the eastward, that one good visit (by which I mean long) would be
worth all I shall ever be able to make you.

The care of a family such as mine is a thing which cannot be laid
aside often or long, — indeed, almost the whole of my time is occupied

in keeping' my human machines in motion. (If you were here, I could
have several half hours to pass with you every day.) Bui as none of
them arc as good as the clock, which goes a week without winding, my
absence produces a suspension of motion in some, and such wayward-
ness in others, as almost to balance all the pleasure I can enjoy in
visiting my friends. I have however been several times at Northamp-
ton, and once to Belchertown and Deerfield this winter. My husband
is now absent, attending the Common Pleas at Northampton ; he is
absent six weeks every spring necessarily, and I am much in want of a
companion at this time. ........

I see by the papers that your brothers have formed a new connection
in business, and one of them is to reside in Philadelphia, which I sup-
pose will be Joseph. You see that I do not neglect even the adver-
tisements in the paper; and I assure you it is much more interesting to
me than it used to be, when I could hear as much as I wished of my
acquaintance from other sources.

I have not read or worked much this winter, because my baby has
consumed my time sadly, and I have no other fruit of my labor than
his growth and improvement. He is large, and begins to step, and
discovers sufficient powers of mind to converse, as he is not an idiot.
He is not a troublesome child, and as yet has discovered very little
" natural depravity ; " our other children arc healthy, and we enjoy
our usual measure of earthly comforts; indeed, they are increased
since I last wrote, because my husband has been in better spirits ever
since the Peace. The ground is now completely covered with snow,
but I know it cannot last long, and I delight in the return of spring
more than ever, because I hope and believe I shall see several of my
friends here during the warm season. Anne and I expect Mary
Pickard to make us each a visit. I wish you could contrive some plan
of coming together. I think it would be a mutual pleasure. Mary is
a very lovely, interesting girl, and her solitary situation in being with-
out a mother or sister seems to give her more than common claims on

the affection of her friends. There seems to be a great deal of ordain-
ing, marrying, &c, going on in your quarter, besides a new machine
invented for teaching grammar : the improvements of society are
really wonderful! If you should hear of any new machine for regu-
lating the habits and tempers of children, winch will save the old
expedient of shutting up, scolding, &c, I beg you to procure the patent-
right for me, as I would willingly save myself the trouble of doing it.
I have taken a little girl who requires a daily lecture at a great
expense of my valuable breath, besides my three little ones that I
must try to lead in the narrow way. My best love to all your sisters,
and let me hear soon that you have got rid of that rheumatism in
your head. I suppose you have heard how ill our poor Edward has
been, and at a distance from his friends, too. My husband would join
me in love if he was here, but he always remembers you. Farewell.

8. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, November 9, 1815.

My dear Eliza, — I think you will expect to hear from me by Mary
Pickard, and I feel particularly desirous that you should, as we had so
little opportunity of seeing each other during my late visit at the east-
ward. ... Mr. Howe stayed but five days, and we found it so scanty a
portion of time to see our friends in Milton, Dedham, and Boston, that
it was out of the question for us to go to Brighton. But I am perfectly
sensible I ought to make no complaint, for 1 was absent from my home
nearly five weeks, and spent my time in a manner which was peculiarly
gratifying to me ; and I have the satisfaction of thinking I gave some
pleasure to my friends, particularly to my father, who really seemed to
enjoy my visit as highly as I did myself. \Te had a very delightful
journey home, — the weather was uncommonly fine for the season, and
we had the happiness to re-unite our family in perfect health and
safety. We have added to it for the winter Eleanor Walker, one of my

Milton friends; you will probably recollect having seen her a< our
house. She is quite a handsome girl, and has besides greal modesty

united with very good sense ; her manners are agreeable, and her do-
mestic qualities highly valuable to me in my unfortunate situation
about help. I get on quite tolerably now in this respect, by a course
of exertion which my habits ami health prevent me from considering
hardship, though I am conscious it would seem such to many of my
friends. I have bad Mary Pickard for about ten days, and would gladly
have detained her longer ; but the season was so advanced, she thought
it necessary to put herself in the way of an opportunity home. I need
not tell how glad I was to have her here, because you can form a cor-
rect estimate of the pleasure it afforded me. She will tell you all about
us, if you have any curiosity left which can lie satisfied short of coming
to see us. I have fixed on next summer as the longest period to which
I can defer your visit ; and recommend to you to make up your mind
on the subject, and I have no doubt means can be devised for your
transportation. When the time comes, we will form a plan to meet you
half way, or something of the kind, as shall then appear expedient. I
speak in season, that you may not take lodgings anywhere for the
summer.

We got " Discipline" in Boston, and read it on our journey. I was
very well pleased with it ; and since I came home we have read " Guy
Manncring," which I was considerably interested in. I think it has a
good deal of the fanciful description which characterizes the " Lady of
the Lake." The poetical genius of Scott seems to have worn itself out
by too frequent use. I hope he won't write any more very soon ; I
think his Muse ought to be allowed to rest her weary limbs ami repair
her tattered robes, or she will soon be quite unfit to appear in polite
circles. But do not think I mean to glance at the character of Meg
Merrilies, which I think decidedly the most original one in the whole
work. But I don't like "Guy Manncring" as well as I do "Disci-
pline," because when you have finished the narrative you have done

with it ; no useful lesson is to be drawn from it, no good principle is
advocated. And the other I think is really a rational and sensible
hook; the author has not made religion intrusive at all, though it is
introduced in such a way as to have a decided influence over the char-
acter of the work. The conversion of the heroine has nothing miracu-
lous or enthusiastic in it, and is such a one as any denomination of
Christians might believe in. I think I have read few novels more
calculated for usefulness than " Discipline," and this certainly is the
first object when we consider how many there are who never read any
thing but novels. The end of my paper and the clamor of my bairnies
remind me that it is time to bid you good-hy.

Your affectionate

S. L. Howe.

I did not see Eliza's children. I hope "the gift of God" is as prom-
ising as the other.

31rs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthixgton, January 1, 1816.

My beloved Friend, — I feared I should have no letter from you to
answer at this my annual period of writing, until the last mail, when I
received one. I was truly rejoiced to hear from you once more, though
sorry you could not give me a better account of your health. Your
trials in this way have been long and severe ; God grant they may
be terminated shortly ! Your health within two or three years has
appeared so much better than it used to be, that I have had strong
hopes of an entire restoration for you. Be it so or otherwise, the trial
comes from Him who " does not willingly afflict," and we have only to
bow submissive.

The twenty-eighth year of my life has terminated ; a year crowned
with the goodness of Almighty God in rich abundance ; a year which
has robbed me of nothing valuable, and in which I have nothing to

regret, save that it has not produced a greater accession of moral and
intellectual worth. I hope another one— if God give me another —
will witness greater improvement, even if it be marked by greater trial.
I am perfectly sensible that this is partly in my own power, and that
the effort must correspond with the wish ; but I know my own weak-
ness too well to feel confident it will be made. I hope that I shall be
better, but scarcely dare to hope I shall be happier ; because I know I
have my full proportion of this world's comforts already in possession.

My husband has left me this day to attend a court in Berkshire ; he
is well and good. My children are as promising as most of their age,
though there is nothing prodigious about them. My baby begins to
talk, though on the whole rather backward about the matter ; he has
never said "Mama " till the last week, and I assure you it is a most
pleasant sound to my ears. I should be most happy to introduce you
to my flock, though I presume their noise would affect your ears a
good deal, if not your nerves.

I am going to Northampton to-morrow, and expect to bring home
Mary with me ; she has not yet been here, though I depend on her
passing this month with me. You ask me how I like " Waverley."
Very well ; I think it is a very interesting novel. I do not know where
I got the impression that this and "Guy Mannering" were written by
Scott — whether it was from report, or from their treating on his sub-
jects. Do you mean, when you say they wrere written by Erskine, tliat it
was Thomas Erskine, who was Lord Chancellor, or some other of the
name ? But whoever it was, I see another novel advertised by the
same author, which I should like your opinion of when you have read
it; for I really have no right to read a book that is not recommended,
because I so seldom read any thing in these days, when hands and eyes
(and I had almost said ears) find active employment. But I will not
rob the beasts of their rights : my ears have not yet learned to move,
though they quicken my fingers and my feet very often. If you could
see the " garments I have made " since I came home, you would ac-

knowledge I was another Dorcas. But I will not boast; I only offer
this as an excuse that my literary intelligence is so very small as to
afford scarce a single new idea. Mr. Howe lias indeed read a good
deal to me out of Mather's " Magnalia," from which I have learned a
new word expressive of an uncommon appetite. I mention it because
I know it will be very gratifying to Sally and Susan, — " pamphagous."
Happy New Year to all your family circle. May its cheerfulness
continue though its numbers diminish : and may the prosperity and
success of its absent members in some measure atone for the privation
of their society.

Your truly affectionate

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe to Mis* Cabot.

Worthington, April 3, 1816.

My dear Friend, —

Of myself I have but little to inform you. I am now more than ever
a domestic animal. 1 have not left my own fireside for several months,
except now and then for a short ride while the sleighing continued.
However, it has had many comforts for which I am truly grateful; my
own health lias been very comfortable, considering my circumstances,
and our family enlivened for a considerable part of the winter by the
society of my dear sister Mary. She lias now left us for a visit of a
few weeks in the city of New York.

My employments of late have been needle-work and a little reading.
Mr. Howe has read some history to us this winter, and we have had
several new poems. We were most pleased with " Roderic the Goth:"
1 very much prefer it to any former poem of Southey's, and think it
more calculated to lie generally interesting. Indeed, I doubt if the
present age has produced any poem as likely to procure lasting fame
to its author; though I am rather adventurous in this conclusion, as I
have not heard if it is well or ill received by those who are connois-

seurs in poetry. I only know that I have seldom read a poem of that
length which preserved the interest so well. The "Queen's Wake" is
an interesting thing to me, because I love the Scotch poetry from habit
as well as from its own merit, it having been a favorite amusement of
my youth ; and though I do not think the Scotch shepherd has the
whole mantle of Burns, I think lie has caught a fragment of it to
clothe his " Witch of Fife " in, and the whole production may be con-
sidered as having a good portion of variety, ingenuity, and taste, espe-
cially when we consider it as the production of an unlettered man.
" Fair " is rather a humorous production, bordering on the ridic-
ulous in my estimation ; though I cannot say I read the whole of it
as I might, if I had been with Sally and Susan on the latter part of a
stormy evening. I think the lengthened nose of the " bonny Charlie
Melville's " mistress would be a good subject for Susan's pencil. But
I dare say you have had enough of my literary speculation, and I am
almost tired with writing. I must just tell you that our little boy
grows a great talker, and exhibits great signs of "natural depravity."

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Howe lo Miss Cabot.

Worthixgtox, November 29, 1816.

I never have an opportunity to write in the day time, without the
interruption of the children ; and I do not like to break up our little
circle in the evening with getting out the desk, as that is the time my
husband appropriates to me.

We have been engaged lately in reading travels in various countries.
We have read Simonde's " Travels in England," and Eustace's " Tour
in Italy;" and are now engaged in Ali Bey's "Travels in Africa, in-
cluding a Pilgrimage to Mecca." It is more novel in point of fact
though in other respects inferior to the others. I dare say you have
read both Simonde and Eustace, as they have been published some
13

months. The former I think remarkably interesting ; the latter is a
very literary and somewhat pedantic work, but lias claims to the atten-
tion of reading people as an entertaining and instructive book.

I received your letter after I got home, and was very glad of it,
although it was not very new. I had not an opportunity to tell yon
how glad I was to see you look so much better than 1 expected ; and
although we had not time for much communication, yet 1 have more
happy impressions of your state and condition than if I had noi ^-cn
you. Catherine says that you "make a very good appearance in a
turban," which is high approbation for her to express.

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. How,: t<> Miss Cabot.

WORTHINGTON, January 1, 1817.

I never had less news for you than I now have; for, though we have
had charming weather for a month past, the want of sleighing has pre-
vented my stirring from the fireside farther than to the kitchen or bed-
room, where I have gained no intelligence worthy of communication.

I believe I informed you in my last that we had been travelling in
various countries, and we pursued our course through Africa, Persia,
and Abyssinia: since which, Mr. Howe has been engaged in Erskine's
" Speeches." He is very much interested in them, and so are we in
all those that are on subjects any way connected with our knowledge
or experience.

I am reading "Virgil" aloud to the girls for afternoon recreation.
Perhaps it would be well to inform you that Emma Forbes is one of
my girls now, as I think she had not arrived when I last wrote ; she
has a great fund of cheerfulness and vivacity, and adds much to the
pleasure of our domestic circle.

I feel a sort of dread of reviewing the past year, lest the memory of
what I have lost should make me ungrateful for what I possess ; and
yet avoiding to mention the death of my child does not. exclude the

thought: it mingles itself with almost every other. I hope I have
made a right improvement of it; at least it has chastened human hopes
and brought another and a better world nearer to me than any former
event of my life. ..........

January 16. You will observe by the former date of this, that it
was commenced some time ago. I was interrupted at this stage of the
business, and, though 1 have thought of it frequently since, the con-
venient season for finishing it has not arrived until now. Indeed. 1
have become so much a stranger to the use of my pen, that 1 wonder
1 make out to write at all. I received your welcome letter the night
before last, and hasten to thank you for it, and to express the pleasure
1 feel that you are well enough to go abroad this winter; as I feared
from not hearing, that you were quite sick. I have been at Northamp-
ton lor a short visit, and found my sister's family recovered after a series
of sicknesses which lasted nearly two months, and they are now pre-
paring for a visit at Milton and Boston; so that I dare say you will see
her soon. Mary has been in Boston but little since she went from here
in the summer : she goes to stay, and 1 have no doubt she will call and
see you. As to E., she goes by momentary impulses, not clock-work;
you will see her when the spirit moves that way. I have finished
'• Virgil," and am now engaged in Bisset's " Life of Burke ; " there is

a g I deal of repetition in it, but some things quite interesting, and

as it is nothing new I dare say you have read it long since.

As to my little boy, he improves in knowledge daily ; I do not know
that he does in conduct, my faculty not being very great, and his tem-
per rather turbulent ; but 1 hope he may become a good man. It is
difficult to determine what his character may be ; I hope we shall be
careful to " plant and water." and wait the increase in patience and
hope. Remember me affectionately to all the family. Mr. EL joins in
regard with your friend,

S. L. Howe.

ll>0

Mrs. Howe to Miss Cabot.

Worthington, January 1. 1818.

Negligent as I am about writing, I will not give up greeting you on
the new year, and bidding farewell to the one that is past. I can
truly say to my Heavenly Father, "Thou crownest the year with
Thy goodness" to Thy unworthy servant. 1 have now lived thirty
years in the possession of a thousand undeserved blessings, which it is
the study of my whole life to enjoy with moderation, and to resign
with submission. 1 believe I have made some progress, though it
is less than 1 desire.

1 have my dear little daughter more than 1 had last year. She is

very well and very g I, and has now learned to sit on the floor and

play with keys, &c, a few minutes at a time. 1 hope that her life will
be spared as a blessing to her family, and a comfort to the old age of
her parents. My family are all in health.

January 7. I had written so much, and was obliged to relinquish
the pen by some indispensable call, and went the next day to Deerfield,
on a very interesting occasion. The church in this town being strictly
Calvinistic in its profession, we have never united ourselves with it,
but sought admission to the sacred table at a distance from home, and
were received. We passed last Sunday there, and had our infant
baptized. I believe it to be the duty of every Christian parent to dedi-
cate their little ones to their Maker; and it was a very pleasing and
interesting one to us. Our journey was more fatiguing than if we
could have gone in a sleigh, but the weather was comfortable, and we
have no reason to regret it. We found our friends there and at North-
ampton well and happy. Catherine is still at X., but will come here
soon.

I am looking in the newspaper every time it comes, to see S.'s mar-
riage. I know if will be a trial of feeling to you all, though much less
so than if she were to remove from you. As it is. you will see and

101

hear from her daily; and a new establishment with which you are
connected will afford you new objects of interest. She will be placed
in a situation where many will take a strong interest in her fur the
sake nf their minister, and will depend much on her example. 1
pi- God she may have added strength and energy, with additional
responsibility; and that she may be enabled to fulfil all the duties of
her new situation in such a manner as to make her happy here and
hereafter ; ami I have no doubt she will. Remcmhcr me to her must
affectionately, and likewise to all your family. My engagements and
employments are much what they have been in years past. J take care
of my children and sew, and Mi-. Howe reads to me in the evening.
We have lately been reading the article France, in the " Encyclope'die"
and the periodical publications of the day, of which we see four or five
of the most distinguished. You will never know exactly how we gel
on till you come among us, and I hope you will not defer it longer
than the spring.

Mrs. Huwe to Miss C<tl><>t.

Worthington, April 20, 1818.
Another spring has found us and ours in unusual health ; my hus-
band has never been as well at this season since I have known him,
although he has passed a winter of hard study and regular application
to business, with scarce any remission. As to myself, I go on in the
old way ; to nurse and tend Mary takes much of my time, and she re-
pays my labor with progressive intelligence. The others keep their
course, sometimes rejoicing, and sometimes mourning; at any rate,
" clamorous, whether pleased or pained," — so that we have no still
life here, though the mud has been too deep for many weeks for us
to go abroad or have company. Catherine has been with me for ten
weeks, but has gone now. I feel her loss a good deal ; she read to me while
she was here, — some in books I had read before, and some new ones.

102

Miss Hamilton's " Popular Essays " — a book I enjoyed much, although
there is some repetition in it — has sterling merit, and, like the spell-
ing-books, •■ is adapted to the meanest capacities," although it treats of
the human heart and mind. We have lately been reading Paley's
" Moral Philosophy," and I am much satisfied with it as a clear and
enlightened view of human duty drawn from the principles of re-
ligion and reason. I am daily expecting to get " Rob Roy," with some
interest, as the former productions of this author have excited more of
the pleasure I used to have in fictitious works than any other 1 have
read these ten years, — not even .Miss Edgeworth's excepted, — which
may he a want, of judgment in me, but surely not a want of taste. I
should really like to tell you some news, hut, alas! I must draw on
my imagination if 1 did. I know of no event of moment since I last
wrote, except that I have worked a hearth-rug. and we have killed a
remarkable large ox, — big enough to put in the newspaper if we had
felt inclined.

Our local topics, being altogether of the rural and domestic cast, make
no figure al all on paper.

1 hope your brothers have arrived ere this, and that you will lie able
to accomplish your intended journey, and stop here and stay with me
a long time. You shall have a pleasant, cool chamber, with an orchard
to look out into, where you can read and write and think when you
want to, and us to talk to and hear, when that seemeth good to you ;
and. moreover, you can walk and ride out some, and withal have the
glorious privilege (that we are all so fond of) of doing as you please.
These are all the inducements I have to offer, save that cordial and
affectionate welcome you can never doubt from me in any situation.
My love to Susan ; tell her the pure air of our hills would do her good,
ami 1 should much like a visit from Iter.

Anne Lyman has gone to Brush Hill. I hope you will see Iter, hut
think it doubtful, if you are in the country ; for she went in the stage,
and has no independent conveyance from place to place. If you could

10:3

ride over ami see them, they would all be very glad to see you. You
must write me again as soon as you have leisure, and tell me how you
are, and how Susan is, and what you do Tor a minister. The loss of
Mr. Thacher must be great ; he was " weaned from earth " by a course
of suffering, and, I have no doubt, experiences the joys of a purified
spirit. Reasoning upon death in a Christian manner, and experiencing
it so frequently among our immediate acquaintance, brings it home so
familiarly as to diminish the natural dread of it very much, — at least,
this is its effect on me. It seems as if every acquaintance who passed
before me smoothed "the path to immortality," and rendered con-
tinuance here less desirable ; and yet I have a great deal to love ami
to live for here, and many that I could not relinquish with that filial
submission which we should all have to the decrees of our Eeavenly
Parent, — which is a principle highly capable of cultivation, if we
keej) the providence of Almighty God constantly in view, and remem-
ber that in the heavenly heritage "there is no more pain, neither
sorrow nor crying."

Our family are all well, Mr. Howe uncommonly so ; and we have a
great deal to lie thankful for, in the way of domestic comfort and
accommodation. More money might add to elegance and the pleasures
of taste, but I do not know that it would much to convenience and real
enjoyment. I have always felt rather inclined to complain of the cold-
ness and backwardness of this climate, but the present season is
unusually luxuriant. I have roses and strawberries in abundance. I
wish you were here to have some of them ; but the bounty of Nature is
diffused everywhere, and you are in the midst of it, and in the way of
your duty likewise.

Remember me to your family, and believe me ever yours most

affectionately,

S. L. Howe.

CHAPTER VIII.

MY mother's letters to my cousin, Emma Forbes, and to my
cousin, Abby Lyman, form the only consecutive account I
have of her life in Northampton, from the year 181.3 to the year 1840.
In the course of this period, my cousin Abby married Mr. William
Greene, of Cincinnati, — a relative of General Greene of Revolution-
ary fame, and a gentleman for whom my mother had a high esteem.

How little did they dream that any of their letters would be pre-
served beyond the immediate hour! And yet these careless, unstudied
missives possess a value for descendants which they could not have for
a wider public. To both these young persons she always wrote rather
in the tone of a Mentor; and it is amusing to hear her, long before
she reached the age of thirty, speaking of "My old heart;"' or. " My
old age."' But, perhaps, the fact of taking the position of wife to a
man of my father's age and character, and of guide to so many young
persons, while still young herself, gave her that constant feeling of care
ami responsibility that makes one feel old in some ways.

The two events of her life which gave special cause for gratitude,
during the years in which these letters were written, were the birth of
her daughter, Anne Jean, in July, 1815, and of her second son, Ed-
ward Hutchinson Robbins, February, 1819. Anne Jean was baptized
with her mother's name ; but as she grew up she preferred to spell her
name Annie, and all her family and friends in addressing her dropped
the Jean, except her mother, to whom the whole name was dear from
association; and who had. through life, the habit of lengthening,
rather than shortening, names. Edward was baptized with the name
of his maternal grandfather.

105

Mr*. Lyman to Mix* Forbes.

December 7 [1815].

My dear Emma, — Although I know one of my letters resembles one
of Mr. Williams's sermons in point of interest and ingenuity, and they
are, of course, very tedious to the person who receives them, still, I, like
him, continue to write for pay ; that is, that I may earn an answer,
for I have done with the hope of communicating pleasure. But I know
that young people like yourself have a great many resources, which
come to them in the shape of various excitements. Indeed, youth is of
itself a pleasure ; and I know that but a small part of yours can depend
on receiving letters; and that makes one of the greatest differences
bet ween you and me. For almost all the happiness I derive from
society is through the medium of letters from my friends, both as they
serve for an unequivocal testimony of their continued regard, and as a
relation of those facts which constitute their happiness or misery
awakens in my mind sentiments of sympathy which rekindles and
renews that affection for them which time is apt to deaden, unless
occasionally excited by that kind of communion. And nothing is so
acceptable and heart-satisfying to a feeling mind as the affections of
others ; to me it is the richest enjoyment. But is it not strange that
we do so little to procure it ! Did not Nekcyah give too true an ac-
count of domestic life, when she represented the family compact as
broken by mutual jealousies and consequent strife, — such as annihilate
the better affections of the human heart? The great difficulty, 1
believe, is that, though we want the affections of our natural friends,
we are not willing to pay the price equivalent to the attainment of
them: we are not patient with their infirmities, nor self-denying in
accommodation to their convenience ; and whilst we allow selfishness
to prevail over every disinterested sentiment, we must ahide by the
consequences.

I suppose Catherine has given you an account of all the bustle and

106

confusion we have lived in till within the last fortnight, which has

been spent in a monotonous calm. C went to Springfield with

Dwight; I believe she enjoyed it, but 1 don't know, not having heard
her say much about it. She is quite engaged about learning French ;
she reads with Mary and Jane several chapters every day, and, I think,
will get quite an insight into the grammar shortly ; and then you and
she will be able to read together occasionally.

I wish, when you write to me again, you would tell me a little about

your neighbor, Mrs. . I have a notion she'squeer : though I have

always heard she was an accomplished lady. And I wish to know how
you like your minister, how they do at Inches Hall, <fcc. By-the-way,

have you heard how much mischief has been making by

troubling herself to run down that little trifling , and giving rne as

an authority to confirm all she chose to say ? I shall deny every
charge ; for I should never think of spending time to scandalize or
make any remarks, except in a very casual way, of such a light piece

as she is. Mrs. has got to investigate whether the things

said came from me ; but he says but little about it, for he knows it

ain't best, all things considered, and only calls hard names; so

that I think she lost as much as she gained by coming to X.

You don't know how delighted I was to see James, and how much I
was pleased with him; I hope I shall see him again before he goes,
and I think I shall. I hope he will be able to settle in this country
before my eyes oecoine too far dimmed by age to behold him. Give
my love to your father and mother, and the children.

Yours, with sincere affection,

Anne Jean Lyman.

107

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

August 17 [1815 or 1816].

My dear Emma, — I was sitting at the writing-desk at seven o'clock
this morning, with all my writing materials about me, though for a very
different purpose than writing to you, when 1 received your Letter by
Dr. Channing. So I thought I would continue my employment, and
make one of my unprofitable communications to you in answer to your
very interesting one. I was sorry to find that Dr. Channing had altered
his first determination of spending a day in Northampton, and con-
cluded to go on as far as Pittsfield ; for it would have given me great
pleasure to have had them to spend the day with me, and to have done
all the walking about which Mrs. Channing's health would have ad-
mitted of. They arrived here in the last evening, and of course I did
not hear of it until this morning, or should have called ; but Mr. Ly-
man saw Dr. C.

I conclude Boston is full by this time, for there has been an incessant
driving of loaded carriages through the town towards Boston ever since
I returned, and all the taverns are so uncomfortably full that I have
had thoughts of putting up a sign myself. But I should not like to
accommodate any except such agreeable people as Dr. Channing and
his wife.

Since my return, I have had two very agreeable tours to Springfield
and Deerfield, and had a very agreeable visit from a Mr. Bowie and
Dunbar.

If you can communicate any thing favorable in regard to Mr. ,

and by that means do away the unfavorable impression I now entertain
of him (which to be sure I have received from students), I wish you
would. I am glad to find you had so much to entertain and please you
at Brookline. " There's nothing like the feast of reason for entertain-
ment and seasoning to our enjoyment ; " and that I presume you had
in abundance. I beg you will give me an account of your Aunt J.'s

108

party. I am sure I don't know where they coulil put two hundred
people, unless it was out of doors ; for I should not think the two rooms
would hold more than a hundred comfortably of a warm evening. But
country people entertain very limited notions of crowding and jamming.

I suppose K. and you have been expecting to hear of the death of

, and don't know but 1 shall surprise K. by telling her that it lias

come out, now that she is on her death-bed, that she is engaged to ;

so you see singing and reading meetings are not entirely fruitless of
consequences. Everybody is marrying here. D. W. to Miss W.,

Mr. to somebody as insignificant as himself, and several others

equally uninteresting to you.

Do not be surprised at the want of sense and connection in this
letter, for the children have been making as much noise as three could
possibly; for I have little Sam in addition to my own. and 'tis washing
day, so I must bear it, for nobody else can have them. E. and S. are
now on a visit to Springfield and Westfield.

This day is the commencement of court-week, which brings with it
so much confusion and work that I do not again expect to take my pen.

Tell K. I have received my carpet and paper, and am much pleased
with her prompt attention to my business.

Yours with much love for all your family ; and excuse all the inac-
curacies of this hurried epistle.

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Eleanor Walker.

My dear Eleanor, — Sam and Jane spent an hour with your sisters
in Brookficld, and found them very well, happy, and handsome. I
hope, notwithstanding the felicity to be found in Worthington, that
you and Emma will come in and be here at the next ball, whether I
am here or not. I will make some provision for you to get in, as it is
an affair that our young gentlemen have very much at heart ; ami as

109

to my going to Boston, I do not allow myself to think much about it.
Mrs. Burt has very poor health, and has left me for a vacation : and I
do not see my way clear to do any thing but stay at home and take
care of my family. But if there should be any turn in my fortunes to
enable me to leave the children easily, I may go still. Mamma wrote
me begging that I would bring Joe, which I would do if it were not
that I hear the whooping-cough prevails, which I think a sufficient
objection. Anne Jean is well, except her ear, which continues to

trouble her.

Yours with much love,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Li/man to Miss Forbes, at Worthington.

January 22 [1817].
My dear Emma, — I should have written the last time the stage
went out, but thought then to have seen Worthington before this time ;
but have been disappointed. Indeed, if I were to follow the dictates of
my feelings, I should go in the stage to-day, but the want of Mrs. Burt
or her substitute, Loisa, must prevent, for I cannot feel confidence
enough in Sally to leave Anne Jean entirely to her care ; and now
Mary and Jane go to the singing-school, they do not get home till she
goes to bed at night. Besides which, I find that three men in a family
create some care, if not trouble, which makes my presence absolutely
necessary. I never felt so tied before. I cannot recollect that I have
made but two calls and one visit since you left me. I have watched
one night with Mrs. Snow, who is exceedingly low ; and I find watch-
ing agrees with me so well that I shall try it again in a night or two
if she should live to want it, — but I sincerely hope she will not, for
her bones have come through, which makes it very difficult to do any
thing for her. I know of nothing more humiliating to human pride
than to witness this total prostration of the corporeal faculties, which

110

the infirmities of our nature render us all equally liable to. Loisa has
been with her Aunt the last fortnight almost all the time, and appears
to be much affected by her situation.

You asked me in one of your letters about French. My only exer-
cise now is hearing Mary conjugate a verb every day, and assisting her
in translating a couple of pages in "Mother Goose.'* I spent one week
in working a breadth of ruffle which washed almost all to pieces as
soon as it was done ; which I regretted exceedingly, for it proved me a
fool for working on such poor muslin.

1 have not been able to send the shirts; it is difficult to get anybody
to take so large a bundle. But your letters went by a Boston man, and
the ruffles; but Aunty W.'s stocking I believe must wait till the shirts
go, which will be in a week, by Mr. T. Swan, who will be a very safe
person to send them by. I have not heard from below since .lane
came. I should be glad if you have any intelligence if you would com-
municate it. I am no nearer going to Boston than I was a month ago,
that I know of. I do not think Mr. Howe will find it safe to take any
of his projected journeys very soon, and I hope he and Sally will avail
themselves of every possible opportunity to come to N., together with
Eleanor and yourself. Tell E. that I should have sent for you both if
you had not refused to go to the ball, which is to-night; and Sam and
Dwight are greatly disappointed. The stage is at the door.
Yours with love to all.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

June 1, 1817.
My dear Emma, — We were very sorry that Eliza could not be per-
mitted to remain longer with us, as it was the first time she was
ever disposed to make us a visit. She came back from Worthington
wonderfully pleased with Northampton, and with us and our children ;
and went so far as to call Joseph a very good boy, and Annie the

Ill

loveliest child that ever was seen, and bestowed great encomiums on
Mary and Jane; and I think, if she had stayed, we should have suc-
ceeded in making her tolerably happy during the summer. Oh, Emma,
I wish you were here now! The country never looked more charming,
the verdure was never more perfect, and I could not help feeling a
desire that you, and, indeed, everybody else that sees this place at all,
should see it in its most beautiful state. But, after all, the beauties of
Milton Hill far outvie any thing the interior can boast; yet they are
both perfect of their kind.

The short visit I had from Mr. and Mrs. Inches and sisters did me
some good, though I could not help lamenting that it was so short ;
for it did not give me an opportunity of proving to them how glad I
was to see them. Owing to the painting inside the house and out, we
were not quite in our usual order; but we did not mind that, and, I
dare say, it did not annoy them. I am expecting Mr. and Mrs. Barnard
with the boys from Greenfield to-morrow ; they will go from here to
New York, and from there to Providence by water, and, I suppose,
will reach Boston about the tenth of this month.

M. D. has been spending some time with me, and is still here. B. C.
has recovered so that she rides out. Things in general here remain in
statu quo. Except Sunday reading, I have attended to nothing since
you left here but Miss Hamilton's " Popular Essays," and the last num-
ber of the "North American Review," — the latter of which I have
not taste to admire or to feel improved by. Miss Hamilton's last work
I do not see a fault in, neither as it regards religion, morality, or
perspicuity of style. I hope you will read it, though I think it par-
ticularly designed for mothers ; still, it will be instructive to all. It
appears to me to be a sequel to her " Essays on Education ; " or,
rather, an amplification of the same ideas she has advanced there.
The human mind, with all its original qualities and capabilities,
together with its necessities, is the field she has chosen to labor in (in
the abstract). She has analyzed it with the most minute discrimina-

112

tion of its different qualities, ami their bearing on one another. I
think it requires a more philosophical head than mine to enjoy it very
much, though it is written in such a style that even I could understand
with perfect ease.

We have had several parties lately on M. D.'s account, and I have
felt obliged to go, though you know with how much reluctance I have
made the sacrifice, — spending my time with people whom I am never
with, without thinking, as Dean Swift did, —

'• Those with whom I now converse
Without a tear could tend my hearse ; "

and you know that no pleasurable intercourse can exist with such a
conviction. I wish, if you get it, you would read a printed sermon of
Dr. Bancroft's on the fourth commandment, which, though it has been
most severely reviewed in the " Panoplist," 1 think very excellent.
Perhaps you saw it when you were in Worcester.

Mary and Jane are getting along very fast on the piano, and Betsy
Sumner behaves witli great propriety ; is delighted with the notice she
receives, and admires Northampton, and does not trouble me at all;
but. 1 think, as she does not have but five scholars, she will have to
leave us at the end of the quarter. She is really a very excellent in-
structor, and, I think, can advance a child in one quarter as much as
one of the celebrated instructors would in six months, because she
pays a great deal more attention to them than any master that I have
seen.

Yours, with much love to all the family,

A. J. Lyman.

My dear Emma, — I wish you would get such a pair of kid gloves as
you like, on my account, at Miss Bent's, in exchange for a pair that
you left here, that are of great use to me.

113

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Friday Mousing [1817 or 1818],
My deab Emma, — I am very much " drove for time" (as country-
folks say), and, therefore, can give you but a general account of the
times. Christina dishing alighted at my door last Monday, on her
way to Deerfield ; but as the northern stage had gone out, she stayed
with me till this morning, — which I was very glad of, as she had it in
her power to give me an account of Hingham and a number of my
other friends ; and she made me a white silk gown, which Mr. Lyman
bought for me at Hartford. I should judge, from your letter, that you
had not heard that our dear Inches friends have lost another child.
Little Maryann died of the whooping-cough last Saturday morning.
Mary, I dare say, has written the particulars before this time. Sam
returned with Jane in the last stage ; Jane looks finely, and, I think, is
much improved in every respect, as well as Sam, — who never appeared
so interesting and agreeable as lie now does, nor so much improved in
knowledge and good principles as well as manners. D wight also is
with us, who makes up by his kind and polite attentions for the want
of improvement which Sam is possessed of. We have had a New Year's
ball ; our young gentlemen attended, and Miss dishing. We have got
a very good singing-school, and the girls go, with great prospects of
success in learning that art.

dlrs. Lyman to Miss Abby B. Lyman.

Noktiiamptox, March 4, ISIS.
My dear Abby, — After a most fatiguing tour which occupied the
whole of three days, your Uncle arrived last night ; but he is so happy
and so grateful for having escaped the various perils he was exposed
to, that he does not say a word of indisposition. You can hardly con-
ceive of the ravages made on every little stream by the last sudden
freshet ; all bridges are swept away in every direction, except our new

114

one, and it is not expected that that will be able to withstand the
mighty torrents of ice that are sailing down the river. Your Uncle
went more than forty miles out of his way, that he might be able to find
bridges to cross Ware River and Swift River, and then had to go over
them in a most hazardous condition. It was very fortunate fur Miss
Henshaw that she did not attempt to come. I was highly gratified by
your letter, my dear Abby ; both your observations and reflections on
what has occurred to you are such as I could wish them to be, and
prove to me that you arc not one of those " who have eyes and sec not,
cars and hear not ; " but that you are possessed of all the faculties
your Heavenly Father endowed you with, and arc disposed to apply
them to their uses. The end of education is to learn a just appropria-
tion of our various talents, and their value; the effect of which will be,
love to God, and consequent good-will to men, — such as will lead us to
seek our own happiness in that of others, and to feel our great respon-
sibility to the Author of all good.

I suppose it is unnecessary, Abby, for me to tell you how you should
seek your happiness in that of others, for by a very natural deduction
you will make the practical inference I intended to convey. But as it
is my habit to give " rule upon rule." and " precept upon precept," I
shall again go into the detail of particulars. You are now with Mr.
and Mrs. W. : think then every morning in what way you can lie most
instrumental in promoting their comfort, and what you can do to make
yourself most acceptable to them in every particular, for that is the
only way you have of proving the gratitude I am sure you must feel for
the real friendship they have shown you. According to my experience,
there is but little of it in the world, and whenever 1 see it I view it as
the most exalted quality human nature is susceptible of (I mean of an
earthly cast) ; and 1 feci that von arc particularly blessed in having
friends whose precept and example are so much calculated for your
improvement, and trust that it will not lie lost on you. But lest you
should think I mean to write you a sermon I will cease to advise you.

115

ami toll you what is going on, thai is, in my own family; for 1 have had
no more to do with the world since you left me, than if 1 had been on
an insulated rock in the midst of the wide ocean. The first week after
you went away I was entirely confined to my chamber, and almost to
my bed, by an inflamed sore throat; after which, as 1 had nothing in
particular to do, 1 thought 1 would read Eustace's " Classical Tour
through Italy," and assure you I have felt the want of my reader very
much, for you know 1 like assistance as well as participation in almost
every thing 1 do: but as I could have neither your Uncle, Katy, nor
yourself, I got Miss Bancroft to read evenings, which she was perfectly
willing to do, though she had read it before. I don't know of any
thing I have ever read that has delighted me so much. Pie gives an
accurate description of every place of any consequence at all in Italy ;
of all its monuments and relics of whatever kind ; but the pleasure of
reading it is a little diminished by the frequent recurrence of Italian
quotations, which if I could read them would give a still higher zest to
the enjoyment I already experienced.

I hear your father is moving to Westfield, and that they are all well
at Norwich.

Your very affectionate aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. — Anne Jean told me the other day, " I know my Cousin Abby
loves me, because she's good." I have a great deal of her society now,
for she does not go to school, in consequence of not being well.

Mrs. Howe to Jliss Forbes.

TVorthixgton, January 20, ISIS.
My dear Emma, — I think it 's time I answered a letter dated August
last, Milton Hill,

" Where onee my careless childhood strayed ; "

116

but it is not negligence nor forget fulness that has kept me thus in ar-
rears, but occupation, — occupation of the arms more than of the mind,
— though there issomething in this tending babies that does not brighten
the ideas much ; and the spirit and elegance with which I formerly
composed are somewhat evaporated, 1 am willing to confess. " Never-
(//,•/< xx." ■ the dregs shall be poured out, rather than my conscience
shall suffer a letter to go entirely unanswered. A thousand things
happen to remind us of last winter ; not a day passes, but we repeat
something you said or did. The scene here is unchanged, except we
have a baby; which occupies me, and obliges Eleanor to keep her
shoulder to the wheel rather more constantly than before. Cut Cathe-
rine has come now to help turn, and we get on much as we used to ;
only we have W. G. to keep us in motion, for he is a moving character.
Singing is the fashion here this winter. Even C. is inspired, and now
sits with a singing-book in hand; and I do not doubt will fie able to fa,
so, la, if she can do it without being seen or heard. I wish you were
here, and I do not doubt you would be famous. Susan is digging
through the Latin verbs, and finds it very heavy work ; but literally
does some every day, and will parse by spring, I dare say.

You must commence a series of letters to the mountains, to enliven
us with the Milton news, and we will drop you a line whenever we
can. E. is writing to you, I believe, and will give an account of her-
self. Mr. Howe and I have made our long-contemplated visit at Deer-
field. We found our friends there well, except Mrs. L\, who is literally
a moving skeleton. F. A. has a baby, and wears a cap, and looks
almost as matronly as I do, — which is saying a great deal, for I feel
as if I had turned a sharp corner, now that 1 am over thirty, and as
if 1 must take heed to my ways. The farther we ascend the hill of life,
the more duties are prescribed to us: happy those who accumulate
proportionate industry ami patience/ May these be yours ; they are

* Madame de Stael.

117

better gifts than fortune, fame, or beauty. May yon be happy in the
enjoyment of all earthly, but more especially all heavenly, comforts ;
may you know that peace which passeth all understanding here and
hereafter.

Remember me to your mother and the children, and write soon to
your truly affectionate friend and cousin,

S. L Howe.

Mrs. Howe to 3Iiss Forbes.

Wortiiington, June 15, 1818.

My dear Emma, — A great while ago I had a letter from you, and I
know it is time I thanked you for it. C. has carried you all the
intelligence from these parts, and I would not write by her on that
account ; for I know she can talk to you, though she does not con-
descend to be very liberal of her descriptive talents. Old General
Lincoln told Mr. Lovel that he must have a very large stock of dis-
cretion on hand, for he never knew him to make use of any : on that
plan C. must have a fund of anecdote and remark which you and I can
hardly conceive of, who have lived every day from hand to mouth, and
expended each acquisition as sooh as it was obtained. To return to
my subject : she undoubtedly told you that we, Worthingtonians, were
very well and very busy, as is usual with us. Eleanor is making
butter, &c, and I am tending baby, &c, — though she now has an
elegant red and green wagon that relieves my weary arms occasion-
ally ; and I have hopes will walk erect one of these days, though she
now goes upon all-fours very nimbly, though not very conveniently. ■

I have read " Rob Roy." It does not come near " Old Mortality ; "
and yet I like the strange girl, Die ; but I hope no living heroine will
attempt to imitate her, for it would not do second-hand at all. 1 have
read Paley's " Moral Philosophy" this spring ; it is a charming book,
and I hope you will read it the first opportunity. We have nothing
new but the periodical publications. The " New York Review " is mere

118

patch-work, made up of little shreds and parings of other things ; the
"Quarterly" is horribly bigoted about everything, and the Scotch
reviewers use a scythe and sickle all the time. I think 1 like the spirit
of the "North American" best of all (you see I have a Yankee heart).
I do not compare its talents with the transatlantic books : I know the
old trees have deep roots and high branches, but their flowers and fruit
are not always sweetest.

I was just as old as you are now, the season I left Milton Hill, — in
my seventeenth year. 1 can never forget the last summer I passed
there. 1 was then a great deal with Eliza Cabot : we used to walk very
frequently up and down on the bank opposite your house (besides
many other walks) ; and I can almost see the full moon as it used to
rise out of the ocean. 1 have never been in Milton at this pride of the
\Tear for five summers'; but your sun shines on the grave of my ances-
tors, and gilds the spire where I first learned to worship God.

" The last ray of feeling and life must depart,

Ere the bloom of those valley-* em fade from my heart."

President Kirkland, in his charming character of Mr. Thacher, says:
"There is a path to immortality from every region." How consoling
the idea, when time and accident has removed us from the scenes ren-
dered dear by a thousand interesting associations! I look around me, and
behold every thing verdant and luxuriant, and own that this is a very
pleasant place. 1 wish you could come here af this season, and see my
great snowballs, and how nicely my rhubarb flourishes, and eat some ot
the pies. A charming specimen of the bathos! I am looking for the
Misses Cabot to-morrow or next day; tint they will not stay long,
which disappoints me some, as 1 had hoped E. would make something
of a visit when she actually arrived after so long a time.

Now have charily, Emma, and write me a long letter soon, and tell
me how everybody behaves ; as I really am afraid 1 shall forget how
myself, if I have not somebody to put me in mind: it's only once a

119

year I go anywhere but to N , and I don'1 want to behave as they

do, that is the generality of them, — because they have no social feel-
ing, no regard for each other, and no pursuits in common; "among
uneqnals, what society!" I cannot find so much fault as this even with
my unlettered neighbors; they have children, and cows, wool, and
flax, — so have I ; these and the gardens and the weather make harm-
less subjects of conversation when we meet, and if we part without
having communicated or received information, we part without envy
and ill-will.

My paper warns me, and I bid you farewell. Remember me to your
parents, and greet friends for me if you should sec any of mine sim.ii.
I take it for granted I have a great many, you see.
Yours truly,

Sarah L. Howe.

In a letter to Cousin Emma, dated August 10, is an allusion to the
departure of " Louisa " to the valley of Wyoming. The story of Louisa
is this: The tavern nearest our house, and afterwards known as War-
ner's Tavern, was kept for a time by a man anil his wife who had only
one child, a little girl. About the year 1818, both were attacked with
fever, and died within a few days of each other. It seemed only a sim-
ple and natural act for my mother to walk into the deserted house,
and take home the little Louisa to her own well-filled nursery. How
long she remained before relatives were found to claim her, I do not
know; but am under the impression it was more than a year. I never
should have known any thing about it, but for the following circum-
stance : When I was more than twenty years old, I sat one day near
the window (my father and mother being out), when an old-fashioned
chaise stopped at the door, and a pale and thin lady accompanied by
her husband, a Presbyterian minister, alighted from it. She intro-
duced herself as Mrs. F., and asked if Judge and Mrs. Lyman were at
home. I told her they were out, but invited her to stop, as they would

120

return in an hour. So they came into the house. When my mother
came home, she did not at once recognize her. " Do you not remem-
ber Louisa? " said the lady. A warm embrace was the only answer.
And then followed a delightful evening ; Louisa wishing to revisit every
room in the house, and show them all to her husband, and call up a
bundled memories of her childhood. She told my mother of all the
years since they parted ; of her marriage ; of the births and deaths of
children : and her own failing health. And how, when her husband
had wished to take her a journey, from far away Pennsylvania, she had
begged him to bring her to see the graves of her parents, and the home
of the kind people who had received her. when her young heart was so
sad, and where she had been so happy. So they had come; and after
staying two days, they left us, cheered and warmed with the heartfelt
pleasure both my father and mother felt in this meeting, which was the
last on earth.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

August 10 [1818?].

My dear Emma, — I had the pleasure to hear, by mamma's letter,
that you had a little sister, and that your mother was nicely. Every
increase of our earthly ties brings with it new duties, and I dare say
the circumstance has occupied much of your time and your reflections
since it occurred.

It would be difficult to define what has occupied my time for the last
three months. I have been engrossed by such an endless variety, and
the succession has been too rapid for me to have retained any distinct
impression as to what has predominated. I do not know how profita-
ble it may have been to me, but I am sure I have passed as pleasant a
summer (thus far) as I ever recollect to have done in my life ; I have
seen a great many friends and acquaintance that it gives me pleasure
to see, and none that are disagreeable to me. It is unnecessary for

121

me to say that I am surrounded by an uncommon share of domestic
comforts Mini but few trials ; for you have been here and have seen,
ami know for yourself all about it. But lliis I can say truly, thai I try
to lie sensible of the blessings that have been bestowed on me, to be
grateful for them, and to enjoy them.

I have read " The Tales of My Landlord," and am much pl< ased
with it, and can subscribe to all the "North American Review"
has said of it, except that it is equal to " Guy Mannering :" and that I
cannot agree to. The Black Dwarf is too much like the other ex-
traordinary characters of the same author to bear the stamp of original-
ity, which constitutes one of the greatest charms of Guy ; and the
case is the same in regard to Balfour, and Old Mortality. Uut
still I think it delightful, because it gives such an interesting account
of the sufferings produced by the religious contentions of the high
revolutionary times of which it treats, which corresponds perfectly to
the historical accounts we have read; and I think Calvinistical cant is
exceedingly well burlesqued in it. The French ardor has not subsided
at all ; the children hardly speak in any other language ; even Joseph
has caught the spirit, and is to go to Miss Clark next quarter, and
study "Le Syllabaire Frauc,ais." You would be surprised to hear how
well he reads and spells English.

Louisa left us a fortnight ago. I have not heard from her yet, but
hope soon to learn that she has reached the Valley of Wyoming in
safety ; though I am sure her enjoyment will not be heightened by any
of those poetical recollections which might accompany some of the dear
lovers of Campbell. We had a very affecting parting. L. was entirely
overcome by the idea of leaving forever the scene of her nativity, and
appeared to feel all that gratitude could inspire towards us all.

I wish I could run in and see what you are doing in Milton Hill.
Dwight had a very agreeable tour to Quebec, and looks a great deal
better than when he went away. His health, I think, is so far con-
10

122

firmed that there would be no hazard in his going from home to settle,
if it were considered expedient : but nothing is decided with regard to
him at present.

1 am hoping that C. will come up with S. : but am a little afraid
Sally's going down will stand in the way of it. I should have gone to

Worthington with to-morrow : but Miss wished to go, and 1

could not help thinking that it would he more agreeable to to go

with her (as it is the object of her life to give pleasure to gentlemen),

than to have gone with me. This said is no great acquisition to

any society : she is a most frivolous, trifling thing. I do not believe
that her lover would he willing to marry her, if lie knew with what
avidity she received attentions from all the young men of her acquaint-
ance; but this she could not do if she was attached to him. But
perhaps matrimony will have a salutary effect on her character; it cer-
tainly has on others of the same stamp. Yet I do not think it can lie
a very exalted cast of character that requires it ; and yet how common
it is to see people pre-emiment for their intellectual qualifications pre-
vious to their married life, who appear extremely insignificant and (to
use a vulgar phrase) unfuciihinj alter they are married !

Yours with much love to your father and mother and the hoys,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Wednesday, September 17 [ISIS?].
My dear Emma, — I was pleased, after so long a time, again to

behold your hand-writing, which I did ten days ago by Mrs. , who

stayed with me from Saturday afternoon till Monday. I enjoyed the

company and lady brought with them, rather better than theirs.

I think they appeared to be very unaffected good people. But Mrs.

has faded away into a little insignificant shadow, and has by her desire

123

to be pre-eminent in the fashionable world (a quality which she ac-
quired since 1 first knew her) lost that condescending manner and
amiability of character, which was peculiar to her at sixteen, and which
was all she had to make her interesting; together with a tolerably
pretty face. I cannot help contrasting her character with E.'s, who in
her youth displayed a thoughtless inattention to every thing thai did
not contribute in some measure to the gratification of personal vanity,
but whom the circumstance of having a family has turned into one of
the most rational domestic animals in the world, without any desire for
that adulation which was for so long a time her only pleasure. But

Mrs. does not feel the common interest of a parent for her own

children, and owns that in her most youthful days she was never more
gratified by the attentions of young men than she now is; and while
she was with us, she, to prove the truth of this, kept D. and S. in con-
stant requisition.

But I think I ought to stop scandal short, to inform you that E. had
this morning a very fine daughter, and has been finely through the
whole of it ; though she was so sick with a severe ague for ten days
previous to it, that we were afraid it would kill her. I have been with
her a part of every day and sometimes all day during that time, for the
doctor expected hourly that the disease would change. Yesterday I
had the court to dine, with their ladies, making twenty in all, and had
just such a time as when the governor dined here, except that I had
not a tipsy cook ; and on that account there was no difficulty. I am
very much pleased with Mrs. Judge Thacher, and Mrs. Morton, who is
certainly a very interesting woman. She gave me the private history
of Lord and Lady Byron, which you may suppose was very interesting
to me.

I have written this in such a hurry that I hardly know what I have
been about, and beg you to overlook all errors, and remember it is
court-week, and missionary-week. Di\ Morse is staying here, and a
number of things to ruffle a poor body, and company to dinner every

124

day this week, and Hannah must dead with getting dinner for the
court, and myself too. Love to all friends.

Yours most affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

Our "Bratikins" are hearty, and Anne Jean grows the greatest
beauty that ever was seen.

31rs. Lyman to 3Iiss Fori" s.

January 23, 1820.
My dear Emma, — I was highly gratified by your letter, which I
received by James. 1 am delighted to find you are so happy ; it is a
proof that your time is profitably occupied: for satiety is the invariable
result of the reverse, with all its consequent uneasiness. •• Variety is
the spice of life," which gives it all its flavor, we are told ; and this you
appear to be enjoying to all intents and purposes; though thai senti-
ment requires a good deal of qualification to be just or true. But it
certainly strikes the ear as very plausible ; lor there are but too many
who can only look back on life as a sad variety of evils, which though
entirely different have followed one another in rapid succession, and
have brought increased misery by finding the sufferer unprepared to
meet them. This view of the subject, then, should teach us to fortify
ourselves witli certain acquisitions that would have a tendency to repel
their force — such as patience and the sister virtues : and to keep a
guard on the avenues which admit their opponents, and render if pos-
sible our stronghold impregnable. But 1 am afraid you will think
because it is Sunday that I mean to preach a sermon, or else you will
laugh and call it sentimental cant : so 1 will leave it, to tell you that I
am much obliged to you for your list of authors. There was too much
Everettism in the •■ Memoirs of De Rossi," and in "University Educa-
tion " lor us to mistake the writer : " Mississippian Scenery " wanted for
that individuality of style (to use his own language) which is so con-

125

spicuous in his other pieces, or perhaps I did not give so much attention

to it.

1 was exceedingly pleased with the latter part of "Pulpit Eloquence,"
for the style you will observe was very unequal: but then the subject
of the latter part had a much more kindling influence, so that it was
not to be wondered at; but the first eight or ten pages is no credit
to .

To return to Mr. E. It certainly was a piece of low wit in him, in
such a discussion, to speak of II. 's plan as rather " under the table than
upon it." An unamiable acquaintance of ours, to whose attention I
directed that piece on his plan lor national education, said he was in
misery till he came to this glaring defect, for he was afraid that E.
would write something perfect. But as I have a desire that a man of
so much influence should be perfect, those feelings could have no
weight with my opinion. ........

I feel great sympathy in all Mr. Everett's plans ; he and I are en-
gaged in the same cause, though operating in different spheres. We
are both engaged (I mean our hearts) in all improvements that will
facilitate education; in other words that will clothe the nakedness of
the mind most effectually and most profitably, and with such acquisi-
tions as wear best.

I believe some of the "North American" reviewers to be under a mis-
take, in endeavoring to lessen the reputation of those Americans who
have been considered as our great men, and who have sustained their
country by the exercise of their moral and physical force. More than
a year ago, much pains was taken to prove that Dr. Franklin was a very
small character, who had had a false reputation: and now Mr. P. M., in
his ardor to add an indifferent review to a very indifferent publication,
has brought General Greene's character down to the level of a very
ordinary standard. And I think if they continue this scheme, and the
work should lie widely diffused in foreign countries, our national char-
acter will not stand very high abroad, any more than at home. But

126

after all, I must say I have been much edified and pleased with the
last number, and shall send it to Sam with a good deal of reluctance;
who, by the way, I wish you would pay some attention to, in the writing
way. He complains sadly that nobody writes to him.

Give my love to all friends, and believe me sincerely yours.

This has been written under every namable disadvantage, and, if I
had time to copy it, I am sure I would not send it as it is; but trusting
it will never meet other than the eve of friendship, which will draw a
veil over its defects, I subscribe myself your affectionate friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

January 28. — P. 8. I have just heard by mamma that our ever
dear friend Mrs. Whipple is no more. It is a comfort to me to hear
that her exit was so tranquil and free from suffering. Mrs. Whipple
was one of the few of whom 1 believe it may be said she had no ene-
mies; and I know of no one who had more real friends. But I have
not time to say what my feelings dictate.

Early in the spring of 1820, the new barn that my father had built
with much care was burned. Both house and barn had been full of
the confusion of building; and it is to this event my mother refers
in writing to Cousin Emma.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, March 29, 1820.
My dear Emma, — I suppose you have heard of our calamity till
you are tired of it : so 1 will iiol attempt to give you any description,
but merely emit a little of that vagrancy of feeling which results from
instability of purpose, — the natural effect of too strong an impulse
upon weak nerves. But 1 will not forget to thank you for your fidelity
to me in the shape of two \ nv excellent letters, which did me as much
good as "Ivanhoe" lias the enthusiasts for something new: who, 1

1-27

presume, are abundantly satisfied with this last production of that
favorite author.

The interruption of Mr. Lyman's coming in and hurrying' dinner on
account of Mr. Metcalf 's going out in the stage ( who has been making
a short stay here) has broken the chain of my thoughts, and I must
leave " Ivanhoc " for abler critics. I am aware there will be much
fault found that the interesting Rebecca was not better provided for ; but
1 always keep steadily in view wdiat I conceive to lie the object of the
author, which is rather to delineate the manners, customs, and occu-
pations of the people and time he describes, than to make interesting
heroes and heroines, — which, if he aimed at, he has certainly at times
failed.

I think your prospect for the summer is very pleasant, as it regards
society ; but I am mistaken if a friend of yours does not " lay the root
of a new political existence " in your quarter before long ; though it is
not right to lay up evils in anticipation, for they are always bad enough
when they come. I find it so in my present trial. I thought I had
suffered a great deal from the confusion of building and getting our
house in order, together with all the outbuildings, and that I should
never have the same scene to go through again, for I was always in
fear that the children would get some injury while the barn was going
up ; but now, though I had never anticipated it, we have got to pass
another summer in confusion. But I have no complaints to make ; we
were so much favored in not having our house burned. If I had
written this before our accident, I should have told you that if you
came here this summer I would give you a ride to Brattleboro' ; but
all intentions of moving from home have ceased. I shall, from this
time forward, endeavor to cultivate a little of your suspicion of the
future, to which you have devoted a niche of your mind ; and I think
it would be well if every one did. I hope you will let me have a few
of your reflections after you get into the country, that I may know
what effect the transition produces on your mind. I could fill up my

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paper, my dear Emma, but my pen is so bad, that my pride forbids.
Love to all inquiring friends.

Yours affectionately,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. 1 feel much indebted to you for the kind interest yon took in
Jane.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, January 8, 1821.

My dear Emma, — I never have omitted to give you credit for your
unexampled liberality towards me of the treasures of the mind ; and
those are of all gifts the most heart-satisfying, if they are what we most
want. But in circumstances of cold or hunger that would not be the
case ; such, however are not mine. Tis the heart only which craves the
aliment bestowed by acts of kindness and friendship; and the most
unequivocal proof of it is given when we are separated by distance, and
obtain the treatment I have received at your hands and heart.

The greatest alloy in my visit was seeing so little of you, and know-
ing that you were sick ; neither of which was it in my power to remedy.
Otherwise, my visit to Boston was as pleasant as possible. It is always
more of an object with me in the visits I make to Boston, to keep old
friendships in good repair, than to form new ones. Such, however,
does not appear to be the effect of them ; for much of my time is taken
up with people I care little about, and who care less for me. But I
am engaged in every thing that appertains to mankind, and am grati-
fied to have it in my power to observe the changes which take place in
society; whether they relate to morals or mere forms. No one. I
believe, to see me when I visit the metropolis, would doubt that 1 had
the spirit of a dissipated woman; but without taking credit to myself
for it, I must say my heart resists the charge. There is nothing but
what is perfectly evanescent and unsubstantial in the joys to be

129

obtained in the way of dissipation. But true and rational enjoyment
leaves as much for retrospection as was afforded by the reality. To
find out what that is and pursue it. is true wisdom ; and by so doing
we may augment our own happiness in a ten-fold degree, inasmuch
as it is caused by every reflection upon our actions. How careful we
are. my dear Emma, to supply by artificial aid every defect created by
time or other circumstance in our persons ! And how just it would be,
were it a fair indication of the manner in which we treat ourselves in
other respects; but how often do we lose ground in habits and virtues
that we have possessed, without taking any pains to reinstate ourselves
in them, or acquire others that would fill their place !

You will think me in a very prosing humor, but excuse it. It is
the beginning of a new year, and I am growing old fast, and feel that
I ought to be mending my ways, and helping others to mend theirs, if a
knowledge of my experience will do it ; and I can say with truth, that
I never have known any sorrow equal to a sense of having acted wrong,
or any pleasure so fruitful as the sense of acting right. When you
have time, write to me what is passing, and what you are thinking.
Give my love to M. Tell her I should be pleased to be better acquainted
with her ; and if her aunt will let her come into the country and make
me a visit, either with you or without you, it will give me pleasure.
I always have some plan of improvement on a small scale going on
among the young people, in which she could be included. Remem-
ber me very kindly to all in whom you know I take an interest.
Yours very affectionately,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman In Miss Forbes,

Northampton, February '-'1. 1821.
My dear Emma, — I have lately gone through a good many domestic
troubles, such as entirely engross the mind; and disqualify it for any of
those excursions into the regions of romance or fancy which enable

130

people to make agreeable letters out of poor materials. This, how-
ever, is supposing a case which does not exist, for it implies that mine
is in the habit of making such excursions; and, perhaps, no person's
was ever less given to any thing of the kind. The dull realities of life
have taken an irresistible possession there, and nothing can invade
their dominion ; the power of habit has made strong their wall of de-
fence, and necessity is their sentinel. And should it not Vie so, my
dear Emma ? But I can remember when I was very intolerant (that
is, when I was about your age) to those professional wives and mothers
who talked and thought of nothing but their household concerns, such
as children, servants, and the like. But it must be so ; what most
concerns us to think about is what we shall and must give our prin-
cipal attention to. The clergy must talk on theology, the lawyers
will be engrossed by legal subjects, and the physicians in like manner
of what relates to their profession ; and women must be borne with, if
they talk, and even write, about their household affairs: but 1 pity
those that have no similar interests, who have to hear them.

1 suppose you have read Mr. Edgworth's life ; that interested me,
inasmuch as it made me personally acquainted with a man to whom I
am individually much indebted, as well as mankind in general. Before
I read his life, 1 had viewed him only at a distance ; and, with all the
defects of the memoir, it must lie acknowledged that it brings you to a
very familiar acquaintance with him, and his four wives, and eighteen
children ; to say nothing of the various aunts that constituted a part of
his family. But, were ever such various interests so happily united ?
Were so many people ever before so much engaged in one and the
same cause, and that without the slightest collision of opinion ? 1
think the millennium must have commenced in that family. With
what admirable address Mr. Everett reviewed Mr. Lyman's "Italy"!
I am sure no one will find fault with the faint praise he has bestowed ;
.Mr. L.'s friends could not have wished him to have said more, and his
enemies could not desire that he should say less.

131

Do write me what is going on in Boston; we are as dull as death
here. Iain now reading " Camilla " for entertainment. 1 wish you

would prevail with , if" she sends from home, to send her to

Miss Bancroft's ; she is very well situated now to have a house full. —
that is, a dozen young ladies in the family with her, — and her school
is improving every day. She teaches every thing that a young lady
has time to learn, with the exception of music, and it is a very select
school.

This letter has heen written by fits and starts; or, at least, with
many interruptions, which must account for its want of connection and
incoherence.

Yours most affectionately,

Anne Jean Lyman.

CHAPTER IX.

THE marriage of her sister Mary to Mr. Joseph Warren Revere, of
Boston (the son of Colonel Paul Revere, of revolutionary mem-
ory), was, during this year of 1821, a source of unalloyed pleasure to my
mother; and from this time the home of her sister was like another
home to her and to her children : and my aunt, like another mother.
As time wore on, and children gathered in the Boston home, my
mother and aunt frequently, for a few months, made an exchange of
children ; the Revere boys coming to our house for country air and
life, and our girls going to the Revere home for city advantages and
polish.

These children were all very dear to my mother ; and whenever she
went to make a visit to them, either in Boston or at Canton, both in
their early or later years, "Aunt Lyman's" coming was hailed as a
special privilege. They brought all their stockings for her to mend,
read aloud to her from her favorite books, and cuddled up to her to
hear her witty stories, or to draw them out. Of Edward and Paul, —
who afterwards gave their noble lives to their country, — she had
no end of affectionate prophecies. Edward especially reminded her,
in the warmth of his affections and in his genial temper, of her
beloved father, whose name he bore.

In April of the same year, the marriage of my cousin, Abby Lyman,
took away from my mother the close companionship and tender
sympathy of one whom she loved through life with an intensity of
affection over which time and distance had no power. The frequency

133

of her letters, in the midst of so many present cares and engrossing
duties, and the tender and perfect confidence, which knew no change
for a period of nearly thirty years, are very striking. It was a relation
which, from the beginning to the end, had never a flaw or break ; and
was founded on the highest sentiments and perfect generosity on both
sides.

Mrs. Lyman to 31rs. Greene.

Northampton, April 30, 1821.

My dear Abby, — It is scarcely eight hours since you left me, but I
cannot keep you out of my mind ; and for that reason I write to you, as
there is a convenient opportunity for me to indulge myself in that
way.

Immediately after you left me, your uncle desired me to pre-
pare to call with him on Miss Davis, which, at three o'clock, I did ;
though I never made a greater sacrifice of inclination to propriety than
when I went down to Mr. Pomeroy's, — for solitude and not sympathy
was the object of my pursuit, that I might have the privilege to think
without interruption. On my return I went into your room to lie
down, that I might occupy that pillow so lately pressed by the beloved
child of my warmest affection. I there conceived myself to be in the
possession of the same consolations that any parent has who has com-
mitted a dear child to the grave, — that it is still in the care of its
Heavenly Father, and that all events in this life, whether good or evil,
are dictated by His love towards His creatures ; and though I am made,
by this event, less happy, you are or will be made much more so.

I shall always respect Mr. Greene for the wisdom of his choice ; I
shall always love him if he makes my dear Abby as happy as she is
capable of being, from the circumstances within his power to control.
That you will always be good, and derive all the happiness from that
source which it is so fruitful in bestowing, I cannot doubt; nor that
you will ever cease to remember with kindness and affection those who

134

have extended the same feelings towards you, inasmuch as they are
deserving of it. But no virtues are of such spontaneous growth in the
human heart as not to be impaired by neglect, as to continue to expand
and flourish without care and culture ; and let this in future, as it has
been in times past, be the subject of your watchful attention.

I have just returned from spending an hour with my sister Howe, in
order to show her a letter I had received from Catherine, after she
reached New York. She gives me an agreeable account of her journey.
But she has not as yet discovered many congenial spirits, except Mrs.
Sedgwick, with whom she will stay part of the time, that she may be
relieved from ceremonious friends. I have a sort of hope that she will

see some choice spirits like , who will take pains to direct

her attention to the objects most worthy of it in the city.
Yours with much affection,

Anne Jeax Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to 31rs. Greene.

Northampton, May 7, 1821.

My dear Abby, — I was sorry I wrote you when I did after I had
sent the letter, for I was aware when I came to reflect on it, that it was
the overflowings of excited feelings; but there was no way in which I
could relieve my own heart so much. That you are separated from me
forever, I now have a realizing sense ; and am told by way of consola-
tion that I am too strenuous an advocate for matrimony, to be allowed
to say one word of its unpleasant consequences.

Mamma and Mary, with their last winter's experiences, are very
entertaining to me ; and their arrival, on the whole, happened very
opportunely for me. Mary appears charmingly ; she was very much
grieved to miss you on the road, but is enjoying the anticipation of
your being here to stay some time before you leave this part of the
world.

135

I have just received a letter from Mrs. Revere. She is enjoying her-
self as much as Sophia Rice did when she wrote to her aunt Mills; and
I am delighted that it is so. A great deal of my happiness is reflected
from that of others; and I hope that a letter from you of the same com-
plexion will add to it in the same way.

I am hoping that you will have laid your plans to visit Litchfield
before you come here. Let it be very short. And then go to New York
by way of the North River. If you go to L. before you come here, you
will certainly meet Mr. and Mrs. Revere. . . . We had Miss Davis to
spend one day with us very pleasantly, last week ; I had one monstrous
dinner party, and a good deal of confusion all the week.

You have probably heard that Mr. Shepherd has had a lire at the
manufactory. The amount of property destroyed is supposed to he
about nine or ten thousand dollars.

Since the above was written, I have been with mamma out to the
manufactory, and I perceive that my letter has acquired some few blots
by my absence. But I trust it will be exposed only to the eye of friend-
ship. Do you know, my dear Abby,that I can as yet only contemplate
you as my own dear single child, and have not accustomed myself to
the thought that another is identified in your existence, and that what-
ever is addressed to you is likewise addressed to him whose less partial
and more critical taste may not possibly be as indulgent to the defects
contained in my letters as those defects require ? But still I would
contemplate Mr. Greene as a dear friend, though a newly-acquired one.
One whom I feel a full confidence will confirm by time all the impres-
sions he has already created in my heart. Give my love to him, and
tell him, that, if upon trial you do not answer his expectations of a wife,
I will take you off his hands, and save him the trouble and expense
of taking such a burden to Cincinnati.

I hope I shall have a very particular account of how you have spent
your time ever since you left me. It is so dark that I cannot see.
Yours very affectionately,

Anne Jean Ltman.

136

Mrs. Lyman to 3Jiss Forbes.

Northampton, May 8, 1821.
My dear Emma, — ......

Very little of the highest kind of friendship is to be expected in this
world ; the want of it, grows out of the nature of things. Fur it is
too exalted and too refined a compact to be entertained by the
worldly, the selfish, or the weak and ambitious; and a great portion
of mankind fall under one or other of these heads. Friendship
supposes a voluntary union of hearts, or mutual regard, unrestrained
by any of the ties of kindred, and altogether uninfluenced by any
other circumstance than the simple volition of the parties. But
the ties of kindred are no hindrance to its exercise. "Friendship"
(says Lord Clarendon) "hath the skill and observation of the best
physician, the diligence and vigilance of the best nurse, and the
tenderness and patience of the best mother." And I believe we
must admit these ruling traits in her character, and, if so, no ties
prevent its exercise. But contemplating it in the abstract as a
most transcendent and heavenly virtue, as one of the greatest orna-
ments of human life, it must be divested of all those shackles which
compel, by means of identifying our happiness or reputation with the
exercise of it towards any individual ; which would be to make self-
interest its strongest inducement, — and that, you know, would be an
insupportable incongruity.

1 am amused with myself for sitting down here, and prosing like a
sentimental girl of fifteen upon a subject which every one acknowledges
to be exhausted : and yet, in speaking of it, I do not know that I ever
heard any one make a sensible or striking remark in my life. The
best comment, however, is to prove practically our capability of enter-
taining it. Lord Clarendon thinks it requires a great perfection in
virtue. And why should it not. when we reflect that the character
of each is perfectly unveiled to the other ; for there must be perfect con-
fidence in friendship, — it admits no reserve. And. 1 believe, the worst

137

person in the world neither loves nor respects the wicked. And though
people are bound and leagued together in vice, it is an agreement which
bears no resemblance to the interchange of virtuous friendship. ( For-
tunately an imperious domestic call has interrupted this inexhaustible
subject, and 1 will endeavor to make some reply to your interesting
letter.)

I had read your feelings in your silence as it regarded 's

matrimonial connection. It is not strange that you should be both
fastidious and romantic in your views of this subject; nor, at your age,
do I consider it a fault. I never have considered whether she would
be likely to do better or not, but simply whether she had done well.
could never grow handsomer, younger, or richer. She was emi-
nently calculated for the enjoyment of all those enlarged duties and
affections, as well as increased influence, which flow from the connec-
tion she has formed ; and having formed it with a good man, distin-
guished by the ardor of his attachment to those connected with him,
and remarkable for his performance of domestic duties, as well as for
kind and benevolent feelings, I think she has laid a good foundation
for future happiness. Two good people, Emma, if the minutiae of their
tastes do not exactly correspond, when they are united by one common
interest may be happy ; that is, if they have that chastened disposition
and disciplined mind which constitute the essential principle of hap-
piness. If they have it not, no condition will make them so. When
I was married, people said, " How can a young woman be happy with a
husband that has five children ? " I can, after ten years' experience,
answer, that so far I have been as happy as falls to the lot of mortals
to be ; that human happiness is imperfect, and mine has been,- — for
I have lived in a world subject to sickness, and sorrow, and death, from
which none are exempted, but in the interchange of much love and
kindness, and in a situation to receive (and, I may add, confer) some
good.

As to Mrs. , you can tell me nothing new of her ; she always

138

had a false estimation among people whom I should have thought had
more penetration and good sense than to be pleased with her. I have
no doubt, if she lives to old age, she will die a fool, simply from want
of exercise of body and mind, — which always keep pace with each
other. But if she should have a family of children, it may be the
means of preventing it ; for that is a continual stimulus to exertion.

My poor, old heart has been terribly shattered lately, and I am not
sure that the influence has not reached my head. 1 mention this
by way of apology for this letter, which I can find time neither to
copy nor alter ; but trust it is consigned exclusively to tbe judgment
of friendship. You know I have parted lor ever with A.bby. I hope
you will just see the beautiful creature. Her husband is very intelli-
gent and good. lie has, in bis selection of a wife, given me an
infallible proof of his wisdom : and, 1 am sure, the more he knows of
her the more he will idolize her. I ought to lie glad she is taken from
me, for I loved her a great deal too well, and became too much attached
to her society to wish for any other.

1 hope by this time your Aunt P. has recovered : remember me to
her, and accept of my best love. I" wish you and Mary Pickard could
come and spend the summer with me ; we would go to Brattleboro' and
to Springfield, and have a grand time, I assure you.

Mrs. Lyman to 3Irs. Greene.

Northampton, May 15, 1821.
My dear Abby, — It was a fortnight yesterday since we parted, and
I never had heard a word from you until last evening, when I was so
happy as to receive a letter from you by Mrs. Ashmun. I would not
have you think that I mean to reproach you for neglect, for I am not
so unreasonable as not to appreciate the various causes which prevent
writing when people are among strangers, and experiencing a constant
succession of novelties, and are at the same time shackled by ceremony
towards those they are with.

139

It was my desire that you should stay at my brother's, ami I am
very bappy that you did; because I know it gave them pleasure, and I
know you must have felt at your ease with such unceremonious
people.

I am delighted to find that you spent your time so pleasantly. You
apologize for being so particular ; bat let me tell you, you were not
sufficiently so ; for though you gave me the material facts, you have
left for a verbal account the impressions made by them.

Last Saturday 1 went with your uncle and my mother to Springfield.
We passed Sunday delightfully. Mr. Peabody rises in my estimation
every time I see him. We returned Monday, and found the brides

here. I had W. L. and wife to tea, and the 's left town before

tea. W. L 's wife has, combined with her city breeding and love of
the world and fashion, a strong intellect and cultivated mind. I
■would add a warm and affectionate heart, but that I think her present
state of excitement and the softened state of her heart prevent her
exhibiting those infallible indications which a more tranquil current of
feeling would render certain. And I doubt if her habits have con-
tributed to giving her " the full vigor of a mind " prepared for patient,
long, laborious strife.

" Its guide experience, and truth its guard."

But there is no affectation in her, and she takes pains to please those
about her with good success.

What do you think of a large Madras handkerchief for a bride's
head, with plain festoons of hair on her forehead ? I could not help
contrasting this with the more elegant simplicity of my bride's beauti-
ful curled locks. But you know, " all my geese are swans."

You cannot think how impatient I am to have yon return : I hope
you will save all the time you can possibly spare, or take from other
people, and give to me. Is not this a generous wish ?

140

I have just had a letter from Dwight. He gives me no encourage-
ment that he is doing any tiling for the good cause; but whilst he has
such a good heart, and in it preserves so much combustible matter, I
will not despair of his meeting some one to kindle it. He expresses
much kindness and affection for you, and regrets that he is not to see
you again.

I have just returned from spending the evening at J. H. L.'s, with
W. L. and his wife, whom I am better pleased with every time I see her.
I believe I was prepossessed in her favor by the ardor and constancy
of her attachment to her husband, notwithstanding the opposition made
to it. It proves such firmness and stability of purpose, together with
such spirit and resolution, that I consider her as a sort of heroine or
veteran in love. And you know I delight in every thing of that kind,
notwithstanding which I am not at all romantic; but it is such a
common every-day affair to bring about ends, without encountering
obstacles in their accomplishment, that the contemplation of them is

devoid of interest. This course of reasoning brings to mind , who

is to be married I hear in July. This match I believe will afford some
food for curiosity to many, or at least the result of it will.

Ho, my dear Abby, write me from Providence, and get Mr. Greene
to ; and let him tell me whether his friends there like his wife, and
whether she is affable and pleasant, or if she remains silent and keeps
blushing, in which case she must be truly interesting. Notwithstand-
ing which / think conversation a more infallible proof of feeling and
thinking, and of course much prefer it on the whole.

One reason of this disconnected letter is, I have written it at short
intervals, from devotion to Mrs. L. You know she was sent away to
England, to try if distance ami salt water would not prove a cure for
love. While she was there, she became intimately acquainted with
Mr. Roscoe's family, as well as himself. His daughters write poetry,
and she is going to send me what she has in her possession of theirs ;

141

for they have published but a very few pieces. I have rarely derived
so much pleasant entertainment from any person as from this lady, and
am sorry she is going to leave us this afternoon. ....
Yours,

Anne Jean Lyman.
P. S. — Give my love to Mr. Greene.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

June 1, 1821.

My dear Abby, — Last evening I was made happy by the receipt of
your very agreeable letter. Are you aware that a month has elapsed
since you sealed your earthly destiny, and gave yourself away, and dis-
solved partnership with me ? You have, indeed, heen surrounded by
too much novelty, and too much that was pleasant, to think of the
lapse of time as I have; or to dwell upon its consequences. lam
delighted to find you have enjoyed yourself so much, and that every
thing has conspired to make your visit to your friends so interesting to
you, and that you have been so fortunate as to make yourself so to
them. Tell Mr. Greene I am much obliged to him for the account he
gave me of his wife, as I wished much to know how she acquitted herself
amongst her newly-acquired relatives.

Mrs. Revere appears to have experienced nearly the same circum-
stances you have ; she has been enjoying herself very highly with her
husband's friends, in Baltimore, whom she finds the most delightful
people in the world. I must inform you too, that neither Mrs. R. nor
Catherine have been so negligent in the use of their pen as you have
been, but have let us hear from them as often as once a week, at least.
But I don't mean to blame you ; you have been tolerably good, for a
new-married lady, and I shall make a reasonable allowance for you.

The only variety, or the only circumstances which have constituted
variety, in this family since I last wrote have been a visit from my
mother, and the bride's visit ; added to which, there has been an in-

142

noccnt rebel sent from college here, the son of Mr. Tyng, the reporter;
and as he nearly lives with us, he brings a good deal of animation into

the family. is as usual the end and object of ridicule and satire

among the young people, and I am his strong wall of defence. . . .

Next Monday Mrs. Revere and C. will be here, and spend a week. I
am disappointed that you could not have met them here, as you will
probably not sec them for many years, and I am sure they will regret
it. Catherine I have no doubt will be left here, if it is a possible
thing for her to be longer absent from home ; which I think doubtful.

Your father's family arc all well. Sally has been making me a visit
of ten days, and I mean she shall stay until you have been here. She
is a nice child, and I like her very much.

Miss Bancroft is not well enough to return yet, but is better.

Remember me most affectionately to my new nephew, and tell him
to remember that I am his aunt, and believe me truly yours.

Let me hear from you soon.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, August 4, 1821.

My dear Abby, —

I have experienced a great variety since you left me, but not enough
to drive from my thoughts the idea of my beloved child. I console
myself with some of Byron's extravagant reflections in trouble. " Ex-
istence maybe borne, and the deep root of life and sufferance makes its
firm abode in bare and desolate bosoms." 1 did for the fust few days
feel as if mine was bare and desolated, but the sympathy and kindness
which surrounded me, which appeared perfectly to appreciate and
participate my feelings, soon taught me that it was to lie borne, and
was only one of the minor evils of life ; as every evil is, which does not
spring from vice or death.

We were delighted to find by your letter (or rather that of your more

143

extended self) that you had only been attended by propitious circum-
trances since you left us. I trust a letter is now on the way to say that
you have reached Cincinnati, and are in good health ; and 1 am much
concerned about it, on account of your indifference to it, and J do nol
feel as if Mr. Greene could be as good a judge of the defects in your
constitution as I am.

I suppose you would like to know what has been going on here since
you left. Everybody had a pleasant Fourth of July, I believe, with the
exception of myself. There was a great deal of company from Boston,
on the occasion. Miss Sarah Dwight from Springfield came up and
passed a week, and a Mr. Lowell, from Boston, eldest brother of Ed-
ward, a very fine young man altogether. He spent the most of four
days with us ; read " Yamoydeu " with great pleasure to mo, and left
us quite in love with him. We had hardly time to collect our scattered
wits after Sarah D.'s and L.'s visit, when July the loth Mrs. Brooks,
her daughters, and the Misses Grays came and made us a short visit
on their way to Niagara, accompanied by Mr. Ilenshaw. Your Uncle,
Mary, Jane, and myself, went with them to Albany, and from thence
we visited Dwight, at Troy, and then took him with us to the Saratoga
Springs, where we spent four days, on the whole pleasantly. There is

much there to admire, and to excite disgust ; but if one goes in g 1

humor with one's self and with the world, pleasure will prevail. At the
house where we stayed, were more than two hundred. The first effect
of seeing such a variety of human faces, with the interest you cannot
fail to take in their various histories, is exceedingly exciting or over-
stimulating to the imagination, and, till you are familiarized to its
fatigues. But it is the world in miniature ; none but a dissipated mind
could enjoy the scene long. We found Mr. Lowell there, and Mr. and
Mrs. B. and daughter; which served for entertainment for Mary and
Jane. The great Mr. Wirt, with an interesting family, was there from
Washington, which was a source of much enjoyment to me. Mrs.
Wirt was not a lady of great mental attainments ; but of much delicacy

144

and refinement, and good judgment, and of many showy accomplish-
ments. Although the mother of twelve children, she looked young and
handsome, and played elegantly on the piano; and played battledore
with the agility of fifteen, for hours together. Her eldest daughter,
who was with her, resembled her in character, except that she had
more reserve. I should hardly dare to attempt a description of him,
except in the most general terms. His appearance is magnificent in an
unusual degree, and every thing he docs exhibits a moral grandeur, in
perfect conformity to that appearance. There is something so imposing
in his look, that you feel it to be a condescension, if he pays you any
attention.

At Ballstown we had the satisfaction of looking at Joseph Bonaparte,
who calls himself Count Servillier ; his appearance is that of a John
Bull much more than of a Frenchman, — very fat, and easy, with a
most benevolent expression of face : his suite requires twelve rooms.

We left Jane at Troy, at Lewis Lyman's, under the care of Mrs.
Willard, to take private lessons in music, history, and French. This
was her own plan, and I am very much pleased with it.

Your Uncle is absent. I hear the stage coming, and will not wait to
fill my paper, though I have much more to say to you.

I had determined not to mention the very affecting death of Mrs.
Dewey, but you will see it in the Boston newspaper. Her mother and
Eliza were with her after she had lost her senses, the last three days,
but Louisa did not reach there until after her death. They are a truly
afflicted family.

Yours with much love,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, September 1, 1821.
It would be difficult for me to express to you, my dear Abby, how
much pleasure your very excellent letter gave me ; though when I

145

received it, I could not help feeling sorry that it did not take you to
the end of your journey. But I was soon satisfied on that score, for
your father was good enough to let me have tlie perusal of his letter,
which informed us of your safe arrival in Cincinnati, and 1 read yours
to him. Miss Bancroft has just returned from the Springs. 1 have
hcen so constantly engaged in sewing, in order to prepare Sam for his
departure, that I have scarcely had time to think of any thing that did
not relate to that particular operation, except when I was interrupted
hy some of those thousands of travellers which traverse the earth in
the fruitless search after happiness. Some of them I have been pleased
to see; others have wearied me. I believe I described Mr. Wirt (the
Attorney-General) to you in my last, and his very interesting family.
Since I met them at the Springs they have been here, and young John
Lowell, the brother of Edward. He received his early education under
Mrs. Grant, in one of the first seminaries for boys in Scotland, and 1
have rarely met with so fine a young man. James Robbins has just
left me, after a visit of a fortnight, which was very delightful to me ;
for I rarely meet with any one who has so uniformly the power to be
agreeable and rationally entertaining, and, at the same time, has so
much fun in their composition. . . .

You are daily our subject of thought and conversation, amid all the
variety which surrounds us. Mary has read a good deal this summer
aloud to me. The last number of the " North American " was very
good, but I do not think you had better have it until the next volume
commences, which will be in the winter. Mary has just been reading
to me " The Judgment," — a poem by Hillhouse. It is really very
good for American poetry. It is a vision ; describing our Saviour
sitting in judgment on old patriarchs first, and then upon the world
in general. It certainly is venturing on sacred ground to attempt
such a thing; and it is deserving of some praise that the author did
not make himself ridiculous. The same author wrote " Percy's

146

Masque," which I never have read. Anne Robbins is now making me
a visit which, of course, engrosses much of my time.

Since the above was written, I have received a letter informing me
that Sam lias gone to New Bedford, and will, in the course of this week,
erect a sign ; and his prospects of getting a living are very good. Our
friend, George Tyng, has got a degree ; and, of course, is very light-
hearted on that subject. I hope you will excuse this unconnected
scrawl ; it is such as I have time to write. If you would like to be at
the expense of postage for any paper that we take, it shall be sent to
you. " The Liberal Recorder " is very good ; " The Christian Reg-
ister," published in Boston, is still better ; and the " Galaxy," " Re-
pertory," and " Evening Tost," you are acquainted with.

Do write to me every thing about the people you live amongst, and
your house, and every thing that constitutes a part of the happiness or
misery of your condition. Anne Jean says she knows you live in just
such a house as Mrs. Aslimun, and a good deal such a street. . . .

I have just seen a favorable notice of Cullen Bryant's poem in our
newspaper, with which I am very much delighted. I suppose Mary

mentioned to you that the 's were with Mrs. , and keep tilings

up in arms rather more than common, — going'on the mountain, and
riding on horseback, and so forth. Remember me very affectionately
to your husband, and believe me with much affection,

Yours,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. Since the above was written, your father has brought in Sally
to go to school. She desires her love to you. The family are all
well.

Your affectionate

Aunt.

147

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, November 13, 1821.

My dear Abbt, — ...
I am excessively disappointed that Mr. Frank Blake has returned with-
out letting us know that he was going, for I wished to have sent several
things which cannot go by mail ; and I took every means in my power
to prevent his doing so, but in vain. After you left me, and I had
time to reflect, it came across me that you were not a very practical
cook ; and, as the culinary art makes a very essential branch of house-
keeping, I saw fit to get a book, with the determination that I would
fill it with the best recipes, and send it to you by the first opportunity ;
likewise, several trifles which you left ; and, with the recipes, a few
general remarks upon housewifery, — for I believe my theory would do
you more good than the recollection of my practice. But, my dearest
child, you have commenced housekeeping, in some respects, under
much more favorable auspices than I did. You are the founder of
your own family, and the author of your own rules and regulations ;
whereas mine were all accommodated to the exigencies of circum-
stances, over which I had no control ; and it is very important to begin
right, more particularly if you have a young domestic who, if she is of
a pliable character, may be made completely the creature of habit.

Your sister, Sally, is with me ; and Miss Bancroft joins me in think-
ing her a child susceptible of a high degree of improvement ; indeed, I
never knew one improve faster than she has for the last three months.
But, I regret to say, that after the termination of this quarter (which
is in a few days) we shall no longer be benefited by Miss B.'s instruc-
tion ; for her parents insist on her giving up teaching, and on her
returning to live with them. This frustrates all my plans, as well for
Sally as for Anne Jean. For I had determined, with your father's con-
sent, that she should have two years of such instruction as would fit
her to appear respectably in any situation which Providence might

148

assign her ; and more particularly, to get her own living, as Miss Ban-
croft lias done, if her circumstances should, as they possibly may,
require it. Sally's attainments are now every way superior to what

was, when she left me; she is remarkably neat and attentive in

the care of her own clothes, and uncommonly methodical in her habits
for one of her age. She has grown to be nearly as tall as you are, and
promises to be a handsomer woman than her mother, which I think is
saying a good deal.

I hear from Boston that Mrs. Revere is agreeably fixed at house-
keeping, and that Catherine will spend the winter with her ; as she will
be housed until spring, she will need C.'s society as well as aid in
housekeeping. Eliza Henshaw desired in her letters to be remembered
to you. Sam is fixed at Lcchmere Point, Cambridge, where there is a
jail and a court-house, and six hundred inhabitants, without any law-
yer ; and there is a prospect that he may make a living, though at
present, nothing more.

I suppose Mary has told you all the news there is, and that is very
little. She has read aloud to me the " Life of John Wesley ; or, a His-
tory of Methodism," since she read Miss Aiken's " Memoir of Queen
Elizabeth's Court ;" and is now reading Peter's " Letters."

Hooker has just been in and desired bis love to you and Mr. Greene.
Present him with my most cordial love, and believe me your very
affectionate friend and aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Faroes.

Northampton, November 17, 1821.
My dear Emma, — This you know is a busy season for heads of
families, who wish to see their children warmly clad for the approach-
ing season. You can have, my dear Emma, but a weak impression of
the subjects which must occupy the minds of such every-day people as

140

myself. It is altogether probable that when I am contemplating the
figure of a garment, and considering its construction as it regards
warmth and convenience, you arc making some bold flight into the
regions of imagination, and wondering how people can suffer their
minds to remain under the thraldom of circumstances, and enslaved by
such mean realities. But every different stage of existence has its
appropriate duties and pleasures ; and though it is delightful to witness
the free and elastic spirit of youth in the full enjoyment of all that
buoyancy which results from exemption from care and trouble, and
which leads it to the anticipation of meeting with many flowers in life's
path, which Providence never designed they should realize,— it is equally
satisfactory to a contemplative or a reasoning mind, to behold the con-
trast of the elderly matron (whose enthusiasm has been evaporated by
the powerful influence of time) giving her exclusive attention to those
apparently grovelling concerns of life, which do not, however, con-
tribute less to the general augmentation of human happiness ; and to
increase that sum ought to make a principal part of our own.

You do not know how much you made me desire to listen personally
to the eloquence of Mr. Everett ; but as T could not hear him myself, I
am much obliged to you for your account of the matter, which was
highly entertaining.

I hear some reading every day ; but there is nothing so truly delight-
ful to me as the accounts I have from my living friends, in the form of
letters. I am chiefly indebted to my dear Catherine and Abby for the
pleasure I obtain in this way, as my other correspondents are some-
what uncertain.

I have received and read all I could relish (not to say understand)
of the last "North American Review." I think the same observation will
apply to it, which was applied in Peter's "Letters" to the " Edinburgh
Review," " that if there was sense in it, there was no punt, no wit, no
joke, no spirit, and nothing of the glee of young existence about it ; "
and Peter, after making use of some very unjustifiable censures, ends

150

his comment with adding, " there is no infusion of fresh blood into the
veins of the ' Review.' " Wise as it is, I must think just so of our
"North American ;" I did not like the undiscriminating and unquali-
' tied praise bestowed on my favorite Cullen Bryant. But as it is all out
of my depth, I feel that I do wrong to entertain any opinion about it.

Mary, who is my only companion and comfort at this time, has lately
read me " Percy's Masque," Miss Aikin's " Memoir of Queen Elizabeth's
Court," and Southey's " Life of Wesley." I have been much engaged
in the latter; you know 1 have a great zest for such kind of tilings.
Though much of what is there related of his feelings I am very familiar
with, as the same cant phrases are now in use among our Orthodox
acquaintance ; and they have the same unsettled purpose of mind
which characterizes Methodism, and the same extravagant enthusiasm
which Wesley carried through life with him. Although this is an
entertaining book, I must own that it is necessary to wade through a
great deal of folly to get at the history of Methodism. Southey has
certainly made it as pleasing as the truth will justify ; he appears to
be very candid, and proves every thing he says as he goes along, by
Wesley's own letters or those of his friends. Notwithstanding which I
am told the Methodists are not satisfied with it, and do not think they
have had justice done them ; and are determined to have another Life
of him published which shall do more credit to their system. I never
knew, till I read this book, how much the Calvinists had borrowed from
this sect; but I find-bright-lights, and spiritual agues, and revivals, all
had their origin with the Methodists. It certainly is a system which
tends to produce more of the appearance than the reality of religion.
It dealt too much in sensations (as Mr. Southey remai'ks), and in out-
ward manifestations. It made religion too much a thing of display,
an effort of sympathy and confederation ; it led people too much
from their homes and their closets ; it imposed too many forms ; it
required too many professions ; it exacted too many exposures. And
the necessary consequence was, that when their enthusiasm abated

151

they became mere formalists, and kept up a pharisaical appearance of
holiness, when the real feeling had evaporated entirely.

I think you have had enough of John Wesley ; which, however, I know
you will excuse when you reflect how little there is in this place to ■
engage one's interest, — and my motto and my rule is, "out of the abun-
dance of the heart the mouth speaketh." We are all well and happy,
except the prospect of losing Miss Bancroft; besides losing a valu-
able instructor, I lose a very affectionate friend in whom I have taken
much pleasure for four years, — a pleasure that has never been inter-
rupted by a single bitter feeling on the part of either of us. It opens
another wound too, caused by the separation from my beloved child
Abby. But my paper will not allow me to make reflections on the
various changes incident to this sublunary state, and believe me very

affectionately yours,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. — I cannot help adding a postscript just to say, that when Mrs.
Cary passed half-a-day in Northampton, which was a week ago to-day,
I went to see her ; and I never saw her half so charming. She is as
large as her mother ever was, and her beauty has increased in propor-
tion to her size — for flesh is very becoming to her; and she has as
handsome a baby as I ever beheld, and appeared very happy in the
prospect of living in New York. I am sure I am glad for her, for I
always thought her situation must be a very uncongenial one to one of
her habits and way of thinking.

My mother's letters to Abby are full to overflowing of affeetioinilc
details of her own family life, and news of Abby's invalid father, and of
the little sisters, who for so many years formed a part of the household
in Northampton. Their improvement in knowledge and virtue, and all
their interesting traits, are constantly recorded for the absent sister's
perusal ; and all sorts of questions asked about the Cincinnati home,

152

which seemed always present to her imagination. In one dated Jan.
ti, 1822, she writes : —

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

I am delighted with every augmentation of social enjoyment you are
promised with, as well as what you actually experience ; and I choose to
believe that you will find both Mrs. , and Miss , a great acqui-
sition to you. At any rate, it' they have any hearts to feel, there will be
some points of sympathy between you ami them ; they will, like your-
self, feel the distance which separates them from every thing endeared
by early association ; they will, like yourself, feel the want of seeing
friends that are far distant. And all this similarity of feeling will be
a strong and sympathetic tie (as the case may be). But if they are
cold, inanimate worldlings, who never felt the kindling glow of friend-
ship warm their hearts, they will prove little but an aggravation to
you. This want of congeniality no one ever felt, I believe, more keenly
in their daily associates and neighbors, than 1 have done at certain
periods of my life. But I think domestic union, and affection in the
small family circle, is a substitute for it in some measure; and perhaps
wanting those external sources over which to expand the surplus affec-
tions of the heart may induce us to be more particularly careful to
preserve and cultivate the love of those with whom we live. If it has
that effect, it must not be regretted; as nothing is more desirable, of an
earthly nature, than .to strengthen those ties which Nature has formed,
and by that means second the plans of the Almighty, who undoubtedly
had a wise design in planning the tender ties which constitute the vari-
ous social relations of the human family.

1 always read your letters, or such parts as I know will interest
them, to your father and mother, when I see them ; and I have kept
up a correspondence with Sally since she left me, so that they hear
from you as often as 1 do. I expect to have Sally in town again to go
to school when Mr. Tyng begins, as be will take girls next quarter.

153

I have been reading two delightful books: "Valerius," a Roman
story; and " Geraldine; or, Modes of Faith and Practice," in which
nothing is wanting but originality. I read " Anacharsis " four years
ago with Catherine, and enjoyed it as much, I think, as you can. Sir
William Jones's " Life," too, I have read, 1 hope with some improve-
ment ; for I shall never forget the impression left on my mind by the
careful attention shown him by his mother, during his early youth, on
which it appeared to me was founded all his future eminence as a good,
useful, and literary man. If I recollect right he acquired twenty-eight
languages ; but that acquisition, together with his poetry, I could dis-
pense with in my son, if he could dictate such prayers, and propose to
himself the attainments of knowledge only as a means of doing good
and becoming extensively useful to his fellow-creatures. Perhaps the
annals of the world do not furnish an instance of so short a life, in
which so much real good was accomplished, and so much evil pre-
vented, by the various plans he formed and executed for enlightening
the benighted people, amongst whom he went to live. I think he was
but forty-seven years old when he died. To contemplate such a life
must be useful to any one. It is calculated to exalt our standard of
human excellence ; and every thing which has that effect is profitable
to the heart as well as understanding.

I hear Sam has a prospect of doing well at Lechmere Point in Cam-
bridge, where I believe I have before told you he was settled.

My best love to Mr. Greene.

Yours very affectionately,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, February 28, 1S22.
My dear Abby, — I have just returned from Boston, after having
spent a month there most delightfully ; not in dissipation, but in that
heart-warming interchange with friends that is so refreshing to the best

154

affections of the human heart. It was a great addition to my comfort
to find my sister Mary so agreeably situated, with a husband who has
every quality that is essential to the happiness of an amiable and refined
woman, together with a heart tilled with tenderness for her.

Mrs. Balestier, the sister of Mr. Revere, informed me, on hearing me
make inquiry after Miss Baity, that she was well acquainted with her ;
and offered to go to Charlestown with me and call on her. Miss B.'s
brother is Mr. Balestier's partner in business, which has given Mrs.
Balestier an opportunity of being well acquainted with her, as I before
observed ; and she says she will be a great acquisition to you, and that
she is an uncommonly intelligent, well-educated woman. I was as
much pleased with her as I should choose to be with any one on so
short an interview. I found her expectations were much more san-
guine in regard to the place of her future residence, than yours ever
were. But I do not think she will be disappointed, for I have an idea
that Cincinnati is a much more agreeable place to live in, than Charles-
town. I am delighted with every addition to your happiness, if it is
only in prospect; and must flatter myself that it will be promoted in
proportion as good and agreeable people from New England become the
inhabitants of the place in which you reside. I say New England peo-
ple, because the more we are assimilated to those amongst whom we
live, by habit, the more we enjoy their society.

I am glad that you have a physician that you think so well of, and
who is likewise so much your friend. I am not certain that Edward
will be in Boston at the time Dr. Smith will be there ; but Mrs. Bales-
tier will see him, and will let me know in season to get the things I
wish to send, — and I will not forget the Webster's " Oration." I was
afraid you would not get the " North American Review," as you never
mentioned the receipt of it; and 1 got Mr. Revere to call and leave a
five dollar bill, and take a receipt for it from Mr. 0. Everett, which I
was told was a necessary form, when it went out of the State.

It may be interesting to Mr. Greene as well as yourself to know who

155

the authors of the " Review " in the last number were. The first two
were by the editor, Mr. Edward Everett; " Encke's Comet," by Mr.
Bowditeh ; Dr. Webster's " Azores," by Cogswell ; Stuart's •• Dis," by
Sidney Willard; "Life of Algernon Sidney," by Edward Brooks;
" Fairfax's Tasso," by John C. Gray ; Madame de Stael's " Works." by
Alex. Everett; Hale's "Dissertations,'' by Dr. Ware ; Adelung's " Sur-
vey," by John Pickering ; " Life of Pitt," by Theo. Lyman ; " Weights
and Measures," by Professor Farrar ; " New York Canals," by Mr.
Patterson. It is a great while since Professor Everett has written any
thing so much to my liking as the " Comment on Percival's Poems ; "
there is some wit in it, as well as good sense. .....

Mary is at a party this evening at Harriet Clapp's, or I dare say she
would have some message for you. Love to Mr. Greene.
Yours with much affection,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, April 11, 1822.
My dear Abby, — Since my return from Boston, Mary has been
reading to me in Hume's " England," — which I have heard so often,
that it has not a very exciting influence on my mind. We have suf-
fered an agreeable interruption from the " Pirate " and " Spy." There
is much said by the reviewers in favor of the " Pirate ; " but, in my
estimation, it is very inferior to most of the same author's productions.
It does not inspire one with at all the same kind of interest that " Guy
Mannering," or " The Antiquary," or "Waverley" did; because you
find only the same style of character, modified by difference of circum-
stances, which has only the effect of meeting old acquaintances, dressed
in' a new garb, but produces none of the excitement of novelty for
which the earliest works of that author were so peculiar. By the time
you get through the Yellowleys' journey to the feast, you feel as much

156

wearied as if you had taken it yourself. The " Spy " is an American
production, as I presume you know, by the author of "Precaution;"
and has no claim to any kind of excellence. It is a very humble
imitation of some of Scott's novels; and though it makes some pre-
tentions to truth in the facts related, I believe the reality will not
justify a reliance on them.

As the year has nearly expired since the line of separation was drawn
between you and me, I cannot help making a good many reflections on
my present resources of happiness, in comparison with what I enjoyed
previous to that time. And it is a great pleasure to me to believe that
your pleasures are increased in as great a degree as mine are dimin-
ished. But I have too many blessings left to justify a word of com-
plaint. Notwithstanding our blessings, we arc prone to over-estimate
our troubles ; and I must say 1 have had peculiar trials of feeling, of a
nature not to admit much alleviation from sympathy.

Since I wrote you that I wished to have you inquire for Mrs. , I

have heard the particulars of her case, and that her friends have united
in a subscription that should enable them to send for her and her

children to return to Boston. My brother , was here lately, and

said that he bad written to Mr. Greene on the subject.

I am sorry that I shall not see Dr. Smith, who, I perceive by the
paper, is married. I have no doubt his wife will be a great acquisition
to you, and I am glad I have seen one of the inhabitants of Cincinnati ;
for I do not think you have been very particular in describing them.
I felt grieved for Mr. Greene, when I saw by the paper that he had lost
Ins only brother, — particularly under such aggravated circumstances.

I have much more to say, but we arc going to have some company
to dinner, and I must resign the pen.

With the warmest affection, yours,

A. J. Lyman.

157
Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Mat 20,

My dear Adby, — It is very good in you to write to an old aunt,
whose letters, I am aware, are but a poor compensation for any effort
you may be pleased to make in the writing way. And besides, your
continuing to write indicates to me a healthful state of your affections ;
and that, much as you are and ought to be engaged in present objects,
you do not cease to think and feel for distant ones. These matters
of the heart, my dear Abby, depend much on our care and cultivation.
If we neglect to cherish kind recollections, and the only interchange
provided for those separated by distance from us, our affections become
withered and blasted for want of nutriment ; but if we are principled
to keep them alive by proper attention to them, they will administer
much towards cheering our path through this valley of tears. A desire
for the esteem and love of those around us, or of those with whom we
are connected, is not an ignoble passion of the human heart, but may
be founded on the purest and most exalted principles ; and is generally
accompanied by a great expansion of regard towards those from whom
we wish it reciprocated ; and is altogether a different sentiment
from that of wishing for popular favor or admiration, to increase our
distinction among our fellow-creatures when no corresponding senti-
ment is entertained.

This subject reminds me to inform you that Jane has been one of
the most constant and improved correspondents you can conceive of;
she will return to us in another month.

I don't know that I could communicate any news of a very interesting
kind to you, for there is nothing stirring here more than I mentioned
in my last. Mrs. Dwight and Betsy have been passing a fortnight
with me very pleasantly ; we have done a good deal of visiting. Betsy
still stands on the single list, — a proof of the want of discrimination
in her male acquaintance ; for, to me she is possessed of every qiiali-

158

fication, both external and intrinsic, which is essential to the happiness
of a man's life, as far as woman has any control over it. I suppose by
this time yon have received the last "North American Review;" I
have not yet learned who the authors are. The piece on " Essay
Writing" was the most interesting' to me, and I thought it probable
Mr. Everett wrote it.

Justin Clark, who you recollect as one of our beaux, has just returned
from Washington, where he has passed the last six months, — being
employed for one of the newspapers to report the proceedings of Con-
gress,— and I assure you he is very much improved. There is an
intelligent young man, by the name of Baker, studying with Mr. Mills,
who is now about to take Mr. Tyng's school. And now I believe you
have had a statement of the leaux establishment. The belles are Miss
Catherine and Miss Emeline Shepherd, and Miss Mills.

Anne J fan Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, June 10, 1822.

My dear Emma, — I have so good an opportunity to write, that I will
not omit it, though I have nothing to communicate that can interest
you very much. My own feelings have been somewhat interested in
two very different subjects of late, in sympathy with those of my neigh-
bors,— the death of Mr. D., and the engagement of Mrs. A. In this
instance, if not in all, marriage is in its effect something like death, as it
must produce a total dissolution of interests between Mis. A. and those
to whom she has been so peculiarly necessary ; of course the deepest
commiseration is felt for them. And they appear to feel a great deal

for themselves. Mrs. 's family are blessed with that imperturbable

serenity, or fortitude, or apathy, that cannot long be disquieted with
any thing.

I feel as if your cousin N. P.'s removal to Worcester had brought
you considerably nearer to me ; for you will undoubtedly visit her, and

159

it will be nothing to get from there here, — particularly if you select a
time when one of Judge Howe's courts sit there, and return with him.
But I should like to have you and C. come together, as I think you
would both enjoy yourselves better for each other's company.

Mr. Theodore Sedgwick has been here for a few days, which has
made a little variety for us ; and Mr. B. and his two boys. I pre-
sume you have read Miss S.'s book. There is no danger of such books
being multiplied to too great a degree, as they are suited to the
majority of readers, who, if they cannot get good trifles, read trash,
and are injured by it. I have not heard whether Mr. Inches and family
have gone out to Milton yet, but I presume they have not. I conclude
you have E. D. near you.

In the account of the packet "Albion," I presume you saw the death
of one of Judge P.'s daughters, of Upper Canada. I should like very
much to know which of them it was. There was also the death of

Professor P , of New Haven, in whose death much unhappiness is

involved. He was engaged to Miss C. B , a young lady possessed

of a great deal of good sense and genius ; but who had, under very
interesting circumstances, left her father's house last autumn to find
another home. She went to see a friend in New Haven, preparatory to
getting a school ; and while she was there, became acquainted with and
was engaged to this worthy young man, which brightened her earthly
prospects very much, — for they were in midnight gloom when she left
her home. Since then she has been teaching a school in New London,
with the hope of leaving it in another year to become the happy wife of
a young man as much distinguished in the region where he is known,
as Mr. Everett is in Boston and its neighborhood ; distinguished not
only for science, but for the most exemplary goodness. I have men-
tioned this to you, not because you could take any interest in the
parties, but because I wish you to know some of the misery there is in
the world, from which you are exempt; and I dare say the same cir-
cumstances would interest you in a fictitious tale.

160

1 am sorry I have not time to fill up my paper, but when you hear
that I have several letters to finish, to send by the same opportunity,
you will excuse me. Remember me to all your family, and nil inquiring
friends ; and believe me your very affectionate friend and cousin,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, July 1, 1822.
My dear Abby, — I shall be called day after to-morrow to keep the
anniversary of your departure from us. 1 need not say how many
regrets and how many agonizing thoughts are revived by this reflec-
tion, though mingled with them is much satisfaction. It is not the
least pleasing reflection to me that our intercourse was never inter-
rupted by dissensions, or even temporary heart-burnings, which tend
so powerfully to weaken the influence of affection ; for where reproof
was couched in too strong terms on my part, it always found a pro-
portionate measure of patience on yours, by which the equipoise of good
feeling was preserved. But all these recollections only tend to aggravate
the loss I have sustained. However, had you always lived with me,
perhaps 1 should have become insensible to the comfort I was enjoying,
and have thought no more of it, than we are prone to of a good night's
rest, — which you know we do not value until we are deprived of it ;
which proves to us that misery is essential to happiness, and that

" The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sable tints of woe."

Jane returned to us last Monday ; she appears very well, and very
happy. As it regards the acquisitions she made in Troy, I think they
are much more of the nature of " sm'/ than ballast." But she is not
injured, and has gained some confidence and some independence, which
may be of essential service to her ; and her experience has, on the
whole, been favorably extended.

161

There have been several very exciting causes which have tended to

disturb the monotony of a Northampton existence very much. . . .

[Then follow many village annals ; and she closes with a recipe for
curing hams, which she is sure Abby must want.]

Mrs. Lyman to Bliss Forbes.

Northampton, August 6th, 1822.

You do not know what a heart-cheering effect your letter had upon
me, my dear Emma. But the intelligence I heard immediately after-
wards was a great damper to my spirits ; for I knew that your uncle's
death would be a great affliction to yourself, to your mother, and to

perhaps more than to either of you. But so good a man has left

a delightful retrospect to his friends ; they must console themselves
with thinking of the good actions which filled up his earthly career, of
the wounds to which his kindness and assistance were a healing balm,
of the afflictions to which his warm and accessible sympathies were so
comforting and so readily yielded. The first effect of all these reflec-
tions is to widen the breach made ; but when time has mitigated the
first impulse of sorrow, it must be delightful to associate with the
memory of a departed friend those virtues which we believe insure
everlasting happiness.

We are enjoying a great deal from the society of Eliza Cabot at this
time ; she is very well, in fine spirits, and of course very agreeable.
I am going to carry her to Stockbridge to-morrow, to spend a few days
with Miss Sedgwick. I expect so much from this little excursion, that
it will be a strange thing if disappointment does not ensue.

I think you and C. must have some very interesting interviews after
such a long separation, wherein so much variety has occurred. If C.'s
health had not been benefited at all, I should never regret her having
made the excursion she did to the Springs. It has extended her expe-
rience of mankind, so favorably, and left so much new imagery in her

162

mind to reflect on hereafter; and all, too, of a very animating char-
acter.

The last number of the " North American Review " I presume you
have seen. The prevailing subjects which occupy it are more congenial
to my taste and feelings than that work usually is. I am told the
review of the " Spy" was written by your cousin, W. G.; and I think
he has done it ample justice. I never read " Bracebridge Hall," and
i think .Mr. Everett's review will be all 1 ever shall read of it. " For-
tunes of Nigel" afforded a temporary entertainment, which, I think, is
all it is calculated to do ; it certainly has few of those striking deline-
ations of character which distinguish this author's other works so
much, and is equally deficient in glowing descriptions of scenery. But
he has contrived withal to make it as interesting as any of his other
productions.

Oh, Emma ! I have just had a thought come into my head. If you
can leave home, I wish you would return with Air. Lyman and visit me
while the season is fine ; for the dreariness of autumn and the gloom
of winter arc equally unfavorable to this fine country. 1 am just get-
ting ready to go to Stockbridge with Eliza Cabot; must close with the
request that you will soon write to me, if you do not come to see me,
and tell me all about the state of things among your friends. Give
my love to your father and mother and the children, and believe me
your sincere and affectionate friend, ^^ Jean Lyman_

In the next letter to Mrs. Greene, dated Aug. 29th, 1S22, she speaks
of having felt ill for some months, but says : " It has not prevented
our having company continually, and kept up such an agitation of spir-
its, that I did not feel willing under them to write to anybody. Mr.
Edmund D wight and his wife have made us a visit. Miss Eliza ( labot
lias been here a month on a visit to my sister Howe; and Robert Sedg-
wick spent a few days here with his new wife, Miss Elizabeth Ellery,
from Newport.

163

I wont three weeks ago to Stockbridge with Miss Cabot ; we passed
a night at your father's on our way there, had a pleasant ride, and were
well pleased with a visit of two days after we got there. Charles Sedg-
• wick's is one of the most crowded houses you can conceive of. Every
room in the house has several beds in it, except one parlor. Mr. and
Mrs. Theodore Sedgwick, with Mrs. S.'s aunt and two children, Mrs.
Watson and two children, and two of Mrs. Dwight's children, added to
Charles's own family, consisting of seven. Harry's family board in
the neighborhood. Elizabeth necessarily keeps very much in her nurs-
ery, taking care of the children ; and Catherine is the mainspring of
the machinery, by which the family is kept together and provided for.

I think the Sedgwick family unite as much moral and intellectual
greatness as I ever have seen combined in one family ; and their society
is a rare pleasure to me. Mrs. Jane Sedgwick has an uncommonly
brilliant and discriminating mind, with a good share of imagination.
Mrs. Theodore Sedgwick has one of those perfectly subdued and disci-
plined minds, which makes her a truly practical woman ; and if she
excites less of your love than Mrs. Jane, you cannot help yielding
her your unqualified admiration and respect. In my estimation, Cathe-
rine Sedgwick is beyond all praise, and I should not think of describing
even the outline of her character ; but in no branch is she more strik-
ingly excellent than in the domestic department, producing comfort by
every motion she makes.

I suppose you have received the last " North American Review." I
like it better than I usually do, inasmuch as it is not entirely out of
the circle of my narrow information, as those " Reviews " usually are.
The comment on the " Spy " is very good, and was written by Wm.
Gardiner of Boston ; that on " Bracebridge Hall" is rather testy, though
it is not devoid of merit. The " Foreigner's Opinion of England,*' which
I have read this summer, was by Edward Brooks, and is very just.
" Europe," a book written by Mr. Alexander Everett, was reviewed by
one of the Grays.

164

Your uncle and the girls send their love to you. Eliza and all
her children are here, and she desires her love also.
Your affectionate aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. The union of and was one of those unaccountable

matches, that everybody on earth wonders at, and which we must con-
clude are made in Heaven.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, January 21, 1823.

My dear Abby, — Immediately after Sally's hurried departure, Mary
was so much engaged in preparing to go to New York, that I devoted
my time to rendering her every assistance until she went; and then,
with the interruption of a good many sick days, prepared myself and
Sally Woodard to go to Boston. I suppose Mary has made some
written communication to you of her intention to visit New York, and

described Miss , the object of it. She went the first of December,

accompanied by Miss Sarah Dwight, under the protection of Mr. Mills,
when he went to Washington; and I judge by her letters thus far that
she would be glad to return even sooner than she proposed. I returned,
after a delightful visit at Boston, ten days ago; but as soon as we got
home Sally Woodard was seized with a violent rheumatic fever, which
has kept her motionless in bed, ever since ; and it has required all the
energies of Mrs. Burt, Jane, and myself to take care of her, and wield
the other concerns of our family, without even trying to use the pen.
But I have learned, my dear Abby, that these dark days in families
are very necessary to remind us of the ordinary blessings of life ; and,
like the rainy weather which clears the atmosphere, they dispel the
doubts and misgivings we all are prone to, and convince us of the daily
ingratitude we are guilty of.

I was very much pleased with the letter that I received from Sally,

165

and regret that so long a time should have elapsed, and that remain
unanswered. But, while I was in Boston, I had to preserve a constant
and energetic correspondence with Joseph and his instructor, who
stayed with him in my absence ; besides whom there was nobody bul
Mrs. Burt, Charles, and the little children left. For Jane had to go to
Westfield to visit her grand-parents, for the first time in four years.

There is a great awakening in Westfield, and is one of the con-
verts. How true it is, that, when the excitement of one passion has
subsided, an excitable mind will avail itself of the first apology for
kindling some sister flame, and by that means keep up a succession of
vivid interests! Jane pleased me by behaving with a great deal of judg-
ment while she was at W. She neither ridiculed the enthusiasm there,

nor fell in with it ; though Miss took care to urge her sufficiently

on the subject, as you might know she would.

When I was in Boston, all my friends with whom you are acquainted
made many inquiries respecting you, and my sisters desired their love
to you. Mrs. Revere does not enjoy firm health, but she is surrounded
with every thing that can mitigate the terms of indisposition. She has
a lovely boy, but, above all, one of the best husbands that ever was. I
think him as good as my own ; and how can I say more of him ? Mr.
Revere is a man of enlarged moral views, which leads him to the active
performance of all the social duties of life. He has a most affectionate
heart, as well as discriminating mind ; the latter leads him to a full
appreciation of Mary's virtues, and the former to an ardent attachment
to her, which extends itself to all those in whom she is interested.
And the more I know of him the more I realize the value of him as a
brother, and as a friend.

Your uncle has been using all his influence in an energetic manner
for the promotion of Mr. Greene's wishes, and he feels very sanguine
that success awaits him ; and, at any rate, that nothing is lost by the
application.

Joseph has read the " Voice from St. Helena," to me, and I am glad

166

I have read it, though it certainly is a book of very moderate value.

But to a person like myself, who has not taken a very critical survey

of the politics of the European world for the last thirty years (to use

a vulgar expression), " every little helps ; '* and 1 consider this as one

of the mites which contribute to enlighten the ignorant, but will be

of little use to the learned in such matters.

Adieu, my dear Abby. Believe mc, with the warmest affection,

yours,

A. J. L.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, March 2, 1823.

My dear Emma, — When I first received your letter, which is nearly
a month since, I felt inspired by gratitude to sit immediately down and
answer it; but I then had some imperious claims in the epistolary way.
which forbade the indulgence of my inclination ; and since then I have
experienced considerable variety for me, such as some sickness, a ride
to Deerfield, and another to Springfield. The latter I should have
enjoyed exceedingly, but I was sick every moment of the time, and it
was an effort to keep off the bed. But when I did, I was compensated
by the society of Mr. Peabody, and your acquaintance, Margaret Emery.
1 always liked Miss Emery very much, but never so well as now. With-
out the least affectation of eccentricity, she is a little odd, and situated
as she is it is a misfortune to her; but it only makes her the more inter-
esting to mc, and she certainly has an excellent mind. She happened
tn be spending a week with Mrs. 0., with whom I passed the most of
my time, and where Mr. Peabody spends much of his.

I was glad to hear of Mrs. P.'s safety and happiness in having a
son ; her situation is so retired a one, that the care (irksome as it
appears) will be a comfort to her, and one that brings its reward daily.
It is a comfort that no one can form an idea of but those who have
realized it. I have experienced no source of joy so pure, or so fruitful,

167

as that derived from my children ; it has been more than a counter-
poise for all the labor and care incident to such blessings. Joseph bus
been rather poorly all winter ; some of the time quite sick. But it
makes him very tame and interesting. He has now got as well as
usual, and within the last ten days has read the " Pioneers," and
" Valerius," a Roman story, to me. I was entertained with the " Pio-
neers," but it appears to me it is one of those ephemeral productions
which cannot outlive the present day. The object of this work is in
itself very small, and the effect produced seems to be exactly in pro-
portion to it. In reading, nothing is more fatiguing to me than minute
details of low people, with which I think this book, like the "Spy," is
very much encumbered. I found " Valerius " a delightful antidote to
the effect of that old, prosing, tedious "Richard Jones," and was inter-
ested and delighted with every word of it. In short, I think, my dear
Emma, that it is one of the pleasures of reading, to carry the imagina-
tion a little out of the track of the dull realities of life, in which there
is not enough to exalt our thoughts, and produce a high tone of mind.
Not that I undervalue that happy pliability of mental temperament that
enables people without effort to descend to the lowest and most minute
duties of life. And human life consists of constant transitions, of the
most varied and complicated series of events, requiring the exercise of
the highest and lowest efforts of our reason, with every intermediate
stage or ability of which it is susceptible.

Ever since I heard it, the departure of our dear friend, Mrs. Inches,
has been interwoven with almost all my reflections. How few could
join the world of spirits, witli such spotless purity of soul as she has
done ! When I compare myself with her, I feel ashamed of the disparity
between us. I believe she never formed or executed a plan that did not
involve the comfort of others, in some way or other. She had that
exuberance of disinterested kindness that led her continually to a for-
getfulness of her own convenience or pleasure. In future, if I make
new friends, they cannot be substitutes for my old ones, and I feel that

168

a dreadful breach is made in what I have always considered a very
narrow circle. And you know, Emma, that a great many acquaint-
ances are not worth one friend. Mrs. Inches' children will probably
never know what they have lost ; their associations will always be
blended with her infirmities of mind and body, as they have witnessed
them for two years past. This is deeply to be regretted ; for the influ-
ence of strong as well as right impressions upon the minds of young
people, of the age of the four oldest at least, is very important in giving
a bias to their future character. I cannot help wishing that I could be
nearer to the bereaved husband and children of this excellent woman,
that 1 might contribute my mite towards comforting or consoling them
in their affliction.

When you write again, tell me who is to be settled at Summer Street,
and if any one can approve Mr. Sparks leaving Baltimore.

In answer to a remark you made in your last letter, I will inform
you that none of the communications you make to me, if it is a descrip-
tion of the inmost recesses of your own heart, shall ever in future
cause you any trouble ; and I do not wish you to write shackled by the
expectation that any of the W. people are going to hear what you say
to me, or any other people.

Give my love to all my friends ; and, believe me, it is a deed of char-
ity to write to me, and the mail is always an acceptable mode. Your
very affectionate friend and cousin,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. The children are all around me, and wishing to send different
messages to you. I do not trust myself generally to write a word
about them, for fear of betraying the folly which a too partial mother
is liable to; if I did, I should probably say they were the handsomest,
wisest, and best that ever were, and you very properly would not
believe a word of it.

169

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 10, 1823.
My dear Abbt, — I am surrounded by many all-absorbing interests,

but they do not exclude the distant objects of my affection from my
thoughts entirely ; and no day passes that you do not flit across my
imagination, and with yourself many interesting recollections of the
time we have passed together, that never can return.

Since Sally Woodard recovered, Joseph has been sick, and likewise
Anne Jean with a very swelled face which lias lasted a long time ; but
she is now much better, and we think will be well in a few days.
My tiwn health has been insufferably bad since the autumn, but I trust
will be better before this reaches you. I never can express the disap-
pointment 1 felt that, Sally was caught away in such a hurry, when
every thing had been driven from my mind by the confusion of Cattle-
show week, and with such short notice that we had no opportunity to
put her in any state of preparation, or to think of any thing we had to
send. I had a set of Dr. Bancroft's sermons, and the " New England
Tale," and a great many tracts and papers I thought would be interest-
ing to you. ... I believe you must have seen by smut.'
paper the death of Eliza Henshaw, who was sick about a year, and
died three weeks ago. She is certainly a great loss to her family.
You know I always thought her very superior, unspotted from the
world, not selfish and exclusive in her feelings, and more active in
her charities, and altogether possessed of more liberality and enlarge-
ment than is common to the rest. Our neighbor, Mrs. Hunt, is much

afflicted by her death, as she was by Mrs. Dewey's. As to , does

not this easy pliability of character mark the majority of mankind ?
I am sorry to say 1 think it does ; for I should be glad to think better
of my fellow creatures. I should lie glad to see them acting, thinking,
and feeling upon the immutable ami determined principles of reason,
as modified by the infallible rules of Scriptural morality. Or, in other
22

170

words, a discriminating sense of right and wrong, which may be made
applicable to the least and most unimportant acts of our life.

is still living, but confined to his room ; I believe I told you he

was one of the certain victims of consumption. The sickness and
other troubles which this young man had experienced had operated
powerfully to subdue and discipline his mind aright, and 1 have no
doubt he would have been a distinguished luminary in our literary
hemisphere had he been permitted to remain in it. lie is very patient
and submissive, and expresses no regret at the prospect of death, Sam
writes us, — and he has lately returned from visiting him at Newbury-
port.

You often have heard me speak of my friend Mrs. Inches. I have
recently been called to lament her departure, and a great breach it has
made in my small circle of real friends; for she was the most uniform,
most kind, and most affectionate being, where she was enlisted, that 1
ever knew. And I always felt a certainty that the pleasure I was to
have in seeing her would be fully reciprocated by her when we met. I
had experienced from her, for sixteen years.

" That constant flow of love that knows no fall."
She had a mind that never was disturbed by

" Those cataracts and breaks,
Which humor interposed too often makes."

All these traits of character made her an interesting acquaintance and
a most desirable friend. And I rejoice that I Knew her, when her ex-
ample was likely to sink deep into my heart. Such a prevailing influ-
ence lias this circumstance had on my mind, that 1 find it difficult to
dismiss it : though 1 know it has no other interesl for you than as an
event which affects me.

Notwithstanding our numerous trials this winter, we have enjoyed
reading Bradford's " History of Massachusetts," Sismondi's " Switzer-

171

land," the " Pioneers," the "Voice from St. Eelena," " Valerius," and
various periodical publications in the form of Reviews : all of which I
presume you have seen, unless it is Bradford's " History."

My dear Abby, why cannot the person who comes for Mrs.

bring you here to pass the summer? Sally can keep house until autumn
for Mr. Greene, and then I know some way will appear for you to
return.

Mrs. has her eleventh child — a daughter.

Yours with much affection,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Jlt-fi. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, May 15, 1823.
My dear Abbt, — Your uncle wrote you of the happy termination
of a sorrowful winter ; but I will not make any complaint, for I never
saw a finer child than mine, as it regards health, as well as good looks.
But within one week, my dear Abby, I was called to experience the
extremes of joy and grief. No one could have more reason to rejoice
and be gratified for the circumstance which immediately restored me
to health and usefulness, than I had. But while my heart was dilated
with the most highly-excited emotions on that account, I was called to
mourn the departure of that truly interesting and excellent youth,
George Tyng. As you saw him, you could form but an inadequate idea
of what he afterwards became. I never saw any one more subdued by
the circumstances which occurred to him, than he was. Yes ! his spirit
was fitted by the discipline of life for the more exalted enjoyments of the
world of spirits, — where we are told of the good, that " God will wipe
all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more sorrow, nor death,
neither shall there be any more pain."

But in the first deprivation caused by the death of a friend, these
reflections are but a partial antidote; and we do not allow ourselves at
once to reason on the moral uses of affliction, but involuntarily give

172

way to the sensations of sorrow, so naturally produced by the loss of
our friends. . . . Sorrow is a wholesome regimen for us, and weans
us from the vanities of the world, and induces us to think of the rela-
tion we sustain, not only to our fellow-creatures but to our Heavenly
Father, who gives and who takes away, as he sees fit. How often
those adverse circumstances which we most deeply deplore prove them-
selves to be our greatest blessings, by sowing the seeds of virtues in
our hearts, which we were destitute of before, and by the exerci.se of
which we may gain so much self-respect, and benefit those within the
sphere of our influence so much! How many compassionate disposi-
tions have filled the place of overbearing pride and selfishness! But
this is rarely the case, where the chastening hand of Providence has
not been laid upon us. .........

if you receive the "North American Review" now, you will perceive
by a comment there is in it that there recently has been published a
valuable historical sketch entitled "Tudor's Life of Otis." The com-
ment was written by Mr. F. C. Gray. The work is a credit to Ameri-
can literature, and embraces the same period that Bradford's " History"
did. Mr. Everett has attempted something like a defence of Lord
Bacon's character, that pleases me, — in the same number.

My little baby docs n't allow me to do a great deal of writing, and 1
believe I must get you to make an apology to Sally for me ; 1 shall
write to her before long. Charlotte and Anne Jean go to dancing-
school and Miss Upham's school, and appear to be very happy together.
Your father's family have not yet left Norwich, nor do I know how
long their stay may be protracted. I saw him to-day, and be told me
that they were all at home. We had our little girl christened on Sun-
day ; her name is Susan Inches, — after my dear friend who died this
winter.

I find a great accumulation of cares growing out of my new acquisi-
tion, and I do not find proportionate increase of talents for the demand ;
but 1 shall do all I can.

173

" And while the busy means are plied,
Even if the wished end \s denied,
They bring their own reward."

And there is a good deal of pleasure and some dignity in the occupa-
tion annexed to bringing up a family of children, notwithstanding the

many interruptions incident to it

Yours most affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. — Give a great deal of love to Mr. Greene and Sally.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

August 3, 1820.

Your letters, my dear Emma, have the same effect on my mind that
animated conversation has on subjects that are interesting to me, and
always inspire me with the desire to make an immediate reply ; but, as
my ability and inclination do not always go hand-in-hand, I am fre-
quently obliged to deny myself the pleasure I so much covet, until the
inspiration goes off entirely.

I think I can imagine C. and yourself comparing your travelling ex-
periences, and enjoying the retrospect they afford you, much more than
you could have done the reality; and that I consider the principal
benefit of journeying. The enjoyment is not present, but past, or future.
There is much satisfaction in the new imagery with which our mind is
supplied by making tours such as you ladies have done, and nearly as
much, perhaps, in anticipating them before they occur. But in the
actual experience there is always some great drawback to comfort ; it
is either too warm, or cold, or too dusty, or too rainy, or the public
houses miserable. And we are all such sensualists, that such things
diminish present enjoyment very much, though in contemplating them
they do not weigh so heavily.

I have, after much urging, been drawn in to consent to go to Leba-

174

non for a few days ; but I had much rather stay at home, as there are no
conveniences for babies in such places, and I cannot go without mine
very well.

You know we have a prospect of a new literary institution here : but
I have not been very sanguine in my expectations in regard to it, and
therefore shall not be disappointed. I dare say the young gentlemen
engaged in the enterprise will be very much disappointed. I never
knew tbc most active and resolute parent succeed entirely to his or her
own wishes in regard to their own families, when guided by the best
wishes as well as judgment, that falls t < > the lot of humanity, added to
that strongest principle in human nature, parental love; and therefore
I do not expect this will be exempt from defects. I know of no human
institutions that are. I shall think myself singularly happy, if the
proposed plan is no more defective than those of a similar kind which
have been so long in use.

In regard to my own children. I mean to save myself from the sell-
reproach of neglecting them. Indeed, I have found ever a most ready
alacrity in their service ; if I am unsuccessful, it will be from an ina-
bility over which 1 have no control, and the cause of much sorrow.
But I will not add the anticipation of misery to the reality.

Don't you intend to come and see us ? Yon remember Miss F. ; she
is a pretty, interesting creature, full of energy and activity. But if

doesn't speak quick, he may forever after hold his peace ; for she

soon will be picked up here. Don't you admire the sensible choice Mr.
Peabody of Springfield has made? You probably know that he is
really going to marry Amelia White. Young Mr. Sturgis has just left
here : he seems to be a nice young man, but not extraordinary as I
expected. There is another young man from his class here, who is a
fair match for him, by the name of L. But it would take half-a-dozen
such to make up the loss of the good and wise little Bradford, who has
recently left us.

You have heard, I dare say, that Mr. Ilarding left his wife here ; she

175

seems to be a good little woman, and everybody likes her. Some peo-
ple are very anxious for her improvement. I am not particularly, for I
think she stands a very good comparison with the majority of her sex ;
and any thing that would destroy the simplicity of her character would
take from her her most interesting possession. And it is too late, and
her habits, as well as objects of interest, are too strongly opposed to
any new impulse of mind, to make it reasonable to expect any great
change in her.

I suppose you are a reader of the " North American Review," and I
am habitually, from the avarice of not being willing to pay for a thing
without deriving some profit ; but the last number is so entirely out of
the channel of my apprehension that I could have but little enjoymenl
in it. I was, however, pleased with Dr. Bradford's notions of material-
ism. He believes as much in craniology as I do.

1 hope has exhausted the seven vials of his wrath against the

judges of the Supreme Court. I am astonished that the editors of the
" North American " should allow that work to be the vehicle for its
diffusion. But what with the political and the theological controversy,
which has become very stale and tedious, our periodical works are
amazingly tasteless and wearisome ; and I cannot but hope they will
meet with a change.

With love to all friends, your affectionate friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

CHAPTER X.

It is sounded through the land, from the pulpit and the press, that Unitarianism is an
easy religion, that says little about sin. and lc.-.s about holiness, and lulls its disciple in a
dream of carnal security ; while from first to last, in its doctrines, and its precepts, and its
6pirit, it enjoins the acquisition of a holy character as the one thing needful.

This is Unitarian Christianity, as I understand it. A faith whose topics are the mercy
of God, the love of Christ, the duty an 1 immortality of man; a faith which beholds a
ladder reaching from earth to heaven, as in the patriarch's dream, along which the
influences of the Divine compassion ami the prayers of human hearts are continually
ascending and descending ; a faith which links time to eternity by a chain of moral causes
and effects; a faith which utters its woe against impenitence with a heart-thrilling pity,
which wins souls to Christ with a melting tenderness ; a faith which sanctifies and blesses
the relations of daily life, which takes from death its terror and its power, and supports
the soul en the arms of its hope, till it is borne into the society of the angels. — Ezra
Stiles Gannett.

WHEN my mother first came to Northampton, she found hut one
church there; and the whole village united in their interest, or
lack of interest, in the spiritual food that was meted out to them from
Sunday to Sunday. The whole atmosphere of the place was strictly
Oalvinistic, — and the Calvinism of that day was different from any that
prevails in our time in New England. She had hcen accustomed from
her childhood to a similar style of preaching in the old church at
Milton : hut then her wide culture and reading of liberal books, her
occasional Sundays in Boston, where she had listened with enthusiasm
to Buckminster and Channing; and, above all. her association with
pious and devout persons, to whom " the spirit was more than the
letter," together with her constant, devoted, and intelligent study of
the Scriptures, — had inclined her to a liberal interpretation of those

177

doctrines, which as she now saw them enforced in Northampton were
dry as dust to her, hard and repelling ; not what her New Testament
taught her, and not what she wanted to have taught to her children.

When she talked with my father on this subject of vital importance,
both before and after her marriage, she found in him a singular agree-
ment of thought and feeling and conviction. But neither of them
dreamed of quitting the Church of their forefathers. Moreover, my
father explained to her, that in the positions of public trust which he
held in the county, and the varied relations to a wide circle in which
he stood, it would be most unwise for them to express dissatisfaction
with the prevailing belief of their neighborhood : that they must con-
tent themselves with getting what good they could from the Sunday
ministrations, and where their convictions differed from their neigh-
bors', they could at least be patient and silent.

And besides, every tie of affection and gratitude bound my dear
father to the old minister of the town, — Parson Williams, as he was
always familiarly called. When my father was a little boy of eight
years, he one day climbed to the top of a tall tree to witness a skirmish
that was going on, towards the close of the Revolutionary War. But
when he saw blood flowing he became giddy, and fell from his height.
He was taken up insensible, and it was found that his skull was frac-
tured. A long and anxious time followed, when he was nursed by his
good parents with devoted care, and his vigorous constitution finally
triumphed. But he recovered to great delicacy of health, and sensi-
tiveness of brain ; and Parson Williams, who had been devoted in his
attentions to the family during this period of anxiety, told his parents
that it would never do for Joseph to go to the village-school and be
mixed with rough boys ; and that, if they would send him to Ins study
for a lew hours every day. he would teach him all he was strong enough
to learn. So the little boy became the daily inmate of the good pastor's
study, and his rapid advancement astonished his teacher. One day,
Parson Williams astonished the parents also, by appearing before them

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to say that Joseph, though only eleven years of age, was perfectly
fitted to enter Yale College ; and they must let him go. The parents
demurred, — they were poor, and it was an expense they could not meet,
they thought. But the faithful friend, feeling sure that the fine hoy
would not fail to repay them a thousand-fold for all their sacrifices,
did not leave them till he had exacted a promise from them that Joseph
should be entered at Yale College a few weeks later. And so his
mother set herself to work, and spun and wove the entire suit in which
he entered college. But she had not time to knit him stockings, and
so lie went barefoot. Mr. Ellis, in his beautiful portrait of my father's
life, in the sermon preached the Sunday alter his death, says of him:
" The little barefooted boy, being found prepared, was despatched
on horseback, under the charge of an elder brother, to the scene of his
literary labors. The miniature collegian, whose head as he sat upon
his horse hardly appeared above the portmanteau, was kindly received,
and went through the prescribed course under the especial care of one
of the tutors, — Joel Barlow, it is believed."

My father was through life one of the firmest believers in an over-
ruling Providence ; and, in his old age, I recall his laying his hand on
the scar in his forehead, where the fractured skull had been trepanned,
and saying : " I owe to that fall, under the providence of God, all the
success and good fortune of my life. It was that fall that attracted
the notice of our good Parson Williams; and to his efforts with me,
and persuasions with my parents, I owe the fact of my education,
which fitted me for all that followed."

My mother realized all my father's reasons for personal friendship
for Parson Williams, anil she shared them. But none the less did she
feel the cloud of Calvinism that enwrapped the whole valley of the
Connecticut in spiritual gloom. The phraseology of the pious was
especially distasteful to her. In revival times, the evidences of con-
version were discussed, much as the symptoms of a fever would be ;
and the deep things of God, — the soul's union with Christ, the " ob-

179

tainiug a hope," as it was called, — were bandied about without reserve,
and without joy. In infant, schools, babies wept over their " wicked
hearts;" and the children in older schools were separated into "sheep

and goats," and sat on " anxious seats." If they died early, the little
prigs had their memoirs written, in which they implored good old
people, who had borne the burden and heat of the day in faith and
patience, " to come to Christ.'"

These things have passed by ; the Orthodox of to-day would feel
about them as the early liberal Christian did then. But looking at my
mother as she was, and knowing how keenly she felt them all, I can
only wonder at the patience with which she bore this spiritual regimen
for fourteen long years.

Had she lived at this day, her far-seeing mind would have recognized
the deep debt of gratitude which all New England owes to this old-
fashioned Calvinism; and how, stern though it was, it was like New
England's rocky soil, — an excellent region to be born in and to have
come out from.

As it was, she really believed — and events have proved her in the
right — that the doctrines of the Church, as then taught, often made
infidels, materialists, and scoffers, through reaction. And so she fell
back on the simple teachings of the New Testament, the words of
Christ; and her open mind and untrammelled spirit experienced an
untold joy in that liberty wherewith Christ makes his people free.
And, though tenacious of her own interpretation of Scripture, she was
never unjust towards those who differed from her, or slow to do full
honor to the religious character, wherever she saw it exemplified.

I suppose she may be forgiven for having smiled during one of Par-
son Williams's sermons on the increasing luxury of the times, when
he said in his broken voice, "Some attend to the tylet (toilette) and
others to the piny forty" and for taking it off afterwards; the fact being
that our own old English piano, and Madame Henshaw's spinnet, were
the only musical instruments in the town.

180

In the year 1824 commenced the first open dissatisfaction in the old
church at Northampton. The liberal families, few in number, won- yet
persons of high character and influence, — my father and Uncle Howe
being prominent among them. All they asked for was the privilege of
hearing some ministers of the more liberal school for six Sundays out
of every year, and this privilege the vote of the town gave them; and,
at the settlement of the Rev. Mark Tucker as colleague to Parson
Williams, it was well understood that this would be the case. But Mr.
Tucker declined to exchange with Mr. Peabody, of Springfield, and
other liberal preachers, for the allotted six Sundays; and my father and
Uncle Howe, finding remonstrance of no avail, at last " signed off"
from the old church, and with a few families who shared their convic-
tions they worshipped for some months in the town hall, hiring a liberal
preacher to minister to them. That it cost them something to part
company with old friends and neighbors on a question of such vital
importance, who can doubt? Or that the stigma attaching to their
views was hard to bear? But my father and Uncle Howe knew what
they had undertaken and why ; and, having put their hands to the
plough, they did not turn back. I do not suppose that women of the
ardent temperament of my mother and Aunt Howe were always wise
and judicious in their course at this time, although I never heard that
they were not. But their piety was as strong as their convictions, and
no personal bitterness ever mingled with the sorrows of the change.
A friend who was at our house during this period recalls the glow of
my mother's face on those beautiful Sunday mornings, when, having
finished breakfast with the large family, she called on Hiram to take
the horses and carriage, and go to the outskirts and gather up a few
liberals who had no means of getting into town ; then busied herself to
collect the children's silver cups and her old tankards, which she gath-
ered into her large apron, and carried to the town ball, to prepare the
communion table; how she dusted the table, and then tucked her
apron under the seat, and looked round thankfully on the little audi-

181

ence collected to listen to Mr. Hall, and to receive the broken bread
of life, — a real upper chamber, where "two or three were gathered in
Christ's name."

It was during this year that she wrote the following letter to Mrs.
Murray, which shows that her Unitarian views were not the result of
fancy, or love of change, but grew out of an earnest study of the
Scriptures.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Murray.

Northampton, July 1.

My hear Friend, — I have received your kind letter by my husband,
and am gratified to find that, notwithstanding the lapse of time since
we saw each other, your feelings remain unchanged. I have thought
it probable that as your sons advanced you might think it, best to bring
them here for education, as the most approved means at this time is
among us. Mr. Lyman says you have some tears that it is a Unita-
rian institution. Let me inform you that there is nothing of the nature
of sectarianism belonging to the school.

Unitarian parents prefer their children should accompany Mr. Ban-
croft to the Unitarian church, but nearly half the school go with Mr.
Cogswell to the Orthodox church. This subject has insensibly led me
to make some remarks to you on controversial topics. In my opinion,
Christianity does not belong to one sect more than another; but equally
to all those who imbibe the spirit of Christ, and adorn their lives with
the virtues of his religion, whether it be Baptist, Methodist, Unitarian,
or Calvinist. As it regards myself, I think speculative belief lias but
little to do with the religion of the heart. We are told that the devils
believe and tremble. But their belief was never assigned to them as a
virtue. I always shall concede to my friends what I claim for myself,
the right of interpreting the Scriptures with my own understanding,
and seeing with my own eyes, instead of allowing others to see for me
and interpret for me. It appears to me that Jesus Christ declared

182

himself to be a being distinct from God, when lie said, "This is Life
Eternal, that they might know thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ
whom thou hast sent." Again it is asserted that, " Jesus lifted up his
eyes to heaven and said, Father, the hour is come; glorify thy Sun,
that thy Son also may glorify thee: as thou hast given him power
over all flesh, that he should give eternal life to as many as thou hast
given him. And this is eternal life, that they should know thee, the
only true God, and Jesus Christ whom thou hast sent. I have glori-
fied thee on the earth ; I have finished the work which thou gavest me
to do : and now, G Father, glorify thou me with thine own self, with
the glory I had with thee before the world was." Now it docs appear
to me that, beings so represented must be distinct; that the one implor-
ing a favor must lie inferior to the being who is to grant it. "What does
our Saviour say when accused by the Jews of blasphemy, — who alleged
that being a man he made himself God ? In his answer does he claim
the attributes of Deity ? I think he defends himself from the charge
of making himself equal with God, when he said, " Say ye of him whom
the Father hath sanctified and sent into the world, 'Thou blasphemest,'
because I said I am the Son of Cod ? " To my apprehension Christ
disclaims underived power: he says, "Of myself I can do nothing."
In his last address to his disciples he says, "All power is given unto
me, in heaven and on earth." When one asked him, " Good Master,
what good thing shall I do that I may have eternal life ? " Jesus said
unto him, " Why callest thou me good ? There is none good but One,
that is God." In this expression, I think he meant to disclaim that per-
fection which is the peculiar attribute of Deity. I think our Saviour
disclaimed omniscience likewise, when, directing the minds of his dis-
ciples to the Day of Judgment, he declares, " Of that day and that
hour knoweth no man, neither the angels which are in heaven, neither
the Son ; but the Father." I think he means here to express that he
was ignorant of the Day of Judgment, and that God only knew the
precise time when the predicted judgments would be inflicted. Our

1S3

Saviour has said, " My Father is greater than I." He was at the time
of this declaration showing his disciples the sources of eomfori which
opened to them from the prospect of his resurrection, and at the same
time exhibits to them that the moral purposes of his reign would be
consummated by the assistance of God ; and closes his subject with
saying, " If ye loved me, ye would rejoice because I said. I go unto the
Father; for my Father is greater than I." " 1 love the Father, and as
the Father gave me commandment even so I do." Christ evidently
here speaks of himself in his most exalted character, and absolutely
disclaims an equality with the Father. Christ asserts that he is the
messenger of God, that he preached not his own doctrines, but those
of his Father who sent him. " I am come in my Father's name. 1 am
not come of myself, but he that sent me is true. I proceeded forth and
came from God ; neither came I of myself, but He sent me. My doc-
trine is not mine, but his that sent me." Again he says, " When ye
have lifted up the Son of Man, then shall ye know that I am he, and
that I can do nothing of myself; but as my Father taught me, I speak
these things. I have not spoken of myself, but the Father who sent
me, He gave me a commandment what I should say, and what I should
speak." In a prayer addressed to his Father, our Saviour makes use
of these expressions : " I have given unto them the words which thou
gavest me ; and they have received them, and have known surely that
I came out from thee, and they have believed that thou didst send me."
Jesus Christ directed his disciples to offer their prayers to God
through him as the one mediator. He likewise shows himself a sub-
ordinate being by the manner in which he addresses his God and our
God. "Jesus lifted up his eyes and said, Father, I thank thee that
thou hast heard me; and I knew that thou hearest me always: but
because of the people which stand by I said it, that they may believe
that thou hast sent me." When oppressed by personal suffering, he
says : " 0 my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me :
nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt." " He went away a

184

second time, and prayed saying, 0 my Father, if this cup may not pass
from me except I drink it, thy will be done." When crucified, he said
of his persecutors : " Father, forgive them, for they know not what
they do." " And when Jesus had cried with a loud voice, he said,
Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit : ami gave up the ghost."
These are the expressions, not of Supreme Divinity, but of a being
dependent and actually suffering. The prayer which our Saviour
taught the disciples is addressed to God the Father in heaven.

You will, my dear friend, perceive that in this letter I have aimed
to prove by quotations from Scripture: first, the very words of our
Saviour himself, that Jesus declared himself to he a being distinct
from God ; secondly, that he disclaimed the essential attributes of
Supreme Divinity, underived power, omniscience, and absolute good-
ness ; thirdly, that he appeared in our world as the messenger of
God, and preached to men, not his own doctrines, but the doctrines
of God, who sent him ; fourthly, that Christ prayed to God as the
only proper object of worship, and directed his disciples to offer their
prayers to God through him as the mediator; fifthly, that, having com-
pleted the business of his mission on earth, Jesus ascended to his God
in heaven, and there received the reward of his obedience to the Divine
Will unto death, even the death of the cross.

You may think I wish to convert you : but my wishes are far other-
wise. I wish to convince you that a Unitarian derives his belief from
tlie Scriptures, as you do; and thinks reason and religion are on his
side, as you do. I have never discovered that Trinitarians were any
more virtuous for their belief, or that Unitarians were any less so for
theirs. Hence I draw the inference I commenced with in the beginning
of my letter, that speculative belief has little to do with real religion.
Your affectionate friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. Give my love to Mrs. G when you see her, and tell her

185

that I should have been pleased to have noticed her son on Round Bill,
but the gentlemen would not allow me to.

Mrs. Hoivc to Miss Cabot.

Northampton, February 23, 1S23.
My dear Eliza, — .......

I am sorry that our friends at the eastward consider us cold and
dilatory on the subject of our society ; at the same time I know
they cannot be aware of the peculiar difficulties by which we are sur-
rounded. We ourselves understood them when we commenced, and
we think our success has been beyond our most sanguine expectations.
Our friends from the eastward have always written as if they thought
there was a large number of Unitarians in this town ; if that had been
the case, we never should have consented to the arrangement made at
the time of Mr. Tucker's ordination ; but, in fact, we could not then
count more than four or five males who were heads of families. When
•we determined to secede, we were less than twenty ; and when Mr.
Peabody preached for us in December, it seemed doubtful to us if we
could procure an audience of fifty persons. It must be very obvious to
anybody who understands pecuniary affairs, that such a handful of
persons could not have built a church and settled a minister, unless
they were very rich, which we are not ; or else very willing to beg,
which we are not. We procured Mr. Hall ; he has preached for us
seven Sundays, and three Thursday lectures, to our universal accepta-
tion and admiration. His preaching has been highly appreciated, and
his character as a man has secured our respect and regard. In the
mean while, the Oalvinists have done every thing to plague and thwart
us that they could. They have not scared us, but they have tried to ;
and I dare say they have sent word to Boston they have succeeded.
But m> matter, facts speak. Yesterday we organized our society;
about fifty persons associated themselves. Of these persons not more

186

than six or seven can be said to be in easy circumstances ; the others
are persons who supply the wants of every day by the toil of every day.
It will be obvious that the principal burden of expense must rest on
the six or seven- first mentioned, but they are prepared for the work ;
and all, even the poorest, have manifested the disposition to do what
they can. A committee was chosen to build a meeting-house, and the
money is to be paid for it by seven individuals. Another committee is
chosen to make arrangements with Mr. Hall to remain with us per-
manently. Of our success in this we are not certain, because we
know that his talents and attainments are such as entitle him to a
better situation ; but we intend to make him the very best offer in our
power, and it will be such a one as will enable him to live comfortably
in this place, — and it is a situation- in which he will be able to do a
great deal of good ; and as he seems devoted to this object, it may be
a powerful inducement with him to stay among us. I should like to
have you state these facts to Dr. Channing, whose opinion we greatly
reverence, and whose approbation we would gladly deserve. We hope
to have him preach for us whenever we get a meeting-house. Willi
respect to " all the world," we intend to have a notice put in the paper
for their information and satisfaction.

On the subject of the Calvinistic sen! which you advocate, I must say
I greatly differ from you. I have lived among Calvinists twelve years,
and I often have had them inmates of my house ; the recollections of
this period of my life would furnish me well-authenticated anecdotes
of them, which would fill a volume. I have sometimes thought to
record them, but I feel that it would be an unworthy office, and that it
is far better to forgive their injuries, and remember their extravagan-
ces only to avoid them. I know that their zeal has carried them to
distant lands and to the isles of the sea to make converts, and that it
has enabled them to endow their theological institutions munificently ;
but I know, too, that it has in most instances failed to teach them the
more difficult duty of subduing their own hearts, and eradicating their

187

own bad passions. And I know, too, that much of the money bestowed
on their favorite objects is procured by foolish and nefarious means.
They do not hesitate to beg first in the parlor, and then in the kitchen,
— first of the parent and then of the child; not only from the wealthy,
but they will urge the pittance from the " hard hand of poverty." They
will do what is worse than all ; they will go to the bed of death, and
seize in God's name the trifle which affection would bestow on needy
relatives. This is nothing figurative, — facts bear me out in every
assertion. This, and more also, the Calvinists have done for the
Amherst Institution. They have hired beggars by the day, and taken
subscriptions of twelve and a half cents from those who had not the
change to give. If Cambridge would do this for its institution, they
could get double the money they want in a few weeks. But would the
end sanctify the means ? I scorn to see such conduct under the man-
tle of religion. Our Saviour, when on earth, was indeed poor, but did
he beg ?

I have always thought it a great privilege of true religion that it
united so readily with common duties, and I will not allow that Unita-
rians are inferior to others in discovering its effects in their lives ; but
we will treat especially of their zeal. Surely, you have distinguished
individuals among you, who have lent their whole intellectual existence
to the cause of true religion ; and I turn with pleasure to my good
friend and minister, Mr. Willard, who has stood at an out-post for a
course of years — rejected by his brethren, exposed to slander and
malignity — and has exhibited a firmness of purpose and a strength of
principle which convinces me he would not shrink from the faggot and
the stake in supporting his Christian integrity ; and the young minister
whom we hope to call our own gives strong indications of the same
character. He has not yet been tried, but I trust he will be able to
pass the furnace of Calvinism without blenching. I hope you will not
think me impetuous on this subject ; but I have dwelt so long exposed
to these unholy fires, I have seen them so often consuming all gentle

188

and sweet affections, all noble and lovely virtues, all holy and heavenly
principles, that they are the objects of my peculiar aversion: no crime
named in the Decalogue brings more unpleasant associations to my
mind, than Cah'inistii' zeal. 1 pray that we may kindle a purer flame,
that it may burn with a more equal lustre, that it may enlighten many
understandings and purify many hearts, making them fit inhabitants of
that heavenly kingdom which is the object of all our aspirations. Do
not think I mean to lie indiscriminating in my censure of Calvinists.
I know that there are those among them who fear God and regard
man ; but' these are not the persons who are continually thrusting
themselves forward to relate their religious experiences, and publish
their religious donations. True piety with them, as with sincere and
devout Unitarians, takes a more quiet but a more useful and honor-
able course. I do believe that there are some sanctified hearts among
all persuasions, but the general character of Calvinism seems to me to
have few touches of the spirit manifested by our Lord and Master. If
you know any Calvinists who arc distinguished alike for a true zeal and
;m enlightened Christian morality, I would thank you to let me know
who they are, for I should be as willing to respect and admire them
as you are. I feel that 1 ought not to tax your patience with them any
longer.

Mrs. Mills has always manifested some impressions that the Calvin-
ists here conducted improperly, though she has said but little about it.
She attended a Thursday lecture here before she went to Boston, and
I think hearing Dr. Channing and Mr. Gannett did her good. Never-
theless, she is so shackled here, I think it will be difficult for her to

come over to us. Mrs. • has for the most part observed silence ;

the Dwights, too, have been very silent, and have been at our meeting
at an evening lecture. I think Charles Sedgwick's practical illustra-
tion of Unitarianism has been very serviceable to them. Betsey Ches-
ter is at Weathersfield. These are all the Calvinists here that you care
any thing about. We feel as though our worst trials were over, and

189

every one manifests great pleasure that they arc so. If we only can
get Mr. Hall, we shall be secure of a respectable society as well as a
good minister. He came this afternoon, after I had half written my
letter, and made us a social visit, and was very easy and agreeable ; in
this respect he has improved very much since he first came, — among
entire strangers he appeared diffident and embarrassed. But that has
passed away ; though he is a truly modest man, he seems to possess
the social turn which is so desirable in a minister. You do not know
how attentive all the law-students have been to the preaching. I think
it quite an object that young persons just entering life should exhibit
such a disposition, as I do believe it will have a valuable effect on their
future conduct.

As you may receive my letter at a time when you are not at leisure
to read a volume, I think I had better say farewell. With love to your
family circle, ever affectionately yours,

S. L. Howe.

It will of course naturally be seen that no difference in the
forms of their religious belief ever affected, in the smallest degree,
my mother's feelings towards her Orthodox neighbors, or theirs
to her. One whom she reverenced has said, " A saint should be as
dear as the apple of an eye." And so they were to her, in all times
and places. One lovely Christian woman in the old church, who dis-
tributed tracts every six months through certain districts, was wont
to call at these regular intervals on my mother, some years after our
church was formed, with her package. She would make a long call,
talking delightfully on many topics of common interest, and, just
as she left, would drop the tracts in my mother's lap ; who thanked
her, laid them quietly in her mending-basket, and cordially urged her
to come again. It was somewhat of a surprise to me, as soon as Mrs.
E. had gone, to see her gather up the tracts in her apron, and drop
them one by one into the fire ; watching with a peculiarly beaming

190

countenance the destruction of such cheerful titles as, " Can these Dry
Bones Live ? " " Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God," <fcc, &c.

Why my straightforward mother never should have told Mrs. E. she
did not want the tracts, and would not have them, I could not see ;
and I told her so. " Why, my dear," she exclaimed, " that woman is
a saint. If I were to tell her that, she would stop coming to see me,
and I should lose a visit I enjoy. She thinks she is doing God service
in bringing me these tracts. Let her think so. I am sure there is
nothing easier than for me to burn them up, so that they never can
' pison the fountains ' in this house."

The establishment of the Round-Hill School in 1823, and of the
Law School soon after, of which Judge Howe was the head, and its
most inspiring influence, made an era in the life of my parents, from
which they dated many of their highest social privileges. The coming
of my Uncle and Aunt Howe to Northampton in the year 1820 had
been a source of unmixed satisfaction to both of them. At last, those
retired and admirable lives that had been gathering strength and
resource among (he quiet hills of Worthington were to be brought into
closer intercourse with a more extended circle, and to taste the de-
lights of wider influence and more appreciative society. Ah ! it is
the destiny that grows as life wears on, that is the fine one! And yet
in these latter days of luxury and over refinement, we grudge those
years in the lives of young people, when comparative retirement and pri-
vation and exertion are really fitting them for a middle age of highest
usefulness and enjoyment. We want them to begin with all the gath-
ered store of appliances with which we end. How grand a mistake !

The two schools brought to Northampton a corps of professors and
teachers, such as few colleges have ever seen. Messrs. Cogswell and
Bancroft, who were the first teachers in the Round-Hill School, were
the first iu this country to exemplify the system of the German Gym-

191

nasium ; and all their arrangements were made on a scale of magnifi-
cence for that day, which soon attracted the sons of the wealthy from
all parts of the country. In the summer-time, families from Virginia
and the Carolinas would take hoarding-places in the neighborhood, to be
near their sons who were in the school ; and my father delighted in his
rare opportunities for intercourse with some of the choicest spirits of the
South. For the Hamiltons and Middletons and Draytons and Waynes,
with many others, found themselves soon at home in the hospitable
house whose front-door always stood open ; and from the Law School
came daily incursions of professors and scholars, whom Mrs. Burt
always would designate to my mother (when she asked from the nur-
sery who had come in) as " only the every-day gentlemen." Among
these were Hooker Ashman, George S. Hillard, George Tyng, Timothy
Walker, Wm. Meredith, Russell Sturgis, and others. What a constant
and pleasurable excitement for the grown-up sisters and cousins this
society made, and what an entertaining time for my mother's little
children, who were pets and companions always ! How rarely we ever
felt that we were put to bed to be got out of the way, although our
hours were early and regular !

CHAPTER XL

Happy will that house he in which the relations are formed from character, after the
highest and not after the lowest order ; the house in which character marries, and not
confusion and a miscellany of unavowahle motives. . . . The ornament of a house is the
friends who frequent it. — Emerson.

HOW full to overflowing were my mother's days at this period of
her life ! It was the heyday of her existenee, in which little
thought of self came to mar her absolute enjoyment of Nature, of her
family, of society, and of choicest friends. Her perfect health made
her life of activity a pleasure as well as a duty, and to this health there
were few interruptions. During the months preceding the births of her
children she suffered a great deal, and as' her strength and vigor pre-
vented Iter from claiming any immunity from care or exertion, she
had not the rest she should have taken. But the births of her children
were the slightest possible causes of retirement or anxiety in her case.
She had never a physician at any time, — the faithful Burty carrying
her through these occasions with excellent care and skill ; and she
able the very next day to sit up in her large easy-chair, with her
mending-basket and book beside her, making first one and then the
other her pastime for some hours of each day. One week was all the
time that Burty ever could succeed in keeping her in her room : in
the second week, she had resumed all the duties of the house, and was
driving all over the country witli my father. But, in all her cares and
duties, she was seldom without the invaluable aid of my father's
grown-up daughters and nieces.

193

Doubtless a nature so vivacious, and a life so active, experienced
reaction enough to call up reflective sentiment whenever she wrote
letters : for these occasions were really among her few periods of com-
parative rest.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, June 20th, [1823V].
I have been expecting you every day for more than a fortnight ; in
the mean time, Dr. and Mrs. Gorham have passed a day with me, and
were disappointed that they could not meet you here. I was pleased
with Mrs. Gorham, but the doctor is superlative ; I liked him amaz-
ingly. And I was glad to find that the unfortunate occurrences of his
family did not prevent him from taking bis wife to Niagara, as well as to
the other curiosities of that part of the country ; though I think there
was rather a cloud hanging over their prospects after they got to Can-
andaigua, but it had passed over before they got here, and they were in
good spirits. I was sorry that the doctor did not let his wife go to
the mountain, which they ought to have done in the morning before
they came to visit me, — for you know the afternoon is no time to look
on a western view. But I took her upon Round Hill, and rode around
the town with them in the afternoon, and did all I could to prevent
their losing time while they stayed. Old Mrs. Lee came here a few
days since, with her granddaughters, from New York ; and I could not
help hoping, that by some accident you would bear of them and come
at the same time ; but now I despair of seeing you at all. I was much
pleased to receive a note from you by Mrs. W., because it gave some
encouragement to my hopes that you would not return to Boston with-
out seeing us. I have feasted my eyes on the beautiful Mrs. Eliot, and
think she is the queen of beauty, — in our hemisphere, at least. I
never liked her husband as well as I did this time. He was exceed-
ingly condescending and attentive to those around him. She appeared
desirous to please, but her countenance indicated the melancholy re-

194

flections that had so lately had possession of her mind ; you know she
was the only daughter of her mother, and the subject of her idolatry.

I saw John a few days ago, and told him that you would be here
soon. He is very well, and I always hear is doing well. The gentle-
men on Round Hill have certainly made very great efforts, and they
have been accompanied by the most wonderful success ; which is not
only fortunate for them, but very much so for the town. The in-
structors, too, all that I have known, have been of the highest order ;
and 1 think their method is greatly calculated to raise the standard of
education in our country. I have enclosed an account of it, which I
think exceedingly clear and intelligible, and which I believe was penned
by Mr. Bancroft.

Yours with much affection,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, September 10, 1823.
My dear Abby, — You know nothing is so unusual in my family as
solitude, or, in other words, as tranquillity ; and in proportion to the
rareness of our blessings we prize them. I hail this hour then with
peculiar gratitude, for it is a temporary exemption from care, from
bustle, and from company, — such a one as I cannot recollect to have
experienced for more than three months. But much as present objects
occupy me, I always find time and occasion to think of my dear Abby.
Your last kind letter, together with Sally's, gave us much pleasure, —
as do all your letters, inasmuch as they convince us of your continued
health and happiness. Happiness in an unusual degree I always knew
you must be in the enjoyment of, for you were always in the possession
of a well-spring that cannot fail you altogether, though it may be sub-
ject to temporary checks. Dteetjilinal tVrh'ni/s:. with the determination
to benefit others in all we do, must insure a measure of happiness.

195

I could get no farther when an interruption stayed my hand, and
my letter will have to wait another mail before it goes.

Charlotte left me some weeks ago, and Harriet came in to go to
dancing-school and writing-school. I was very sorry to part with Char-
lotte. I believe I told you my baby was named Susan Inches: and
a lovelier creature I never saw. Did I tell you in my last, that on the
first of October Mr. Cogswell and Mr. George Bancroft — two pro-
fessors from Cambridge — were going to open a school on the plan of
a German Gymnasium ; of course Joseph is to be an alumnus of the
institution. It proposes to teach all that is taught in any college in
the United States. I do not feci quite so much enthusiasm as to the
success of their plan as many others do ; but, at any rate, they will be
an immense accession to our society, as they are distinguished for their
learning, piety, and wisdom. If I get an opportunity, I will send you
their prospectus.

Emma Forbes is staying with me, and has just observed that she
wished you made one of our circle. I never can cease to deplore those
I am separated from by distance and by death, however I may appear
reconciled to it. Present enjoyment will always depend much on our
retrospect of the past, as well as our contemplation of the future. In
the former —

" The few we liked, the one we loved,
A sacred band ! come stealing on ;
And many a form far hence removed,
And many a pleasure gone,"

must, to the thoughtful, impair the enjoyment of the present. But
hope — that anchor to the soul — is a partial antidote, and enlightens
the gloom of melancholy reflections. For "fancy, delusive most where
warmest wishes are," arrays the future in the colors of the rainbow ;
and we are deceived by it so gradually, that it is imperceptible to our
dull senses, except it relates to some particular object, — such as a
favorite child becoming profligate, or a near friend deceiving us. Per-

196

haps the enthusiast enjoys most; for enthusiasm adds an imaginary
value to every object of our pursuit, and of course brightens our antici-
pations in regard to it, be it what it may.

Did M. tell you that '- was engaged to ? I

don't believe you knew his wife was dead ; but she has been a year,
and he is going to be married again the coming winter. I have no
other comment to make in regard to this match, except that I think

will make her very happy. Mr. Peabody of Springfield is going

to be married to a Miss Amelia White, a young lady you may have
heard of. . . . It is thought a very judicious match.
There is a young lady here, Miss Fiske, who has a flourishing school
of young ladies. She is very handsome and very interesting.

Now I believe I have told you all the news. Catherine has been
here on her way to Niagara this summer. She regretted that you
did not write to her, but sent her love. I am expecting Mrs. Revere
will make me a. visit with her youngest child, now two months old.
The interruption I have from my baby must be my apology for this
dreadful looking letter.

With much love to Mr. Greene and Sally,

Yours very affectionately.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, October 19, 1S23.
My dear Emma, — Ten days have passed away most rapidly since
you left me. I am much obliged to you for your letter. I had
no idea you would have left Worcester as soon as you mention ; if I
had I should not have sent some letters there which came to you
here by mail : but I hope they will reach you somewhere. John and
Joseph dined with me to-day for the first time. They appeared very
good and happy, perfectly contented with their situation ; still I have
not yet been induced to believe that the millennium has commenced

197

on Round Hill, though I know nothing to the contrary. But you
know I always have had misgivings in regard to the efficacy of their
plan, though I have done every thing to cultivate faith that any one
could. The idea of a number of children being educated without
rewards or punishments, I can hardly believe possible ; because it
bears no analogy to any system, human or divine, that I am ac-
quainted with. The Almighty has seen fit in his providence to keep
up a system of chastisements from which the best of his creatures
are not exempt. "We are likewise the recipients of daily blessings
more than we deserve. But I suspect that part of the plan is only
for theory, for your brother John has had a very nice cross-bow given
him for being the best climber ; and Joseph tells me the boy in each
room, that is the neatest, is to have a print given him at the end
of the month. I live in regard to the school with a sort of rod
held over my head. For the gentlemen say whenever a boy does
wrong he will be expelled from the school, for they shall attempt
no other punishment. Now I know Joseph will never premeditate
any evil ; but such a child as he is, is so liable from inadvertency
or impulse to go astray, that it is always to be calculated upon.
But, as yet, I find the boys retain their fondness for their instruct-
ors, and their desire to please them ; and they give the most famous
account of their living. But I cannot in this case say, " Fancy is
delusive most, where warmest wishes are ; " for I promise myself
nothing in particular, and therefore cannot be disappointed. My fears
certainly prevail over my hopes.

I have written this much concerning the Gymnasium, because 1
knew you were interested in its progress, as well as in John. We
have a clergyman now preaching for us, who has been two years in
Scotland, studying with Dr. Chalmers ; but I hope he is not the best
specimen of that kind of education, for it was the whirlwind in com-
parison with the "sigh of evening gales that breathe and die."

You know how tired I get Sunday evenings after the labors of the

198

day, and must excuse me for treating you with this exhaustion of
spirit. Jane has just come into my room, to tell that there was a fresh
recruit of nonsense in the parlor, in the shape of S. B. and Uncle
Eben. I knew Russell. was there and B., when 1 sat down.

We had a visit from Mrs. S. C. last week ; she passed a part of
two days here, or rather stayed over a stage. Miss L. P. would
have accompanied her to Boston, but we prevailed with her to stay
till after Cattle Show, as she has seen none of the animation of this
place. I wish you and C. would call on L. (if you think you can)
when she gets to Boston. Mr. Hentz has dined with us once since
you left us ; he made particular inquiries after you ; he is just in
that state when youth,

" Adds bloom to health, o'er every virtue sheds
A gay, humane, a sweet and generous grace,
And brightens all the ornaments of man,"

and in every respect makes him the most interesting youth that
ever was. Thinks Northampton a little heaven below, and wishes
for nothing so much as to make it his future residence, which, if
all things go well, no doubt he will do. I must leave off writing,
and go to work preparing for Cattle Show. With love to all friends,
your ever affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. It requires the whole influence of friendship to tolerate
such a letter as this is ; make any excuse for me that you think the
reality will justify, to Mary Pickard for my not writing to her,
which I perceive I shall not be able to do. Your favorite is sit-
ting by my side dressed in pale blue, and looking like a fallen
angel.

October 30.

Since the above was written, we have got through Cattle Show with
much confusion, but with a great deal of pleasure. I was delighted

199

to have Mr. Inches anil Elizabeth here. The Springfield ladies are
still with me, and everybody has appeared to enjoy themselves
highly.

I have received, since the above was written, a letter and note
from you, together with the ring you were so kind as to send little
Susan, and Joseph's boots, which I believe answer very well. John
has been permitted to dine with me once, and Joseph twice ; they
are both of them perfectly happy.

Tell Catherine I shall write to her soon, but wish she would come
along without waiting for Sally and Mr. Howe, who have no thought
of going to Boston, as I suppose she has heard before now.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, December 14, 1823.
It is unnecessary, my dear Abby, for me to inform you with what
unmingled sentiments of pleasure and gratitude I heard of the safe
arrival of your little daughter, for you must have observed by my last
letter that I had given up all anticipations of such a gratification. I
have a realizing sense of the joy and gratitude which reign in your
heart on this occasion. I think that produced by the birth of a first
child is something of a more elevated and exciting cast than any thing
we ever experience afterwards. We feel ourselves called upon in a
new capacity which we never realized the possession of, and combined
with it such a new set of affections, sensations, and anticipations, that
it in fact creates a new mental existence. But beware of the indul-
gence of these feelings to too great a degree; discipline your heart, and
fortify your mind for all the inequalities which are incident to human
enjoyment. And perhaps the enjoyment to be derived from our chil-
dren is as susceptible of interruption as any we have. But uncertain
as it maybe, lean attest to this truth after twelve years of ordinary
experience on the subject, there is no pleasure or satisfaction in human

200

life which is equal to that afforded to us by our children. There is a
constant compensation for all the care and sorrow they bring, either in
their innocent playfulness, or their intellectual progress. And there
is a pleasure, too (if a selfish one), in the idea that they, being of so
exalted a nature, made but little lower than the angels, belong to us ;
we derive from it a new importance, a new self-estimation which re-
wards us for the increase of duties and responsibility that it brings.
We that have families may look around us and say to ourselves : — In the
existence of all these dear objects we are identified : and in them we
shall leave a representation of our efforts and, if we 7tave any, of our
excellencies.

In the case of your parents, my dear Abby, they appear to have but
one thing left them, and that is or ought to be a rich and fruitful source
of comfort to them. For I know of no people more blessed in their
children. I presume Mary mentioned to you in her letter that Harriet
had gone to Litchfield, where she will have the benefit of Mr. Brare's
instruction for a year, unless she goes to you in the spring. The school
there is much better than any we have here ; the situation otherwise
may not be as good.

Martha is quite a favorite here ; she has strength of mind with great
originality, and much more improvement than you could anticipate with
the disadvantages she has had to encounter. She reads to me every
day. assists Anne Jean in getting her lessons, and explains them to her
in a very lucid manner. Charlotte lias a fair mind, and is perfectly
innocent and pure in all her thoughts ; and, if I were going to choose
a friend and companion for Anne Jean, I do not know where I could
find one so near her own age that I should prefer to Charlotte; for, at
the same time she is without Anne Jean's levity of character, she is
divested of her vivid fancy. But tiny mingle with great interest and
harmony in each other's enjoyments.

201

Mrs. I/yman to Mis* Forbes.

Nob i hampton, December 20, 1823.

John is now with me, and Joseph ; I have had but two days of their
society, and that is most agreeable. If I know any thing of John, he is
an excellent boy. I find he is pleased to sit down and entertain him-
self with his book. Mr. Cogswell, who is his instructor, did not appoint
him any duties for the vacation, which I hope will be a period of recre-
ation that will refresh and invigorate him for the increased duties of
the next term. Mr. Bancroft appointed Joseph sufficient to fill up his
leisure time during the first fortnight. I have great pleasure in the
society of children, you know. There is something in their unalloyed
simplicity, in their exemption from those defects which characterize
maturity, — such as worldliness, complicated motives' of action, and
various et ceteras, — that compensates me for all their annoying ways :
for it cannot be denied that they have many. Amongst other specu-
lations upon them, I have concluded that children (taken in the aggre-
gate) are better than grown people. How few do we find, who when
they have arrived at the zenith of improvement, who have had the best
opportunities to increase their intellectual stores, with every motive for
wisdom and virtue, — how few, 1 say, do we find without some grand
defect of character, which either destroys our sympathy or impairs
our confidence; and with whom, when we come in contact, we are not
compelled mentally to determine, " so far shalt thou come, and no far-
ther" ! But perhaps in the expression of this opinion I may appear to
you to think less favorabla^ mankind than I do, or than the truth will
justify ; which I should be sorry for, as by so doing I should in some
measure discard a numerous and valuable set of accpjaintances. But I
trust you know me well enough to give a qualifying tone to the thoughts
I express.

There seems to be a ureal deal of marrying going on in Boston. I

am pleased with the engagement of your Cousin S. and Mr. L. ; from

202

what I have heard of both, I should think it must be a very fair match.
and advances the cause of the other members of the family, in the mat-
rimonial way. I should like to know if your aunt is pleased with it,
and if it happened before your uncle went away.

When you see Mrs. Sturgis, sny to her that we feel much indebted to
her for her great politeness to Jane. 1 think she will find Kusscll much
improved in the manliness of his character, and I know that he has in
habits of application to his studies. Judge Howe speaks very highly of
him.

There are two other very respectable young men in the office, — W.
and H., — but none of them quite supply the place to us of the amiable
and intelligent Tom Bradford, to say nothing of one who has ,k winged
his flight to future worlds," in whose society I had peculiar pleasure,
from the easy and accessible sympathy which was such a prevailing
characteristic of his nature.

Give my love to all my friends, more particularly your aunt and
Margaret. You cannot think what an improved little creature your
little favorite is ; she is truly the delight of our house. She is much
obliged to you for the ring you sent her, but not a tooth has she rubbed
through yet.

Your very affectionate cousin,

Anne Jean.

P. S. Anne Jean talks much of Cousin Emma, and wishes me to
say that she is studying French Grammar, preparatory to going to Mr.
Hentz in the spring, and that she has taken great pains to improve
herself in that language since you were here ; devotes the evening
entirely to it. Mr. Lyman sends his love to you.

" Oh ! what won' Life,
Even in the warm summer-light of joy,
Without those hopes which, like ivi'ivslu
At evening from the sea. cine o'er the soul,
Breathed from the ocean of Eternity."

203

Mrs. Lyman to 31iss Forbes.

Northampton, February 9, L824.

My dear Emma, — You know I have no particular objection to
writing, but when I have so good a proxy as Catherine, I feel exempted
in some measure from that, knowing that her offerings of that kind are,
or ought to be, much more acceptable than mine.

The school on Round Hill has been the most fruitful source of excite-
ment that we have had. Your mother has probably had a letter to
inform you that it will soon cease to be such to us ; for Mr. C. has
purchased a very line seat on the North River, at Red Hook, to which

they will remove in the spring. J will remain with them during

the year, as we at first intended. He gets along very well ; but there
have been " some cataracts and breaks " in their progress thus far,
that are, I believe, somewhat discouraging to them, inasmuch as they
were unlooked for, and, owing to their inexperience, assume a magni-
tude in their minds that they probably would not in Dr. Abbot's, or
many others of their profession. John continues to be very happy,
and I have no doubt is in a highly improving state.

Notwithstanding all that may be said, I feel great regret at having
them leave, believing that they would secure the esteem of the people
by a longer stay, wherein the redeeming traits in their characters might
be exhibited. But it is useless now to speculate on what might be, and
I must abandon the pleasing dream " that I was to have my son live
where I could see him every day, if I chose," for I have long since
given up the idea of a private school in this place. John dined with
me to-day. I ought to have told you before that he did himself great
honor by a very dignified course of conduct during the vacation. He
divided his time between Mrs. Howe's and here. His clothes are in a
very good state. Mr. Cogswell has his sister with him now, — a good
lady, whose highest aim is household good. She takes excellent care
of the boys' things, and is, I think, a great improvement to the estab-

'204

lishment. S. B. dined with me to-day. I do not think she will go to
Red Hook, and I am sure I hope she will not.

I have often heard that disappointments were a good discipline for
the human mind, and I do not doubt it. And where it neither involves
loss of friends nor loss of character, we should not complain ; but we
are so constituted that, whatever occurs to us in the form of discipline,
or operates as such, is unacceptable. And nothing is more difficult to
make, in the true spirit of it, than that acknowledgment to Provi-
dence, " Thy will be dune."

I would thank you to write to us a letter full of the vanities of life,
such as how you enjoyed Mrs. Otis's ball ; what substitute is there for
Mr. Everett's lectures ; who is going to be married : do you ever see
Mrs. F. C. ; how does M. take to the world ? Little Susan will not
allow me to say more than that I am your affectionate friend and
cousin,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, March 21, 1824.

" Sae I gat paper in a blink.
And down gaed stumpie in the ink.
Quoth I before I sleep a wink.
I vow I'll close it."

Now, my dear Emma, nothing short of a resolution equal to that of
my friend Burns, when he uttered these lines, could tempt me so far
to absent myself from thoughts of present emergencies (of which there
are a never-ending succession that claim my unwearied attention) as to
undertake to write a letter. 1 shall never again wonder at people who
give up writing. The circumstances which, to the head of a family,
rise in opposition to it, are sufficiently formidable to justify a con-
scientious person in abandoning it altogether ; but I am too selfish for
that. I cannot give up the pleasure I derive from an intercourse with

205

my absent friends ; and, as I cannot purchase letters with any other
coin, I will sometimes tear myself from the imperious duties of my
family, and get up a scrawl. I should have answered your earnest in-
quiries about the Round-Hillers, but thought as Mrs. was going

to Boston she could tell you about them ; and as my account would nut
be exactly like hers, I thought you had better hear her first. I do not
wonder that she feels as she does; yet at the same time thai I can
sympathize in her feelings, I cannot think with her about the gentlemen
who keep the school. It is obvious to me that they are conscientiously
bent on bringing their scheme to the highest perfection, and that all their
efforts and all their time are now occupied to that effect. They say that
no boy in the school has been more assiduous, or has improved more the
last quarter, than John has; he attends principally to Latin and French.
Joseph does the same, with the addition of Greek and English, — the
latter at my earnest entreaty. Mr. Bancroft told me that as the days
became longer, and the children got more advanced in the languages,
they should pay more particular attention to English studies, — which
is the only objection that ever could be raised against the school.
From what 1 know of other schools, there is no doubt in my mind it is
far superior to any in our country. And I believe witli such materials
they will make John both a good man and a scholar.

Miss C passed an evening with me a short time since ; she said

she thought, with the exception of four or five, the boys were uncom-
monly stupid and ignorant ; and I think her opinion to be relied on as
unprejudiced. But when I reflect on the aggregate of society, there is
not a larger proportion of intelligent people, if as many, as four to
sixteen !

Are not you glad that Mary Pickard is going to England ? She will
be a loss to her friends here, but she will more than compensate them
on her return for a temporary deprivation. But suppose her friends in
England should tempt her to remain with them ? I am sure I should
think they would.

206

I feel very glad that Edward and Ann are going ; if he were per-
fectly well, I see no reason why they shoidd not go : they have seen
but little of the world, and as they are divested of its cares, it will enlarge
their minds, and do them a great deal of good. I wish I were going
myself, but I believe I shall have to content myself with remaining
stationary. I suppose you have read " Saint Ronan's Well." I think
it the poorest thing that lias appeared in print for many years, — that
I have read, I should add. The evil always has been a serious one to
encounter such people as prevail in that book, but to be called on to
contemplate them in books is an unnecessary evil, and therefore more
intolerable than our actual experience of them ; for they do not seem
designed to contribute to any moral views. In short, the author
does not appear to have any end in view, but to string together the
shreds and patches of his imagination that nothing may be lost; and
there is an avarice in it that I don't like. 1 have lived among the
Indians lately. I have been reading Heckewelder's account of them.
He found a great many Yamoydens among them during his forty years'
resilience in their society. I am now reading what you must get
and read — Mr. Bancroft's translation.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Grreem .

April 27, 1824.
Three years have elapsed since we separated; in that time I have
had nruch satisfaction from contemplating you in the enjoyment of a
great many calm and rational pleasures, such as only the well-balanced
and rational mind can enjoy. And the pain of separation has been
much mitigated to me by the belief that you have been withdrawn from
sorrows which would have pierced your heart had you been here, —
though your presence could not have had the effect to remove them.

You know is peculiarly susceptible of the influence of those

around her, and if she could always live with good people she would

207

always be good ; and the reverse is equally true. . . . Now, you know
no one more cordially approves of matrimony than I do. I think it is
the effect of an interest in domestic duties to strengthen our virtues, to
enlarge our benevolence, and to concentrate our good affections ; it
helps to a sound judgment and a right-balancing of things, and assists
in giving integrity and propriety to the whole character. But this
cannot be the case unless there is something to engraft upon, and
unless the union consists of materials calculated to foster the growth
of such principles. . . .

My sister C. divided the winter between Mrs. Howe and myself; and
I am just dow quite afflicted to be obliged to part with her, but it is un-
avoidable. She diffuses most salutary influences on all those who
come within her sphere. She is always happy herself to a certain
degree, because she lives in the cultivation of unfailing resources of a
purely intellectual character, such as have no dependence on artificial
excitements or dissipation of time for their basis.

Our society here is much improved by the new institution which 1
have mentioned before, over which Messrs. Cogswell, Bancroft, and
Hentz preside, — the latter, a French gentleman, mingles more in our
society than the others, and I think we prefer him.

I ought not to forget to mention that H. is greatly improved since
she came to me, and in nothing more than her appearance ; she is
really one of the handsomest girls in the country, and, by the efforts
she is making, I judge will in time be one of the most improved. She
says she intends to keep an excellent school ; and I have no doubt she
will in time be able to. We are delighted with Mr. Greene's account
of Sally.

•208

Mrs. Lyman to Mis* Forbes.

Northampton, June 17, 1824.

I mean to inform you that I don't expect you to write me a letter,
and then keep it until you hear of some one going to Northampton, as
you did the last time ; for it cost me as much as three shillings' worth
of patience to wait for it, and 1 am not sure but a dollar's worth. And
as that is a commodity I have not to spare, 1 wish you would not tax
it in the same way again while the mail goes. You know I am aware
of every person who is lining between this place and Boston, and it
would he strange if 1 could no! find bearers enough for my trumpery.
John has dined with me several times since he returned from home,
but I cannot get a great deal of news out of him. I suppose he has
written you that Joseph and himself and .lames Perkins have one room
devoted to them, and they are very much pleased with the combina-
tion. 1 believe things arc going on nicely on the Hill; I do not bear
of any interruption. French progresses finely. Mr. llcntz presides at
one table three times a day, and there is no conversation at it except
in that language. John and Joseph are among the privileged number,
and Mr. Efentz gives great accounts of the improvement.

Mrs. D., with her daughters, are about issuing proposals for taking a
school upon very elevated principles ; and, as many that are her in-
feriors have succeeded. 1 suppose she will. Indeed, most any thing will
succeed which embraces the interests of children, — for there are such
hosts in the world, they must lie taken care of somewhere besides their
own homes, where parents have the means of indulging themselves
with their absence. Mrs. D.'s price for board and tuition is two
hundred dollars a year. She lias requested me to mention this to my
friends. Agreeably to the promise 1 gave her. 1 have. I was glad to
find by your last letter you were making a French scholar. You and
C. can read plays together, and you can teach the little girls, and make
it an essential benefit to yourself and them.

209

I have been reading lately such trash as " Adam Blair," " Reginald
Dal.ton," and " The Spae Wife," and got a little entertainment, if not
instruction, from them ; and, for better aliment, Mr. Sparks's Tracts
and '• The Christian Examiner." Adieu!

Yours affectionately.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, July ■_'.">, 1824.

I always feel, too,. that it is obtrusive to say — as many like to — a
great deal about the aids of religion or philosophy to avert trouble, be-
cause it always supposes the adviser is much better acquainted with
those supports or antidotes to woe than the person advised, — which is
an assumption I don't feel justified in. But 1 can say from experience,
my dear Emma, that when the mind's balance is disturbed (which dis-
orders our whole frame of thought, and discolors our enjoyments) it is
best to use those diversions that will reinstate it soonest. Now,, it
seems to me that it would be well for you to come and make me a
visit. If you derive no pleasure from it yourself, you will have the
satisfaction of conferring a great deal. I dare say your mother will be
willing to have you, though it will be a sacrifice for her. But mothers
and heads of families ajways have cares that operate as antidotes to
melancholy reflections. You must have enjoyed Josephine's visit and
her brother's. I think he appeared in rather delicate health, and I
thought J. was rather melancholy ; but then I am not used to her, and
perhaps it was only her usual frame of mind. I hope her journey and
the novelty of her experiences had an animating effect upon her. There
are so many cares and sorrows for old age and middle life, that I can-
not bear to see the season of youth embittered unnecessarily.

I saw John a few days ago, and intend to go up there this evening,
or rather this afternoon. Mrs. and Miss 'A., and Mrs. and Miss O.
spent the day here yesterday ; and Cousin Tom Robbins appeared to
27

210

us, just as we were sitting down to dinner. To-day I am expecting
Judge Williams and wife and children. So you see how one day after
another I am taken up, — most agreeably oftentimes, but still occupied.
I have felt a good deal anxious about Mary's and Catherine's health.
I am rejoiced to hear to-day that Mary has another son. . . .

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, September 26, 1824.

I was in hopes you would so arrange it as to come here, and let John
pass the vacation with you at my house. But he tells me you are ex-
pecting Bennet, which, were there no other reason, would prevent you.
I regretted very much not being at the Exhibition last evening, for I
knew John was to have the best part but one, and would be a great
credit to his friends, and that no one could feel more strongly interested
in him than I do, except his mother. Mr. Lyman and Mary went, and
were more pleased with John than any one else. I was seized with
one of my terrible sore throats and violent head-aches, and had to take
to my bed ; and it is with difficulty I write this to-day, though I feel
much relieved.

When T. was here, he told me that it had been a favorite wish of
his that John should lie educated for a professional man. I think there
never were better materials to answer that expectation. I rest with
the most perfect confidence on his talents for any occupation which he
is fated to apply himself to, and hope that a year from this time he
will be entered at Cambridge College as a junior, and take his degree
with my son.

I have much more that I should like to say to your mother on this
subject, but it is impossible for me to write another word.
Yours, with love to all friends,

A. J. Lyman.

'211

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, October 23, 1824.

My own indisposition and the children's, though trifling iu its
nature, has occupied some of the time ; and the requisitions of
society in various forms, to say nothing of preparations for winter,
have demanded the rest.

I felt, when I was with you, that your father's existence was near
a close ; and I was not surprised to hear that, when the period of it
arrived, it should find you all shocked with the stroke. I am aware
that no preparatory circumstances, such as long sickness and infirmity,
can to the minds of near friends diminish the appalling horror incident to
the approach of that King of Terrors. But you had witnessed its effect
too frequently to be a stranger to its influence on the mind, though
you were not fortified to resist it altogether. Who would wish to, if
they could ? One of the great designs of Providence would be baffled,
and we never should realize the insecure tenor of our earthly bless-
ings, if this exercise of God's power were not known and felt by us.
O Emma ! how much there is in human life, if we would avail our-
selves of a right use of it, to extract vanity from our hearts, and draw
us near to Him who can enjoy only our purified, intellectual nature, —
that ray of His own Spirit He has so kindly bestowed upon us, but
which we so neglect, and often render so useless by a higher con-
sideration of the grosser part ! I have been called from myself and
my own sorrowful sensations, very much of late, by contemplating
those of my brother Edward, who seems by the state of his mind and
body to have little susceptibility of enjoyment left. I hope soon, how-
ever, to hear of his improved state. I have just received your note by
J., and seen him long enough for him to tell me what that did not
about your mother, and the children and their plans.

I called on Mrs. Hentz the day after her arrival, and engaged her to
pass the succeeding day with me, together with the Round-Hill folks.

21 '2

L am perfectly astonished that Mr. II. should have made so wise a
choice. Mrs. H. certainly appears like an uncommonly rational wo-
man, is very interesting in her manners, and I should judge would
prove everything such a thriftless man would want in regard to econ-
omy. She dresses herself with great neatness and g 1 taste, contrary

to my expectations ; and all who have seen her are much pleased
with her.

I have had a short hut delightful visit from Miss Sedgwick. She is
indeed a most excellent character, and has all the requisites tor mak-
ing herself agreeable to every class of society, and seems to lie equally
beloved by all the different ranks with whom she mingles. I am sure
I wish there were more like her in the world ; but they are so rare
that she may be said almost to be a unique. It is really wonderful
that two such women as herself and Mrs. Theodore Sedgwick should
have fallen to the lot of one family. If Mr. Minot had not lost his
house by fire, Miss Sedgwick would have made a long visit in Boston
this autumn. I am sure I am very sorry she did not. I think she
would be a more operative leaven in that society, than in New York.

I am now looking forward to a little peace and tranquillity, as the
Court weeks have gone by, ami our dreadful Cattle Show is over ; and
1 wish you would come and pass the winter with me. You could
return with Sam Lyman, or. it' you chose, go to Worcester a day or
two before him, and let him take you from there. Now do consider
this subject.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

November 24, 1824.
I have neglected to describe my New Bedford friend, Miss Rotch, to
you; though I intended to do it at length, when I commenced, hoping to
communicate to you some of the pleasure she afforded me by her soci-
ety. But now I could nut do her justice, and will not attempt it. mure
than in say she was born and educated in England as an enlightened

21.3

Quaker ; is a speaker of great and distinguished eloquence among
her adherents, and is rendered peculiarly interesting by great personal
heauty.

Mrs. Lyman to 3Jiss Forbes.

Northampton, January 11, 1825.
1 still have a heart warm with affection towards my friends, amongst
whom you hold no insignificant place. The New Year always inspires
me with peculiar reflections, both as it respects the past and the fu-
ture. I

'• Look on the mournful record of the past,
And mark how much one little year can do ;
How much of friendship that seemed made to last,
Unwearied love, affection firmly true,
Are known no more except in fond review ; "

together with the many interesting ties that are indissolubly formed,
and from which much happiness will flow hereafter, — for you know
there are two sides to this picture of human fate. I have just been
reading a beautiful New Year's Address, which, I think, must have
been written by a Peabody. You will find it in the " Christian Regis-
ter " of January 8 ; at any rate, it has some of his peculiar expres-
sions as well as turns of thought in it.

Mr. Lyman has just left me, with Mr. Hall, for Springfield ; but I
am to have James's company in their absence. I regretted, as it was
a holiday, that Mr. Bancroft would not permit John to visit us on
Christmas day, for he appears to have peculiar enjoyment in Joseph's
society, and J. does in his ; and 1 have a great deal of pleasure in see-
ing him. Tell your mother that I hope she will permit John to pass
the next vacation with us. J. has got his bundle and ruffle iron, and
has had his mittens a long time.

214

January 12th.
You recollect my old favorite among the young men, . He set-
tled in Springfield on purpose to court , whom he fell in love

with at first sight, at a Fourth of July party in this town. The sequel
is, that, after being engaged to him a year, she has gone to New York,

seen somebody she likes better, and turned poor adrift. So much

for being a butterfly instead of a woman. What do you think of such
pliable affections, as well as morality ? At any rate, such tilings have
the sanction of fashion to authorize them. I presume it will not injure
the lady in anybody's estimation but mine and two or three such
antiquated lovers of constancy.

The foregoing letter was discovered by my father on the afternoon
of the next day, the 12th : and he hastened to announce with pious grat-
itude the birth of his eleventh and last child, Catherine Bobbins.

January 12th. I found the foregoing letter in its present state this
afternoon. I now have the pleasure to announce to you the birth of a
beautiful daughter. Rejoice with me, my dear Emma, and render
praise to the Author of every good and perfect gift. And let all our
friends unite with us.

In haste, I am truly your friend,

Joseph Lyman.

How sure were all the family friends to write to Cousin Emma of
every event that occurred, whether of joy or sorrow, certain that she
would feel them all in her heart of hearts. Madame Recamier's biog-
rapher says of her that she had " the genius of sympathy." And so
had this dear friend, in an almost unequalled degree. Can we ever
forget the glow of her expression, the glistening of her eye, the pres-
sure of her hand ? Will any one, who was a little child then, ever
forget the tone in which she said " My love?" Our dear Lizzie Ware
used to say of her, that she was equally at home in a palace or a hovel.

215

And so she was, for the depth and warmth of her sympathy led her for
the moment to put herself wholly in the place of each.

In February of 1825, Cousin Emma decided to go to Europe, — a trip
far less frequently taken than now ; and the cousins joyfully gave her
a God-speed over the wide waters.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Forbes.
[The reading of this may be deferred until you are at sea, if you are now busy.]
Northampton, February 25, 1825.

My dear Emma, — As I hear you are going over the great water, I
must write a few words to bid you God-speed. A thousand interesting
objects present themselves to my mind when I think of such a voyage;
if I were young and without care, it were the thing of all others that I
should delight in ; as it is, I have neither the wish nor the hope of ever
undertaking it. But when you are in the far, foreign land, I wish you
would now and then look at things with my eyes, so as to bring me
home pictures of them. I mean the eyes of my understanding. Many
things would delight me, but of all God's works there is nothing I love
like his human creatures. You will see Walter Scott — -the person
who has given me more pleasure than any one living whom I never
have seen. Leave not a hair of his head unscanned, and if you can
get his barber to save a hair that he combs out, for me, I will put it up
with the single one I have of General Washington.

I hope you will see Mrs. Grant ; I should like to know if she retains
the warm affections of her youth, now that she is in the vale of years.
If you go to Dumfries, you will see Burns's monument, and that living
monument of him, his Jean. You will see other people, I dare say,
whom the literary annals of the last twenty or thirty years have made
familiar; and I would set down in my journal the impressions they
make, as you go along, lest hurrying from place to place should drive
valuable ideas from your mind. It requires great industry and effort

216

to keep a journal when travelling ; but you will do it, because it will
be a treasure when the cares of the world have blotted some interesting
recollections from your memory. What a store you will lay up for
future entertainment for your friends, and how much you will enlarge
the compass of your own thoughts ! Next to celebrated human beings,
beautiful natural scenery is the most interesting thing to see in foreign
lands ; you will feel this beauty in a high degree. Milton Hill is a fair
school for the cultivation of taste in that department. Our own favored
land is rich in natural beauty, but we have not the wonders of art, the
beautiful buildings, the rich paintings, the curious machinery, which
you will visit. Pray be all eye and all ear, for there will be hungry
expectants on this side of the water for the treasures your senses are to
collect for you.

You will see Mary Pickard ; how welcome you will lie to her ! But,
perhaps, unlucky chances may prevent this meeting. You will carry
friends with you, so that you cannol lie desolate : and may your voyage
cheer drooping spirits, and give all the satisfaction which you hope for
from it! I give the warning Mary Revere gave to Mary Pickard: do
not let any foreign knight-errant detain you from your country and
your friends; this is the laud of liberty and of plenty; it gave you
birth, and I hope it may crown your gray hairs with countless bless-
ings.

Susan joins me in affectionate wishes. 1 never see John. Round
Hill is a monastery, and the inhabitants never mingle with others. I
dare say he has written to you, to bless your path over the waves.

We are all pleased and happy that our new society is formed, and
that we are to have a new meeting-house : this is the only news I have
for you.

Fare you well ! If the prayer of friendship will guide you in safety,
it shall be yours.

S. L. Howe.

217

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, February 23, 1825.

My dear Emma, — How truly in the spirit of a heroine il is for you
to go to England ; and yet I never heard of your imagining such a thing
in your most romantic visions of the future. I am glad it is so, and
half envy you the privilege. It will furnish your mind with a great
deal of new imagery, and yon will ever after find your views enlarged
both of people and things, as well as your imagination enriched. To a
well-balanced mind every thing turns to account, because all the vari-
ety of circumstances which occur to it receives a right .direction, and
teaches us to draw from them a moral influence. Then you arc favored,
my dear Emma, in this means of doing yourself and friends good.

I know in the past year you have had much to give you a melancholy
view of life ; but it is these dark shadows that overcast our fate, that
fit us for the full and true enjoyment of those brighter hues from which
no life is entirely exempt.

'• The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastised by sable tints of woe."

All who can reflect at all, I believe, will acknowledge the truth of the
poet's assertion ; I am sure I can, for one.

I have had nothing peculiarly pleasurable in the events of the past
winter. But now that the time is consumed, I have much to con-
template which excites gratitude and affords satisfaction, and the result
of which I believe would compensate for a great deal more trouble
than I have had. Do n't you wish you could see little Catherine, whom
everybody acknowledges to be the prettiest creature that ever was seen,
for six weeks old ? Susan, too, is a good little kitten, and moreover
looks well ; Mrs. Burt is spoiling her as fast as she possibly can. I
shall try one of these days to rescue her ; but at present let her entirely
alone, not thinking it worth while to spend my strength governing a

2 1 8

child of her age, — though I dare say Mr. Everett's and Mr. Norton's
children (of the same age) are little philosophers at this time.

Mr. Bancroft is a very frequent visitor here : but Mr. Cogswell I
never see. I believe he thinks 1 had some hand in a lampoon which
Mrs. Howe wrote, and which I think has been of vast service to him,
or rather to the school.

There are hut two or three children equal to •'. in the school. Mr.
G. says he never saw so many ordinary children collected in one insti-
tution, and he should not have thought it possible.

1 do not allow myself to be much excited by our religious affairs.
The town meeting is over, and a division has taken place, and a meet-
ing-house is to be built.

[The remainder of this letter is lost].

Mrs. Hoive to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, November 16, 1825.
My dear Emma, — With heartfelt pleasure 1 welcome you to your
native land, and sympathize in the pleasure and gratitude you must
feel in once more finding yourself safe on terra firma. 1 heard of your
arrival by a gentleman from New York, before you reached Boston,
and it was a real relief to me; for 1 had begun to he a little fidgety
about you, having heard that you sailed the last of September. I con-
jectured you must have blown off to the West Indies, in a south gale
we had the last of October, or some such unexpected and undesired
cause of detention ; but here you are once more among us, and with a
mind and imagination stored with a. thousand delightful things that will
remain with you as long as you live, while the inconveniences you have
suffered will soon be forgotten, or remembered only for their moral
uses. I thank you for your letter : it is a treasure to me. It reached
me in one of those unhappy limns, when I was trembling for the life of
ray dear Catherine. I will not dwell on the scenes past at Milton ; the

219

recollection is yet so fresh and so painful, that I would gladly find a
more cheerful subject. But I know they should be remembered with
gratitude, that those dear to us were spared and restored after all their
sufferings and danger. Your mother was the greatest assistance and
comfort to us, — indeed, 1 believe she was, under God, the means of
preserving Catherine's life, when in the greatest peril.

1 have a great deal of pleasure in Mrs. Hentz : she is more like some
of my "Id Friends than any new acquaintance 1 have made since 1 came
to the Connecticul River. She has always lived near me, until to-day
they have removed into a house Mr. Hentz has lately purchased in
King Street. It is very snug and in good repair, and 1 think they will
enjoy a house of their own very much. Mrs. Hentz has met with quite
a trial, in being obliged to put her baby out to nurse. He was too
feeble to remain with her. and she could not accommodate him with a
healthy nurse nearer than the top of Chesterfield Hill, which seems, at
least, as formidable to her as you found any of the Welsh mountains.
You have enough baby-enthusiasm to realize this privation.

Mrs. Lyman's children have been ill all summer, but are now- well.
C. is just the beautiful creature you saw S. two years ago; and S. is
beautiful as an angel, and goes to school and learns her letters.

I long to see you and " hear your cracks ; " but it must be here, I
believe, for I am stationary for the winter, at least. When can you
come ? I saw John on Sunday, and told him of your arrival. Mr.
Howe is away holding court, or lie would send his love to you. Susan
is well, and sends her love. My young folks are till fat and saucy. 1
go to my new house in a fortnight, and am busy making preparation.
Remember me affectionately to your mother and the little girls.
Yours ever, with true affection,

S. L. Howe.

220

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, Decembers. 1825.
My dear Emma, — Ever since your return, 1 have had it in my
heart to congratulate you on having crossed and recrossed the Atlantic,
but I have had no kind of control of my time. My baby has occupied
me day and night since Sally Woodard left me, and Mrs. Burt fell into
her place : added to that, I have been a greal sufferer with the teeth-
ache. I am sure nothing could give me a more lively sensation of
pleasure than beholding you. At the same time that 1 should see my
dear Emma, with the same heart and feelings she used to have, 1 should
find her head arrayed in a great deal of new furniture, ami her con-
versation adorned with a great ileal of new imagery, which would he
very delightful to me. 1 would not allow you to say one word of pres-
ent subjects, except as comparing them with your past experience. I
am happy to say that I have not one unpleasanl sensation in hearing
people say. " When I was in Europe." Eaving my friends go there,
and communicate to me what they have seen, is the only compensation
I have for the absolute certainty that I shall never see it myself.
Your letter, written in Scotland, I can never sufficiently thank you for.
It came at a time when I most needed something to withdraw my
attention from present suffering.

The last year has been the most trying one of my life, as it respects
sickness, care, and anxiety. Until within a month. I never have
known a single night of unbroken rest for a year, — a circumstance
which tends very much to shatter both the nerves and the understand-
ing. For more than two months. I was in the daily anticipation of the
death of one of our family at, a distance, besides contemplating sick
children at home; and I think it lias all combined to make me about
sixty years old. Now, I don't know of any thing that can make me
younger but having Catherine and you jump into the stage, and come
up here and make me a visit : ami perhaps you can set your mother to

221

come, too. As it regards the children's coming at some future time,
the prospect has brightened very much.

Mrs. Gherardi will open a school in the spring, and a Miss Clark
likewise, — both of them excellent instructors. Miss 0. has brought
with her a great deal of apparatus, such as they use in Philadelphia,
for instruction in history, chronology, mathematics, drawing, &c.
Miss F. is really going to be married to W. R. D.

Only think of my having such a saint in the bouse ten days, as
Henry Ware ! Should you not have thought it would have converted
us. and thai we should now be as good as he is himself? 1 most
devoutly wish it were so.

An interruption warns me to bid you adieu.

With much affection,

A. .J. Lyman.

CHAPTEE XII.

The souls of

the i

right

ire in

the In

them. In the

sight

the in

they s

misery, and tli

from

Us t(

i be m

though they be

punis

ihed

in the

sighl

of men

memorial of vir

t in- is

inn

nortal

bee

iiuse it

present, men take examp

le Ml

1 : ai

id when

and triumpheth

for e

ver,

havin

g got

ten tlie

il of God, and there shall no torment touch
■nied to die, and their departure is taken for
■r destruction : but they are in peace. Fur
yet is their hope full of immortality. For the
known with God and with men. When it is
ii i- none, they desire it : it weareth a crown,
ictory. — Wisdom <.,r Solomon.

IN the summer of 1825, a severe form of typhoid-fever appeared in
the family ai Brush Iltll. and several members of the family were
stricken with it. It was a very sad summer. My uncle, Edward II.
Robbins, was very ill with it in Boston, and recovered; but his de-
voted friend, Mr. Marshall Spring, who was much with him during bis
illness, took tbc disease from him, and died, — a life lung grief to my
uncle. My Aunt Howe, on hearing of her brother's illness, went
directly to assist in the care of him, although her heart and hands
were full always with her own home cares. Alter three weeks, of greal

anxiety, she returned to Northampton, but had 1 n at home only a

few days when the news came thai her sisters Mary- and Catherine
were taken ill. directly after she left them, with the same disease.
With characteristic solicitude and disinterestedness, my Aunt Howe
immediately made arrangements to quit her family again and return
to Brush Hill, to nurse her sick sisters; and her husband did every
thing to aid her to get off. In a private memoir of my Uncle Howe,
which my Cousin Mary has kindly permitted me to use. my aunt
writes: "I received the Inter announcing that mv sisters were more

223

ill, on Friday evening. 1 did not feel willing to wail until the next
week, and told my husband I wished to take the morning stage. He
said he would carry me to Belchertown that night, that I might not have
tlic fatigue of going through in a day. 1 felt that this necessity to part
with me .so soon again was a great sacrifice to him, and I highly ap-
preciated the generosity with which he made it."

My two aunts recovered, although they seemed long to hover between
life and death ; and when she had seen them so far restored that they
could do without her unwearied devotion, my Aunt Howe returned to
Northampton. Only a few days alter her return, she received news of
the death of a faithful and attached domestic at Brush Hill, whom she
had left, as she supposed, also convalescent.

Mrs. Lyman to her Mother.

Northampton, August 24, 1825.
Dear Mother, — I little thought to have experienced so sudden a
check upon the joy and gratitude that filled my heart last week, as the
sickness of Catherine has produced. I was contemplating a tour to
see you, with the little baby and Edward, who is a confirmed dys-
peptic. He has got pretty well ; but nothing seems to agree with his
stomach, and he looks very feeble, though he is uncomplaining. I
do n't know that I ever had so much cause for anxiety about any of my
children. I should be so much occupied with my children that I should
only be in your way if you have sickness, without having any oppor-
tunity to relieve you ; and I shall, of course, give it up. We have
enjoyed Ahby's visit highly ; though her person is extremely thin
and changed, the excellent qualities of her heart remain untarnished :
she is the same interesting, good creature that she was when she left
us ; and her husband seems to have a just sense of her worth, which
he proves by a most devoted kindness and attention to her. She lias a
very delicate child, but it appears healthy.

224

1 dare say you have heard of our disappointment in relation to Mr.
Hall, who is too unwell to determine when he can be ordained. Give
my love to Catherine. I am sure 1 wish ] could be with her ; but the
claims of little children are not to he resisted, and she is aware that
the most important station for me is in the midst of them. Whal with
the conflicting claims of society and of children, I cannot compare
my life this summer to any thing hut living on the top of a high tree,
in a great gale of wind, in which all one's efforts are bent to holding
on. Sully has got home without sustaining any ill effect from her
journey, or the children from her absence. I don't know that Judge
Howe regrets it, hut we think it a great pity that he has got his house
so small : there are a sufficient number of rooms, but they are all too
small. The parlors that open together are the size of our library, and
those are the Largest rooms in the house. But 1 believe I have an un-
reasonable dislike of small rooms for a large family. We have parted
with Abby, who has gone to Providence : she was afraid she should not
go to Boston, but I think Mr. G. will.

(Jive my love to M. 1\. : tell her 1 am sorry she has got to give up her
journey, but perhaps she will not. Give my love to Edward. I am
sure 1 congratulate him and his wife most sincerely on the prospect of
his recovery ; and hope this night's mail will bring accounts of Cath-
erine's improved health.

Yours with much love,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mix. Revere.

Northampton, August 29.
My dear Mary, — I was truly glad to receive a letter from you,
though it had not so much encouragement in it relating to Catherine as
1 hail hoped for. You don't, know how much I wish I could be with
you : but my cares seem to be of a character that would increase by
removing them from home, and they could not be left. The baby is a

225

delicate creature, and feels the warm weather and teething verj much, so
that 1 don't go out so much as to make a call on anybody. Mr. Lyman
thought a ride would benefit Edward, and took him to Hartford with
him, and left me at Westfield with the baby, who was so sick all the
time I'was there as to lay like a log in my lap. But she seems better
to-day, and 1 hope she may soon be well again ; but sometimes I think
she can't live, for she looks like an angel. Now, you know my idola-
trous admiration of a baby, so that you will be able to make suitable
deductions from my account of her, when I tell you she is a perfect
model of baby-perfection. When you see E. H., tell her there is no
prospect of her grandmother's ever leaving her bed again : for the last
fortnight she has been entirely confined to it, and is the most perfect
skeleton I ever saw.

I spent the time I was in Westfield at James Fowler's. He and his
wife had just returned from a long journey, and found their youngest
child dead, and were very melancholy ; but that did not make them
the less interesting to me ; for they are good people and sensible peo-
ple, and lead pious lives, and envy nobody.

My brother Edward's restoration seems almost miraculous. I am
sure I feel as if he were raised from the dead, so perfectly have I real-
ized that he was no more, from the accounts we had of him. You
must give my love to him, and tell him that I have taken such a near
view of a separation from him as to make my heart thrill with the idea
of such a chasm in its interests and affections. No ! it is hardly worth
while to tell him this; you can realize it from your own sensations. I
am sure, if he could communicate his own feelings, he would say that,
at the same time that he felt nearer the presence of his Maker, he felt
his affections stronger to his friends.

Do take care of your own health, and remember you have no accu-
mulation of that article to be prodigal of. Tell father that young Mr.
Ridgway, whom he sent up to Mr. Shepherd's to live, is engaged to
29

226

marry the colonel's eldest daughter, and has the colonel's consent, I am
told. You have heard of Jane Bancroft's match.

With much love to all friends, your affectionate sister,

Anne Jean Lyman.

p. S. ■ — Tell Catherine, as s as she gets well enough, I shall have

her transported up here. 1 thought 1 would send her a copy of Mrs.
Hentz's hymn, written for our ordination. Sally's little James is
rather sick, but I hope not seriously.

In the year lK"2d came off a famous dramatic entertainment at our
house, in which the most beautiful girls in our village (so famed for
beauty) took part, and the finest young men in the law-school were
also actors. The " Lady of the Lake" was dramatized with wonderful
effect : my lather and Uncle Howe declaring that they never had seen
any such acting on any stage in Boston or New York. The beautiful
Martha Strong, the pride of our village, dressed in a suit of Lincoln
green, took the part of James Fitz-James ; and for many years after
the tears would come to my mother's eyes as she described the scene
where he was found alone, mourning over the loss of his steed. My
mother allowed the house to be turned inside-out, and upside-down, to
arrange for this eleganl theatrical display : and she was rewarded by
the enthusiastic pleasure of the young actors and of the neighborhood,
— who were wont to tell of it for years. For a scene of this kind was
of rare occurrence in those days. The children were moved up-stairs,
and the nursery converted into a green-room ; a stage was erected at the
end of the long hall, and one of the corridor windows was removed.
So that when the lovely Ellen pushed " her light shallop from the
shore," the boat glided off the stage by invisible ways and pulleys, past
a wooded shore of evergreens, directly into the corridor, which was
dark. The beautiful Anne Jean took the part of old Allan Lane ;

227

and, with her white wig and bending figure, touched her harp with
most mournful and effective strains. My Cousin Martha was Lord
Douglas; and other parts were equally well chosen and sustained.
Whaf acting is so fine as the private acting of a band of enthusiastic
young persons of culture and refinement '.'

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greem .

Northampton, March 22, 1826.

My dear Abby, — Mr. Eben Hunt's illness has east a gloom over
our neighborhood, together with the illness and death of a young man
by the uame of Wilder, whom, I daresay, Mr. Greene will remember
to have seen at the Cambridge Commencement, where he had the first
part, lie was altogether the first young man of his age that I ever
knew, and his being removed from this world was one of the most
inscrutable and mysterious Providences that I ever have experienced.
He had aged and respectable parents depending on his efforts. He
was the professor of mathematics on Round Hill, though a member ol
Judge Howe's law-school. He was one of those delightful characters
that ensure the unqualified regard and admiration of all who know
them, and I can hardly contemplate his death with composure. He
had those warm, social feelings, which gave him peculiar power to
diffuse pleasure wherever he visited, which he did here frequently.

Our neighbor, Mrs. Pomeroy. died this winter with a lung fever.
Our clergyman, Mr. Hall, was so unwell as to go to Baltimore imme-
diately after the dedication, and pass the winter. So that you see we
have hail abundant cause for gloom. ......

I was sorry to find that you were going to be disappointed about Mr.
Willis's residence, but hope there will be some compensating circum-
stance annexed -to it, such as will reconcile you in some measure to
the evil.

My sister Catherine has passed the last few weeks with me, and we

228

have bad so kw interruptions from society that we have become quite
literary, and begin to think ourselves quite of the " blue-stocking
order." We have read, amongsl other things, Scott's " Lives of the
Novelists," — a must delightful book, particularly to one who lias read
the old-fashioned novels, as you and 1 have, — such as " Clarissa Ilar-
lowe," " Sir Charles Grandison," and others of the same stamp and
age. We have read also Moure's " Life of Sheridan," and Prior's
" Life of Burke," which books afford one a most lively contemplation
of the great men and the state of the different parties which existed
before and at the period of the American and French revolutions. As
I am in my old age increasing my interest in political affairs, and have
a satisfaction in tracing to their causes the most recenl events in the
history of the world, as having a more immediate bearing on the pres-
ent state of things, all this is very agreeable to me.
Give my love to the drls.

Your very affectionate aunt.

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Bobbins.

Northampton, August 25, 1826.

My dear Catherine, — I consider myself much obliged to you for
repeated favors. I should have written to mamma and you long ago,
as well as to my other friends, but have been obliged to give up the pen
entirely for the last month.

The ordination was a dreadful cloud impending over my fate, which
has at length exploded ; ami 1 have in some measure recovered from
the shock, and should have great satisfaction in the result, if I had
time to contemplate it in all its bearings on our future welfare. But
the constant indisposition of little Catherine, ami the hurried prepara-
tions for Joseph's departure, with all the feelings incident to these
things, arc an indescribable weight on my mind. Mr. Lyman never
determined to let Joseph remain at Cambridge, after his examination.

229

till Dr. Ware came here : ami he is in greal opposition to a boy's spend-
ing the first year anywhere else, and has engaged to keep Joseph in his
family, and keep a particular watch over him. Still, I do not know-
that it lessens upy anxiety much ; but I do not know what to recom-
mend, and feel that it is a very difficult thing to decide what isKrst for
boys, though it may appear very easy to those who have not it to do.

You have heard, I suppose, that Mrs. G has a daughter three

weeks old ? She appears now to me like a person far gone in a con-
sumption,— has a dreadful cough, and, to my apprehension, various
other unfavorable symptoms: bui the doctor says she will recover,
and that she is not consumptive.

L. keeps the school ; but the various instructors announced in the
prospectus seem to have fallen to the ground. Mr. G. gives lessons in
Italian.

Mr. and Mrs. Pierpont came here to the ordination, and met Mrs.
Lord, who stayed a week with us. The Springfield people turned out in
a most formidable body. Mr. and Mrs. Potneroy came from Northfield :
and all who had any sympathy in the occasion seemed to enjoy it
highly. Dr. Ware's sermon, and Mr. Lincoln's right-hand of fellow-
ship, were the only part of tin- services which were particularly inter-
esting to me. Mr. Brazer and Mr. Pierpont. who dined here a day or
two afterwards, agreed that Mrs. Hentz's hymn was the highest effort
of genius used in the services of that day. She added one verse to
what you have already seen ; and, for the benefit of you and Emma, 1
shall send it, for it has been extolled beyond measure. Dr. Ware does
not know of so fine a hymn for such an occasion, in the language. By
the way, Mrs. Hentz will be in Milton next week, and I hope Emma
will he at home and see her. She depends very much on seeing you.
Mr. Bryant was here at the ordination, ami has improved astonishingly
in sociability. I was delighted with him.

Anne Jean wrote Mary Howe a clever letter about a month ago, but
1 lost it somehow. I hoped to find it laid in some hook before now.

230

Will you be so good as to request James to attend to getting Joseph
the college uniform, with any article of clothing he may require. I
wish him to have the best of cloth. .Joseph has had a particular invi-
tation to stay at Mr. Inches', and I hope he will not trouble any one
else until he takes up his permanent residence.

With love to all friends, yours,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. — You must have had great enjoyment from Maiy Pickard's
society; but 1 suppose her friends are demolishing her. You and
Emma must write me a Mary-Pickard letter. Tell Emma I have
received hers with much gratitude.

Mrs. Lyman t,> Mrs. G-reene.

November 2, 1826.

My dear Abby, fudge VV. has returned to Savannah. Mrs. W.

is a. very beautiful and accomplished woman, but not of natural fine
abilities. I think less and less of line accomplishments every day. If
they are the ornaments of a very t\no. character, it is very well ; but if
the} decorate a coarse material, they only illustrate more powerfully the
defect of the original fabric, and, instead of being a cover, they render
it more conspicuous to any but a superficial observer.

Mrs. Lyman t<> Mrs. Caroline Lee Hut:.

Decembei: 25, 1826.
My DEAR Mrs. Hentz, — I have read your letters with so much
pleasure, and so warmly reciprocate the feelings expressed in them,
that I cannot withhold my pen. We thought of you with a good deal of
anxiety. 1 assure you, until we heard from your own pen that you had
reached your journey's end. without any other disasters than might
have been reasonably expected. Our temporal journeys are very apt
to be like the journey of Life, — made up of pleasures and pains, of hopes

231

and fears, and promises of sunny days which are soon overcast by the
clouds of disappointment. But that true philosophy which supplies an
invariable antidote to all the troubles we arc subjed to, short of sick-
ness and death or vice, is a just estimate of the realities of life, con-
nected with the never-failing trust which is awakened by correct views
of religion, or confidence in an overruling Providence, which has for
its end the " good of mankind." There is much to cheer us in this
belief. If we value our own deserts only as we should, we shall not
form too bright anticipations for our fate. If we appreciate poor hu-
man nature to lie the imperfect thing if is, we shall not be surprised in
our intercourse with our fellow mortals at the imperfect pleasures
wliich result from such interchange, but shall be fortified by these just
conceptions to meet all the casualties of which life is made up.

But you do not want to hear me prosing to you about what you know
as well as I do : you want to know how much the people of Northamp-
ton had their happiness lessened by your absence, and whether their
love was worth having. Then let me tell you mine was. For if I
did not see you often, I had a pleasure in contemplating my vicinity
to you. I think of all good people in my neighborhood as the beings
who contribute to purifying the moral atmosphere. My pride, too, is
gratified in the belief that they are improving the credit of our kind,
and helping it to a better name : and, in short, that they give a char-
acter to our society. I am truly glad to find that you are favorably
impressed with your new situation, and that you are convinced that
happiness is not local, but everywhere. The well-balanced mind and
truly-disciplined heart will find it in places much less pleasant than
our beautiful valley, and, I am sure, will often realize the absence of it
here in those deficient of flic above-mentioned qualities.

Mr. Bancroft and Mr. Beck will not be married for six or eight
weeks. Mr. Hall and his wife are pleasantly situated at our son Sam's;
they have half the house, and Mr. Ware's two children live with
them. They are a perfectly congenial couple, and I think have laid

232

their foundation deep for happiness : she is every tiling a good woman
and a minister's wife should be, and lie is constantly increasing the
love of his people towards him.

Mrs. Howe sent your letter to the Miss Seegers for their gratification,
and they have read it with delight. Mary is going there this evening
to a dance. Jane is passing the winter in Boston.

Mr. Mills went away, accompanied by Mrs. Mills, in quite an inva-
lid state. 1 very much doubt if he ever recovers. Helen is i
to Charles Huntington, and Sally remains as when you were here.
Mr-. Howe has the pleasure of having my sister Catherine with her,
and they both desire their love. With much love to Mr. Hentz. believe

me. your sincere friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. I \frs. Greene.

January 9, 1827.

My dear Abby, — 1 continue to use my old recipe for opening my
heart : you will recollect that L ml Bacon said there was nothing like
a true friend for that purpose. " to whom we may impart griefs, joys,
fears, hopes, suspicions, counsels, and whatever lieth on the heart to
t." He likewise says, " It is a mere and miserable solitude
to want true friends, without which the world is but a wilderness : and
whoever is in his nature and affections unfit for friendship, he taketh
it of the beast, and not from humanity."' After dilating the subject to
its true extent without magnifying its influence, he closes with observ-
ing, •• Friendship indeed maketh a fair day in the affections from storms
and tempests : it likewise maketh daylight in the understanding out
of darkness and confusion of thoughts." I am a believer in its power,
for I always have indulged myself in all its privileges, though it has
been my fortune to live widely separated from some of those I love
best, and feel most confidence in, as the repository of my feelings.

•233

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Gfrei tie.

Junk 15 [1827].
I have been reading Wordsworth's " Excursion " of late ; I could
read it again and again with renewed pleasure. It is not a popular book
at all. but I am not astonished at that. The light-minded and frivo-
lous part of the community could not understand it, and those who
read poetry merely for amusement would not. But I do wonder that
it is nol more read and admired by thinking people ! There is little in
it to -ratify the appetite for narrative and adventure : it is sometimes
dull, even to tediousness : notwithstanding which, I consider it the
most splendid monument of thought, of deep reflection, and beautiful
sentiment that has been reared in many generations. It has to do
with the mind altogether, its capacities, its pleasures, its abuses, and its
diseases ; and to understand it you must read it with all your faculties
as much concentrated as to read Locke. It contains the truest philos-
ophy, the soundest views of life, the purest devotion, and the most
eloquent poetry; and if these arc not more than enough to compensate
for its defects, then indeed it deserves the neglect it has met with. To
my apprehension, Wordsworth has excelled in the highest order of
poetry. — in the moral sublime. 1 wish you would read it. I believe in
some of my letters I have described our minister, and the state of our
parochial affairs. I am glad you saw Edward Lowell ; he is called the
finest young man of his age that there is in Boston. Quite a prodigy
of learning, premature in every thing.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

July 12 [1827].

Have you read " Woodstock ? " I think it altogether the besl of

Scott's late productions ; it may be considered a fine historical sketch

calculated to strengthen and confirm the impressions of Cromwell's

character and times. The works of Mrs. Barbauld have lately been

234

published, and should make a part of every lady's library. Her life and
writings have done much to elevate the standard of female character,
and I feel a pride in them that I am sure is not sinful; though I am
humbled to think such people are so rare, and that there is only such
a constellation as Mrs. Barbanld and Miss Edge worth and Miss More
and Mrs. Hemans about once in a century, though there are some I
have not mentioned, who certainly arc not inferior to them, — Mrs.
Hamilton and Mrs. Ratcliff for instance. I am drawing near the
end of my paper without having said much ; I wish to know every
tiling about little C. I pray and hope you will get her through the
summer without sickness.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

[1827].

1 long to look in upon you, and see the dear children. I hope you
will be so fortunate as to raise them, for 1 consider children a greal
blessing; although they are a. blessing accompanied by great care. But
'tis care that, like ballast in a ship, helps to preserve the mind's balance
by checking its buoyancy: and. as that is good for us and necessary for
us. we ought not to consider it an evil.

I hope you have seen Miss Sedgwick's " Hope Leslie." It is a most
exquisitely beautiful thing.

In the autumn of 1827, our minister. Mr. Edward B. Hall, being in
ill health, the pulpit was supplied by ministers from Boston and the
neighborhood : most of the preachers being young men. My mother
was warmly attached to Mrs, Hall, ami felt the anxieties and cares that
this excellent and high-minded woman was subject to, very sensibly.
All the more that Mrs. Hall was one of those cheerful, sustained Chris-
tians, who never looked on her cares as hardships, but who bore all
burdens in the happiest frame of mind. During this autumn, my
mother heard that Mrs. Hall was expecting one of the preachers to

235

stay at her house for a fortnight. She did nol even know the name of
the expected guest ; but she knew Mrs. Hall was not well: so she sent
her word that, when the preacher came, she would like to have him
transferred to her house. It was Mr. Ralph Waldo Emerson, then a
young man, who took up his abode for a fortnight under her friendly
roof. I have no power to convey in words the impression she used to
give me of this visit, or its effect upon her appreciative mind. To her
sister she mirthfully quoted an expression sometimes used by her
Orthodox neighbors, about certain students at Amherst, and wrote:
" 0 Sally ! I thought to entertain ' a pious indigent,' but lo ! an angel
unawares ! " Not long after this visit, my brother Joseph became inti-
mate with Charles Emerson, at Cambridge ; a friendship which my
mother hailed as one of the highest and holiest influences in the life of
her beloved son. She rarely saw Mr. Emerson in her later life ; a few
letters passed between them. Once (in 1849), he spent a few days at
her house, while lecturing in Northampton ; and, after her removal to
Cambridge, he called to see her. The personal feeling towards him
thus engendered burned henceforth with a flame that threw light upon
every passage of his writings, gilded the gloom of many a weary day,
and made her fine face shine with responsive sympathy for the author,
as she read aloud. She was wont to feel a sort of property in liim
and his works ; and I have seen her ready to shed tears, when she
could not see any appreciation of his thought in her listener. To
one I have heard her say, "Well! you call that transcendental, and
that's all you have to say about it. / call it the profoundest common
sense." To another, " You think it very arrogant of me to pretend to
understand Mr. Emerson. Well, I tell you I have the key to him: and
I am not going to pretend I have not, whatever any one thinks."

And so as the years went by, and volume after volume appeared of
the " Essays," she hailed them with delight, and read them till they
became a part of herself.

In December of 1827, fell the heaviest shadow on the social life of

236 ,

my dear father and mother that they had yet known. My Uncle and
Aunt Howe (who had moved into the new house they had just built at
the foot of Round Hill) were full of delight in their home, and enjoyed
it all the more from having been subjected to many changes and in-
conveniences, which, however, they had always borne with their accus-
tomed patience and cheerfulness. My Uncle Howe had been very
successful in building up the law-school, and his hopes of the future
were high and sound. His health, never firm, was seldom a serious
drawback to his efforts. But in this year it sensibly declined. Mr.
Rufus Ellis, in his admirable little memoir of him, writes: —

'•Through life he had been afflicted with most exhausting headaches;
indeed, almosl every effori at the liar was followed by suffering of this
sort, — and this year began with violent attacks, from which he did not
recover so thoroughly as at former times. During this year, a slight
difficulty of breathing first showed itself, originating in a cartilaginous
formation in the windpipe, which from the first was beyond the reach
of human skill. These last days in his earthly home were not without
their premonitions to Judge Howe, and he seems to have been per-
suaded that his end was at hand. The current of many of his thoughts
is apparent from a dream, which made a very deep impression upon
him.

"He seemed to stand upon the piazza of his dwelling, his new home
but lately erected, as he had hoped, for a pleasant and permanent
abiding place : where the hearth-lire might lie kept burning, and into
which his children might lie gathered about him, for many happy years.
This beautiful resilience, a monument to his elegant taste, quietly re-
poses at the foot of the shapely eminence which crowns the village.
He looked out upon the glories which from that spot meet the eye at
every turn. The sun shone out resplendent, and poured his beams
aslant upon mountain and meadow and the modest village, almost
buried iimler its gigantic elms. The shadows stretched out in huge

237

lengths before him, for the day was far spent. Presently, as often
happens in that valley, there rose a heavy mist which obscured the
whole landscape, and sent a chill to his heart. But the darkness and

the cold wer ily for a moment. Soon the misl disappeared, and the

sun sank to rest in that wondrous glory, which, like the bow in the
clouds, the kind Father seems to have appointed to cheer and reassure
our hearts in this world where so many must be afflicted, and where all
must die. He awoke, and behold ! it was a dream ; but his inmost
prophetic soul said to him, ' So shall it be with thee ! ' And so it was.
" In the month of December, Judge Howe left his home, in company
with his wife and their infant child, to hold a court in Worcester. This
proved to be his last labor. An unusual pressure of business detained
the court until Thursday of the third week. During the following
night, Judge Howe was completely prostrated by a profuse hemorrhage,
but rallied sufficiently to travel a part of the distance to Boston, on
Wednesday of the succeeding week ; and, after his arrival in Boston,
remained tolerably comfortable during the remainder of the week. On
Monday lie was much more ill, and continued in a condition of great
suffering for twelve days, almost without power for continuous thought
or attention: and ii was soon but loo evident that his case was hope-
less, though affection clung to hope, almost to the last."

My Uncle Howe died in Boston, at the house of his brother-in-law,
Dr. Edward II. Robbins, on the twentieth day of January, 1828. of
the closing scene. Mr. Ellis goes on to write: —

" About nine o'clock, of Saturday evening, he was aroused from a
state of partial stupor by the arrival of Judge Lyman. Then the mist
cleared away, and the light of his soul shone out most gloriously during
the closing hours. ... We are rather inclined to dwell on
the hour of his death, because the spirit which adorned and ennobled
it animated the whole life, because it did not stand out as an excep-
tion, but entirely corresponded with all the rest of his days.

238

" He began with prayer to God that lie might have strength to meet
the duties and trials of the hour ; and then, taking the hand of Judge
Lyman, whom he called ' the best friend any man ever had,' his soul
seemed to overflow with gratitude, and he numbered up his mercies
with thankful acknowledgment. ' There seems,' he said, * to he a most
happy combination of circumstances at tins hour, — the coming of my
friend, Mr. Lyman, the sight of my dear son, the best medical advice,
and the comforts of a devoted brother's home all lavished upon me ;
these last especially move my heart to gratitude. God's blessing
rest upon him who has been more than a brother to me in my fee-
bleness ! ' And thru he passed to some sober words of religious trust,
and to some thoughtful and kind suggestions with reference to his
worldly affairs. ' My confidence,' he said. ' is in the mercy of God,
as revealed in the Gospel. Oh, my confidence in God at this hour
is worth more to me than riches, or honor, or any thing else that
this world has ! ' lie said that he had not been without a deep sense
of the responsibilities which pressed upon him; and that he had been
surprised at his success, at the clearness of his decisions, and the
absence of mental wavering. This power he regarded as an answer
to prayer. He trusted that he had been conscientious in the dis-
charge of his public duties; but he added, 'Thou God, knowest ! '
Heaven, he said, had ever been regarded by him as the abode of those
who cultivated their moral and intellectual powers to the greatest
advantage : and to do this had been his aim. ' I consider human hap-
piness as exactly measured by the amount of happiness which we are
able to confer upon others." With the greatest collectedness of manner,
and the method which ever had characterized him, he gave a few sim-
ple directions about bis worldly affairs, ami commended his household
to the God of the fatherless ami the widow. He hoped to have made
full provision for them in pecuniary matters, but God had otherwise
ordered it. To each <>f his friends who were present, he addressed
words of affection or of disinterested counsel, pouring out, for the

239

last time on earth, the tide of his full, warm heart. And then pray-
ing again, partly in the words which our Lord has taught us, and
expressing again his faith in the religion of Jesus, he passed away.

" We have given many of the last thoughts, and some few of the
last words of this good man; but it was the spirit that pervaded all,
and even beamed out from his calm face, that made the chamber of
death holy and blessed and peaceful. His friends felt, as for more
than an hour he thus uttered himself to them, that the heart spake, —
spake because it could not be silent. The throbbings of anguish ceased
as the sweet, eloquent words fell from his lips, and tears ceased to flow.
Those who were gathered about the bed of death seemed to be trans-
lated for the moment with one whose soul, just ready to take its flight,
brought heaven and earth together. It was a spontaneous outpouring
from the heart, and it could heal the wounds of the heart. Thankful-
ness and hope for the moment prevailed over deep grief, and, in dying
as in living, the departing spirit blessed and strengthened his friends.

" Judge Howe was buried where he died, in the city of Boston, with
every fitting honor : the members of the Suffolk Bar, to whom Chief
Justice Parker addressed a very eloquent discourse upon the services
and character of the departed, following him to the grave. And so,
after an all too brief sojourn of forty-three years, the wise and faithful
man passed from our sight."

Directly after the funeral services were over, my father accompanied
my Aunt Howe to her now desolated home. The grief of my mother
for her sister's loss, and her mourning for one who had been a real
brother to her and my father for many years, made a profound impres-
sion on me, young as I was. I recall the sad expression of their bowed
heads every Sunday in church for many months, and the almost con-
stant weeping of my mother, whenever an interval from her active
duties left her time to weep. As for my dear aunt, who was the one
most deeply afflicted, she was left with the care of six young children ;

240

but also with that high sense of duty, and that consoling exaltation of
spirit, that is the portion of those who have enjoyed the highest com-
panionship, and to whom the will of God is conclusive and satisfying.
During the winter succeeding to her husband's death, she wrote out in
her solitary hours all her must precious reminiscences of his life. In
it, she speaks with thankful emotion of the seven quiet years she had
passed with her husband in Worthington. There, comparative isola-
tion had drawn their hearts closer together in those first years of mar-
ried life, and had given them time for that intellectual sympathy which
the cares of a more extended social circle would have prevented. A
home where her sisters and Eliza Cabot and Catherine Sedgwick were
occasional guests, which the good and learned Dr. Bryant loved to
frequent, and where his poet-son had a, temporary home : where, when
alone, the husband and wife regaled themselves with evening readings
of '-Tacitus" and "Virgil" and Mather's " Magnalia," — such a
home, even on the bleak hills of Worthington. was one to remember
with peaceful gratitude. In one of my Uncle Howe's letters to my
aunt before their marriage, 1 find a passage which 1 insert here ; for the
anticipation it contains was fully realized: —

•• 1 aidieipate great pleasure in reading to you, and hearing you
read. In this way, we can in some measure supply the want of society,
which you must necessarily led as a great privation. While we im-
prove our minds individually, we shall also increase the similarity in
our feelings, opinions, and tastes: and this will certainly increase the
pleasure of our intercourse with each other. The desire of being use-
ful to each other will stimulate our exertions for the improvement of
our minds; and the habit of reading and conversing together on liter-
ary subjects will prove highly useful to our children. I hope we shall
not be inclined to complain of solitude, while we can enjoy together the
society of Shakspeare and Milton, Johnson and Burke."

'241

My aunt's memoir of Judge Howe is an exquisitely simple and
touching record of a wholly faithful career. My own limits will only
allow me to make a few extracts from it : but they will serve to show
yon, my dear girls, what this life and death were to your grandparents,
and how noble must have been the friendship that subsisted between
these four noble souls.

Extracts from Mrs. Howe's Memoir of her Husband.

" With tin' perfect sincerity of his conversation, and the entire sim-
plicity of his manners, I was impressed when I first saw him. He was
then nearly eight-and-twenty, and, although lie never in any degree losi
his natural frankness, I think he afterwards greatly improved in his
power ami ease in conversation; his mind became more enlarged, and
his range of thought more varied. This was the effect of a life indus-
triously devoted to the cultivation of his intellectual powers, the wel-
fare of his fellow-creatures, and the happiness of his family. The
mind which is unceasing in research, the affections which are daily
supplied, must increase in strength continually.

" It was my privilege, from the very beginning of our acquaintance, to
become the companion to his mind. I remember he told me that his
friend Hayden said to him, ' You are going to marry again : speak not
of your former wife ; it will be an unwelcome subject.' His reply
was. • I shall have no interdicted subject with my wife.'

" It was my happiness to inspire a confidence never for a moment
withdrawn, manifested in death as well as in life. This is a lasting
enjoyment, not merely in recollection, but in possession. ... He who
knew me best knew that I was above poor and selfish motives of con-
duct ; and the feeling that he did so strengthened my self-respect.

" The time he spent with us at Brush Hill, previous to our marriage,
was employed in cultivating an acquaintance with me and with all my
friends. With my father he was immediately intimate. He had for

24 2

him the respect of a son, with the companionship of a brother. They
never met without renewed pleasure in each other's society. To every
member of my family he made himself interesting," and likewise to the
whole circle of our friends. This interest was never in any measure
withdrawn : for it had no false pretence, no showy attraction for its
foundation. No human creature could lie more superior to every thing
like address or subterfuge. He had no vanity to gratify, and he never
did any thing, great or small, for display. This makes the vain parade
which some persons make of accomplishments and intellectual attain-
ments seem contemptible to me ; but 1 try to overlook it, because he
always forgave it. The extravagant claims of others never seemed to
interfere with him : he never flattered others, and never expected
praise. He was. indeed, too good and wise and kind to make il neces-
sary to convince others of his excellence, or conceal from them his
motives : they might lie read in his countenance, heard in every word
he uttered; and no one had need to say, ' Why do you so'.'' The
activity of his mind was very uncommon. I do not think he had what
men call genius: he was never imaginative, but his powers were
always in use. To reason and compare, to think, to read, and con-
verse, were his constant occupations.

" When conversation ceased, he had always a book at hand, and read-
ing with him was not a sellish enjoyment. 1 believe that 1 may safely
say that lie lias read hundreds of volumes aloud to me. He discon-
tinued, in some measure, after he began delivering lectures, because he
had then so much use for his voice, but never entirely. He read to me
everything that was interesting in the newspapers and reviews, and
some other things, as long as he lived : and always told me about what
he read, when he could do no more. His peculiar preference in books
was for those which contained facts, — history, biography, and travels,
lie read all the ' Waverley Novels' with much delight, and Miss
Sedgwick's with a heartfelt and affectionate interest ; but not many
others, while I knew him. He was fond of Shakspeare and Milton,

243

but was indifferent to most modern poetry, ami to metaphysics. Be
had so much professional reading to do, that he preferred things that
taxed the mind less.

" 1 think he had ambition, — the ambition that aspires to true excel-
lence, and proposes to itself honorable rewards. It was not grasping
in its nature, however, nor did it interfere with his other habits. 1
remember that Judge Jackson told him, when he was about two-and-
thirty, thai hi' might come to Boston and live without any risk, and he
would lie sure of the best kind of business : but he loved the tran-
quillity of the country, and did not court a city life."

My aunt, in another portion of her memoir, relates the fact of her
husband's close intimacy with the Sedgwick family, and the deep
enjoyment they both had in it through life. She thus describes the
change in her husband's religious views : —

"Previous to my marriage, I never had conversed with my husband
on religious opinions, although I knew that he was sincerely religious,
both in principle and feeling. The controversial questions since agi-
tated were not then much talked of. I had been often to hear Dr.
Chanuing, Mr. Buckminster, Mr. Thacher, and others preach. Their
faith seemed to me that which was delivered to the saints ; and I never
liked the Calvinist preaching, which I heard enough of at Milton.

" One Sunday evening, not long after my marriage, I expressed my
views of religion very fully. Your father seemed to think me in great
error, and reprehended me with a good deal of decision. I was rather
hurt, perhaps more so than the occasion warranted. I made an inter-
nal resolution not to introduce the subject again. I knew I could agree
to differ about mere opinion. About two years after, your father met
Henry D. Sedgwick at the Berkshire Court. Sedgwick was fund of
argument, and a, zealous Unitarian. They talked together on the sub-
ject. Sedgwick lent your father -Yates's Answer to Wardlaw.'

244

This book and the New Testament he read with care, after his return
home, comparing it with Scripture; and was entirely convinced of the
truth and reasonableness of the Unitarian faith, which he afterwards
held through life. He was much interested, and read a great deal
upon the subject. It was a most sincere delight to me that the only
difference of opinion of any importance between us was removed. I
told him how glad 1 was, and glad likewise that it was effected without
my influence. He had the kindness to say, ' You do not know how
much your conduct has influenced me.' It' I had controverted with
him in my imperfect manner, he might have refuted me, and never, or
not for a long period, have investigated the subject : for we lived away
from what I considered religious privileges. But I had the happiness
to prove to him that I feared God and regarded man ; and he was
interested in the foundation of my faith, and felt that it would be a
privilege to think with me on a subject of so much importance. I
bless God for the result: our religious sympathy was a new bond
between us."

In another portion of this memoir, my aunt makes a long quota-
tion from a letter of .Miss Sedgwick's : one of the sentences seems to
have been left incomplete in the original ; it is printed just as it
stands : —

Miss C. M. Sedgwick In Mr*. How,-.

" He always seemed to me more highly gifted in his social powers
than almost any one I ever have known. He set a high value on the
social relations, affections, and enjoyments. He made them a distinct
object of attention. They were not to him incidental and subordinate,
as to most professional, active, and busy men. They were not means,
but ends; he gave his time and talents to them. His character was
fitted for friendship and the tenderesl relations. His sound judgment,
his rational views, the equanimity and forbearance of his temper, and

245

his pleasant vein of humor, which, if it seldom rose to wit, was as
superior to it for domestic purposes as the ready and benignant smile
is in the loud and boisterous laugh. He had a decided love and pref-
erence for female society, and that indulgence for us which lias marked
all the men of noble spirit that 1 have known."

To Miss Sedgwick's testimony, my aunt adds : •• This love of female
society I have often heard him dwell upon. He said he did not like to
hear women claim equality of talent ; they had no need of it. Women
were more disinterested, more single-hearted than men (that was his
experience among his associates) ; and they ought to be satisfied with
being better, without contesting the question of intellectual equality."

It is hard to take' pussin/es only from a biography so perfect ; but I
close them, as my dear aunt did her memoir, with these lines, —

" And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high ?
To live in hearts we leave behind
Is not tn die."

CHAPTER XIII.

Let us be patient! these severe afflictions

Not from the ground arise,
But oftentimes celestial hem-dictions

Assume tliis dark disguise.

We see but dimly tlirough the mists and vapors ;

Amid these- earthly damps,
What seem to us but dim, funereal tapers,

May be Heaven's distant lamps.

There is no death ! what seems so is transition !

This life of mortal breath
Is but a suburb of the life elysian,

Whose portal we call Death.

We will be patient ! and assuage the feeling

We cannot wholly stay ;
By silence sanctifying, not concealing

The grief that must have way.

Longfellow.

A FTER my Uncle Howe's death, my mother received many letters
■^ *• from friends who had loved and appreciated him. She kept one
from Mr. Emerson, with peculiar care.

To Abby she wrote a long letter, pouring all her sorrow into this
faithful and sympathizing heart. But I will only extract one passage.
After speaking of the loss to those nearest, and to the community, she
says : " For our own family I can say that death has taken such a
friend and counsellor as the world cannot furnish us with, and left in
its place a deep-rooted sorrow, which I hope may lay the foundation of
many virtues, limit is a hard exchange. It is sorrow which marks

•247

with strongest impression our experience in this life, much more than
any of the joyful occurrences in it. Some author I lately have read ob-
serves. 'It is sorrow which teaches us to feel properly for ourselves and
for others.' We must feel deeply before we can think rightly. It is
not in the tempest and storm of passions that we can reflect, but
afterwards, when the waters have gone over the soul ; and like the
precious gems and the rich merchandise which the wild wave casts upon
the shore out of the wreck it has made, — such are the thoughts left
by retiring passions. Reflection is the result of feeling. It is from an
all-absorbing, heart-rending compassion for one's self, that springs a
deeper sympathy for others ; and from the sense of our own weakness,
and our own self-upbraiding, arises a disposition to be indulgent, to for-
bear and to forgive. At least, such I believe to be the intention of
Providence in permitting sorrow to exist in the world."

Mr. li. W. Emerson to Mrs. Lyman.

Divinity Hail. Camhridge, February 11, 1828.

My dear Madam, — It was very kind of you to think of me again.
I have thought of little else lately than the irreparable loss which your-
self and your friends and your town have sustained. It will not be the
least of the many alleviations of this grievous affliction that it is felt
as it should be throughout the community. The world is not so selfish
but that such a bereavement as this, is felt as their own by society at
large. I do not surely allude to this sympathy as if it yielded a gratifi-
cation to vanity in the general attention our own calamities excite ;
but from a far higher reason, (hat it is grateful to us as justifying our
own grief in giving us the testimony of mankind, that our partial affec-
tions have not misled our judgments, but that the object on which we
have spent our affections, was worthy of them. This makes the value
of the unanimous tribute of respect and sorrow that has been paid to
the memory of your friend.

To me, if it is not idle to speak of myself, his death was a most an-

■248

expected disappointment. I had rejoiced in my good fortune in making
his acquaintance, and looked forward with earnestness to its continu-
ance. His acquaintance was a privilege, which I think no young man
of correct feelings could enjoy without being excited to an ambition
that he might deserve his friendship. But it has pleased God to re-
move him.

I cannot but think there is the highest consolation in the occasion of
his sickness, and the manner of his death, which have filled up the
beauty of his life, and have left nothing to be amended, if they have
left much to be desired. In such a deatli of such a man, if there must
be to his family and friends the deepest grief, there must be also to
them a feeling of deep and holy joy. There is something in his char-
acter which seems to make excessive sorrow unseasonable and unjust
to his memory; and all who have heard of his death have derived
from it new force to virtue and new confidence to faith.

You will have the goodness to offer my respectful condolence to Mrs.
Howe ; 1 was denied, by accidents, even the melancholy satisfaction of
attending the funeral of Judge Howe. The following day 1 was in town.
and learned at Mrs. Revere's that Judge Lyman and Mrs. Howe had
returned home.

I am very sorry to hear that your children have been so sick. I
trust they are wholly well. 1 have the greatest regard for my little
friends, though it is probable they have forgotten their ancient admirer
before this time. I want- to become acquainted with Joseph, but Charles
thinks the air of Divinity Hall altogether too musty to suit his youthful
friend. I read to my brother your kind remembrances. He is very
fond of your son. and very happy to second his own ambition, in giving
him his just place in college.

Please to make my respects to Judge Lyman, whom I hope to see
when he is in town again.

With great regard, madam, your faithful friend and servant,

R. Waldo Emerson.

249

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, March 11. 1828.

My dear Emma, — I have fallen on you of late as the fittest subject
for neglect. But in doing so I deserve great credit, let mo tell you.
For in no instance could I make a greater sacrifice amongst my corre-
spondents than in giving up your letters. I should have a great deal to
say about my disappointment in not seeing yourself and Bennet this
winter, but you know that a bitterer feeling has filled the place of all
minor considerations ; and all disappointments appear insignificant to
me when I think of the chasm made in our social circle, which can
never be contemplated by me except with a feeling of the most poig-
nant regret. It is true, our religion furnishes us with the delightful
hope of a reunion with those we love, and with a perfect confidence in
the goodness of an all-wise Judge, who has ordered these things for our
good. But there is an earthly feeling which will accompany us through
this terrene abode, and the wants of our gross nature, whether of a
corporeal or of an intellectual kind, will be listened to. We shall as
naturally seek for sympathy in the confiding bosom we have made the
repository of our kindest and best affections and inmost thoughts,
when we have realized a reciprocation of the same, as we shall seek
food when oppressed with hunger. And we shall as naturally deplore
our inability to indulge the one as the other, notwithstanding our re-
ligion and our reason instruct us to be patient, and go on with the
duties of life with renewed vigor, and, if possible, make up to the world
by our efforts for the excellence it has lost. I feel how necessary the
chastisements of Providence are to extract vanity and folly from our
hearts, and convince us of the real blessings of life. When we see the
main pillars, the strongest props of virtue laid low, we must feel that
earth has been a loser unless it strengthens the virtues of those who
remain.

I have just been called to listen to the complaints of the widow and
32

250

the orphan, who close with saying, "It would not bo so, if Judge Howe
was living." There are a kind of people who are kept straight by fear
of the inspection of the wise and good of their neighborhood, and the
want of that restraint we shall feel more and more every day.

Sally has been wonderfully carried along thus far, but. I think she
has only begun a new existence in (to her) a new world, the difficul-
ties of which will be every day developing themselves ; and I trust they
will find her endowed with new power to meet them. She is fortunate
in being able to have Catherine with her, for her spirits would not
admit, of her giving much direction to the children, and C. is of the
greatest importance to the comfort of the family.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, October G, 1828.

My dear Emma, — I suppose you received by John a. very ungrate.
ful message from me, which was, that 1 did not write to you because 1
had written to everybody else. Now, the compliment you must ex-
tract from this apparent unkindness, after all you have done and suffered
for me and mine, is, that I expected more patient forbearance, from you
than any one else.

Miss Sedgwick got here Saturday evening, and I was greatly dis-
appointed that she did not, as she had promised to, come directly here ;
but she explained it to my satisfaction, — though I could not help feel-
ing very much grieved to see so little of her. But according to the
admirable system of compensation which marks the kind Hand that
administers our portion, there was still a great indulgence in store for
me, though it was to endure but for a short time. Miss S. had in her
company a lady who joined her and spent much of the day with me.
Mrs. Griffith I will not pretend to describe to you, for she is of that
nonpareil cast that baffles my skill altogether; but I can refer you to a
characteristic of her mind in a production of hers, to be found in the

251

last "North American," "On Bees." Last evening, B. sat deeply
engaged in your favorite occupation, — biting his nails, — which il seems
she had admonished him for before. She took her pencil, and wrote
on the blank leaf of a small volume of poems with which she had pre-
sented him, and which lay near her, the following impromptu : —

" In France, where the grape luxuriant grows,
A Frenchman feeds on snails ;
But here, where a feast of reason flows,
No need of a feast of nails."

You will not wonder at my introducing you to a person of suclu
striking quickness and aptness of thought and expression. Her occu-
pation has been for many years the cultivation of the most remarkable
nursery of trees in this country; and the object of her visit to Boston
was to see agricultural gentlemen, with whom she wishes to hold cor-
respondence. She was left a widow many years since, with seven
children, and no other property than an estate in New Jersey, on the
Raritan, called Charley's Hope. It was then unproductive ; but, by her
great energy and management, she has for many years obtained an
income of six thousand dollars from it, and maintained her family in
splendor, as well as great comfort.

We felt very sorry to have the ladies leave us this morning, and H.
is quite dejected about it ; but he has consoled himself as well as he
could with going to the mountain this morning, — and a brighter and
more beautiful day never shone in October. It rained all last evening,
which prevented my taking my heroine up to see Mrs. Howe, but
which has improved all external appearances indescribably. The ver-
dure is everywhere as perfect as it was in June, and the trees have not
yet assumed their autumnal garb. Miss Sedgwick spent the evening
with Sally, and gave her the particulars of the Cabot experiences.

I wish you would make application to Dr. Harris for the best account
of the natural history of the aphis, or aphidea ; and either copy it for
me, or point me to the place where I can find it. You know he is a

252

distinguished entomologist, and lias made communications on this sub-
ject to the public by means of the " New England Farmer." Give my
love to your mother and Mary, and tell the former that we shall long
remember and be grateful fir her kind attentions to Anne Jean, who
is continually talking of and enjoying her past experiences.

Your affectionate

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman t" Miss C. Robbins.

Northampton, February 1, 1829.

My dear Catherine, — We were very glad of your letter which I
received ;i week ago : ever since. 1 have been very much engaged in con-
sequence of Catherine's sickness. She is now getting better, lint I think
has (owing to a violent cold) had a regular lung fever, and I do not
intend she shall go out of the house again until warm weather, for 1
never hail any success in hardening young children. .She now has the
must dreadful cough 1 ever heard, and has shrunk into a little
skeleton.

I should like to hear soon, what Mr. Emerson is going to do about
taking Anne Jean. Mr. Walker and Mrs. Howe have discovered to
their satisfaction, that mine of Mrs. G.'s scholars know any thing at
all. And though I should not wish to have Mr. Emerson think very
highly of Anne Jean's attainments, or of her capacity, I would not lie
so hypocritical as to pretend to acquiesce in Mr. Walker's judgment.
The end I shall have always in view, with regard to children, is to pro-
duce a state of mind, rather than a historian, a philosopher, or a poet.
In producing a desirable state, in my view, Mrs. Gherardi has been
particularly successful. I can see it most perfectly illustrated in
Martha, who never spends a moment unprofitably. As it regards
Anne Jean, she wants nothing but wise direction, and always appears
ready to follow it. And I am not disposed to believe that the hun-
dreds and thousands of pages of French and Latin exercises that have

253

been written, together with historical abstracts, have been ineffectual
in producing that discipline of character and that patient industry thai
are operating now so favorably on our household. It is unnecessary for
me to describe to you what I wish for Anne .lean. There are bul aboul
two years more that she can attend to lier education in the given form
of a school. I am perfectly aware of the mediocrity of her abilities,
and should like to have her attend to those things that are most profit-
able and necessary for women to know, and that furnish the besl
mental discipline. She has capacity enough to be wise in its truest
sense, if her faculties are used to the best advantage; but if we do
not do a great deal towards producing a balance of character, her
heart will always be running away with her head. ....

Do you remember, two years ago, in that eventful period of Mary
Pickard's and Mr. Ware's life, how engrossed we were about them,
and thought earthly happiness was insured to them ? What different
destinies are assigned to the children of earth ! I saw Martin Brim-
mer and his happy bride get into the sleigh the other day, and recol-
lected that he had lived to be thirty years old and more, and had hardly
had his path shadowed by a sorrow. I hope Mr. E.'s health will enable
him to bear up against all that must happen to him. But I am
greatly afraid it will kill him. He has shown that he has purity and
principle enough to serve as an antidote to the ills of life, but he may
not be able to resist the frailty of his physical nature.

Give my love to Mary and Mr. Revere and the boys, and tell me
how the twins grow, when you write ; and all you can hear about Mr.
Emerson's affairs, for you know I am subject to the Emerson fever just
now, in this eventful state of things.

Your affectionate

A. J. Lyman.

254

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, February 28, 1829.

My dear Emma, — It is impossible for me to deal much in abstract
subjects. The past and the future 1 am equally divested of in contem-
plation, for I am absolutely and entirely involved in the present, —
which Dr. Johnson thinks is the very lowest state of human existence.
But I shall require at least as good a teacher as he is to instruct me
how to avoid it. If he had been ever a woman, and felt himself re-
sponsible for the well-being and happiness of numbers of all ages, with
all their different wants to attend to, with a due proportion of sickness
and health, I think he would have been of a different opinion. Ever
since I returned from Boston, something has been the matter with my
children ; more particularly little Catherine, who was sick some weeks ;
and after she appeared to be perfectly well, had a relapse. Anne Jean
had a similar difficulty at her age. Notwithstanding all the care
accompanying all these little folks, I have an enjoyment in young
children that I am afraid I never shall have in them after they are
grown-up ; and 1 can't help wishing to keep them where they are for
a while.

I feel truly sorry for Edward and Ann, that their child could not
live; it was a disappointment that 1 never for a moment had antici-
pated. I am very glad that Mary is in town ; Anne Jean wants very
much to know what she is studying, and how she likes her school. If
it would have done for Anne Jean to have gone till September to Mr.
Bayle, I should have liked it very well, considering that she cannot go
to Mr. Emerson till June; and I suppose it would not have put him
out to defer it till September. But my patience has been kept in pretty
constant exercise during my pilgrimage through this vale of tears, and
I dare say I shall be able to bear with having her the sport of accident
another three months. But the influences upon her character at pres-

255

ent are very unpropitious, all things considered. Mary and Susan
Howe accompanied Mr. Asliinun and Lucy to Chicopee yesterday, and
returned to-day. Mr. Aslnuun is really too sick to go anywhere, but
he will keep doing something lie should not all the time ; and, on the
whole, we think he cannot live long : he has been shut up a good deal,
and has a dreadful cough. We have had Mr. Jones shut up here by
the storm a week, and have got a good deal acquainted with him. It
is quite amusing to hear Mary talk of withdrawing herself from young
society because she is going to marry a man forty years old. I have
endeavored to convince her that good feeling and sympathy level all
distinctions of age ; for I am sure, as it regards myself, that I never
had more pleasure in my life in the society of young people than I have
since they were the companions of my children ; and I am sure it does
not lessen the pleasure I feel in the society of the aged. But father-
and mother are almost the only old people I am acquainted with, — I
mean older than myself. Mr. Lyman and myself are the old people of
Northampton.

I have written thus far, my dear Emma, not with the expectation of
giving you much pleasure, but that I might enforce my claim to a letter
from you. I want to hear about Mr. Ware and Mary, and all then-
plans, as well as their state ; and the history of people and things in
general.

Yours, , T r

A. J. L.

In 1829, my sister Mary was married to Mr. Thomas Jones, of En-
field. She was of a most lovely and affectionate nature ; and her
departure was a serious loss to the family circle. She always had
been specially devoted to our father's comfort ; and once, in a moment
of confidence, told my Cousin Martha that she had never in her life
wanted to do any thing that he did not wish. Though I was but six
years old at the time of her marriage, I recall vividly the bitterness "I'
the parting from her, and the home-sick longing for her I experienced

256

for many months. For I had slept with her from the time of my in-
fancy, and her care and love had been boundless. A vision of her
always rises to my memory, as she sat at her window in the room
above the office, bending over a neat little board covered with flannel,
on which she laid the linen cambric ruffles of our father's shirts in the
most exquisitely fine plaits. She had large and beautiful eyes, and a
most tender and loving heart.

My Uncle Howe's death had been the beginning of a series of
changes which deeply affected both my parents. In 1829, my Grand-
father Bobbins died : and in 1830, the sudden death of little Annie
dean Greene, my Cousin Abby's beautiful little daughter (to whom she
hail given my mother's name), called out all the deepest sympathies of
my mother's heart .

Mr. II. W. Knurs,, n /,, J/rs. Lyman.

Boston. August 25, 1829.

My dear Madam, — My friend, Mr. George P. Bradford, has
promised to give Mr. Hall a " labor of love " next Sunday, on his return
through Northampton from New York, whither he has gone with his
sisters, — a victim of the travelling passion. And as Mr. Bradford is
a man of mark among his friends, 1 want him to have the happiness —
which I shall grudge him, too — of spending half an hour at your house.
But, who is Mr. Bradford? lie is Mrs. Ripley's brother, and a fine
classical and biblical scholar, and a botanist, and a lover of truth, and
"an Israelite, in whom is no guile," and a kind of Cowper, and a
great admirer of all admirable things ; and so I want him to go to
your house, -where his eyes and his ears shall be enriched with what he
loves.

I went yesterday to Cambridge, mid saw your friend, Professor Ash-
mun, inaugurated. . . . As far as 1 can guess, the appointment of him
is a very judicious one. It was a line assembly, free of all crowd and
fatigue, and contained some of the finest people in America. 1 sat (as

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it is always expedient to do on public occasions) next to Mr. CJpham, of
Salem, and got him to point mc out the lions, — for he is a man having
the organ of society in very large development, and knows all men in
the I'liitt'il States ; and one could not desire a more eloquent ex-
pounder of their various merits.

I hope yourself and Judge Lyman are well. I am truly sorry that
the distresses of the times should have come so near your friends. God
seems to make some of his children for prosperity, they bear it so
gracefully, and with such good will of society : and it is always painful
when such suffer. But I suppose it is always dangerous, and especially
(o the very young. In college, I used to echo a frequent ejaculation
of my wise Aunt's: "Oh, blessed, blessed poverty!" when I saw
young men of fine capabilities, whose only and fatal disadvantage was
wealth. It is sad to see it taken from those who know how to use ii ;
but children whose prospects are changed may hereafter rejoice at the
event.

We 'jot no good news from Mr. Ware, except that he is no worse ;
but he now writes that he is really no better than when he left home.
We had so many flattering rumors, that this sounds worse. It is really
good ground to hope that he has no seated consumption, I think, if
after so long an interval he remains as well ; and a winter in Italy
may do much.

Charles has just been in to see me, much rejoicing in having turned
the key for the last time in his school-house, and in the prospect of
living again with Joseph Lyman, at Cambridge. . . .

I am, with respectful remembrances to Judge Lyman, and to the
family,

Dear madam, yours affectionately,

R. Waldo Emerson.

In the autumn of 1S20, my mother decided to send our dear Annie
to Boston, to Mr. George B. Emerson's school. When I recall how
33

258

close and tender the tie was that bound her to her children, and what
a delight to her their perpetual presence, I realize fully the sacrifice she
so often made in the long separations from them, which she cheerfully
endured. It was a part of that large, generous, and broad outlook she
took of life, that she could never feel she had done her whole duty to
children, if she had only given them herself. I often have heard her say.
that she did not think young people who had lived always in the bosom
of their families were as well fitted to cope with the after-trials of life,
or to understand the various characti rs they would be sure to come in
contact with, as those who had a wider experience. She thought that
family peculiarities were rubbed off or lessened by attrition with other
families; and that young people became more liberal and enlarged by
finding out that there were a great many roads to the same place.
My mother had the greatest satisfaction in Mr. Emerson's school.

Mrs. Lyman to her Daughter, Anne Jean Ly

a*. ni.

Northampton, November 1">, 1829.
My dear Anne Jean, — I was sorry -the cloak did not suit you any
better, but it was made like one from New York which we supposed
to be the height of the fashion, as was the size of the cord. 1 have
sent you some money to pay for the dyeing of the gown. If there
should be an opportunity to send it by Maria Hunt's bundle for me to
make, von had better. Your cloak was made, with my assistance, for
forty cents, which could not have been done in Boston under live
dollars. It is the multiplication of such little expenses that in the
aggregate makes large sums. Now, the dyeing and fixing of your me-
rino will be all the expense of a. new dress, if you carry it to a mantua-
maker in Boston : but if you will describe how you wish it to differ
from your oilier gowns, 1 will attend strictly to your orders. You said
nothing about the worked collar, but 1 hope you have got it. and that
it suited you better than your cloak did. 1 moreover hope you will

259

live to see what I probably shall not, — a millennial existence, one in
which there will be no sorrow about clothes; where the only anxiety
people will have will be how they can do the most good with their
time and talents. I do not rare how much anxiety you expend on
these objects. Clothe your mind, for thai will never wear out, if you
take care of it : and it is an inexhaustible fund of usefulness to others,
as well as one's self. The ability to instruct those who want for intel-
lectual light is vastly better than the ability to give money : and it is
an independent resource that we can control without the interference
of third persons. Give my love to your grandmother; and, whenever
you have any time, take your work and go and sit with her. I am very.
sorry to hear of your grandfather's lameness; when you write, you
must mention how he is. . . .

The fringe will do very well. Give my love to your Aunt Revere ;
I want to hear how she gets along weaning the babies. I hope the
crowd has passed by, so that she will have a little time left to herself;
for it appears to me her life is a good deal like mine. — broken up by
innumerable casualties, leaving us but little control of our time or
thoughts. John is a good boy. but I cannot get him to write very
eleganl epistles; but 1 hope his mother won't think the fault is in me.
The fact is, he does n't love to write. — nor does any little boy of his
age, — and he will not take the pains to do nearly as well as he
Tell Joseph the man has gone away that engaged to do his chair.
Your affectionate

Mother.

Now. there was not the smallest occasion for desiring " a millennial
existence." as far as the dress of the dear Anne was concerned. She
was a pattern of the most exquisite neatness and the .strictest economy.
Oil. I can imagine that cloak that was "in the height of the fashion,"
made up for forty cents, after " a pattern from New York : " and 1
know well why it caused sorrow ! What would my dear mother say

260

now, if she could come hack and see the overskirts and trimmings of

the present day ? Surely, not that the millennium of dress is nearer at
hand !

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Barnard.

Northampton, December 30, 1829.

My dear Mrs. Barnard, — I received your last letter yesterday
evening. 1 feel much obliged to you for writing, for it must be a trial
to Mr. Lyman to have to write the same tiling so many times as lie
has. My father's illness, considering its cause, has been wonderfully
protracted. It must have been many weeks since he could have de-
rived any nutriment from any thing he lias taken. But we must rec-
ollect that, his disease attacked him in the lull vigor of an unimpaired
constitution. It is not therefore strange that there should lie a power-
ful resistance at the close.

It seems, perhaps, to you, as if it would he difficult for me to realize
(without being on the spot and witnessing the whole scene) the de-
parture of my lather, whom I have had so few interviews with for
eighteen years. But imagination is" a powerful agent in presenting
the images of our friends, and enforcing by irresistible associations
upon our minds their presence, their thoughts, their views on all
subjects, as similar ones occur. And. perhaps, no one was ever led
more frequently to recur to and quote the opinions of another, than I
have been, as to those of my father, — believing his mind (as children are
prone to) to he a fountain of wisdom and inflexible virtue, founded in
genuine mid sincere religious feeling. If 1 did not think so, 1 should
have been forced to the belief that he was a hypocrite, for no one ever
had more constantly on their lips the sense of dependence on God, and
more frequently expressed their confidence in the provisions of his
providence and grace. His conduct in relation to the divisions in the
town of Milton have been peculiarly illustrative of his love of peace.
1 speak of this as an incontrovertible proof of his true love of prac-

261

tical religion. Mr. Bigelow, a clergyman now staying with me, who
knew my father in the eastern country, thinks then- are. few men in
our country, if any, who have done so much for religious institutions
as he has, and that the imperishable monuments of his influence will
be felt in that country to remotest generations. Here I will stop : lor
no one douhts he was an active supporter of the principle and practice of
virtue in all its forms, and that he has been in the hands of Providence
an instrument of much good in his day and generation.

I feel grateful that my father should have come to the close of life,
without having experienced the torpor and uselessness of old age ; and
that his mind, with all its sensibility and sympathy, should have
remained till the close. It is ever to he regretted, when friends sur-
vive their usefulness long enough to consider themselves cumberers
of the ground, or to have their friends consider them in that light.
And still our regret must always he deeper, ami the less of our friends
more to he deplored, when they are taken from a sphere of eminent
usefulness, as is the case with my beloved father. At the period he
was taken ill, his connection with the world was as strong as it had
been at any period of his life, and the duties he was engaged in as
important to its interests. But the Disposer of all events lias ordered
this in wisdom, and it is not for us to say that we can imagine a better
way, or a better time. It would have been an unspeakable satisfaction
to me to have seen my father again : but if I had been there, Mr. Ly-
man could not have been away at this time, and 1 view his presence of
so much more importance than mine could have been, that I have rec-.
onciled my mind to the deprivation. 1 take much pleasure in contem-
plating the revelations concerning the future to the good. " Behold I
make all things new." May we not expect a renovation of the moral as
well as the vital principle, and at the same time that there is an end
to pain, sickness, and death ?

2 6 '2

Mrs. Lyman to her Mother.

Northampton, January 1, 1830.
My dear Mother, — I can think only of the sadness that mingles
itself with the reflections of our New Year's congratulations; and still
I am sensible that there is much mercy mingled in our cup of bitter-
ness. The great trials and changes of life are continually drawing us
near to each other, as well as near to a merciful God who has bound
our interests by such endearing lies, and made us to feel that the sor-
rows of owe are equally the sorrows of all belonging to the same family.
Though I have not been with you personally, my thoughts are ever
there; we are prone, you know, to fix them on the spot where the scene
lies which is most eventful to our interests and our happiness. Perhaps 1
have encountered as few of those changes which appertain to human des-
tiny, as any one of my age. But still 1 realize most fully that change is
the universal law inscribed on all God's works ; and that, when we are
enjoying the spring-tide and summer of our existence, we must not
forget there is an autumn and a winter of life, preparatory to its close.
My father has realized as little of the sickly tints of autumn, or of the
wastes of the winter of life, as any one I ever knew ; and this we must
consider a merciful exemption. But one great change, if we are spared
the lesser ones, must happen to all : for death must close the scene.
But while the plant is dying, the seed is ripening : and if it fall into the
ground, it will spring forth anew. — perhaps in a form widely different,
but inconceivably improved. " Ir doth not yet appear what we shall
be." But this we know : that, if we are planted in the likeness of the
death of our blessed Lord, we shall be also in the likeness of his resur-
rection. "If we have liorne the image of the earthly, we shall also
hear the image of the heavenly." "What was sown in corruption shall
he raised in incorrupt ion, and what was sown in dishonor shall he raised
in glory," — ami flourish in immortal youth and beauty beyond the
reach of time, and tin' influence of chanuine seasons.

263

It is an unspeakable comfort to us, that so much has been revealed
relating to our future destiny, ami that we arc enabled to view death as
one of the changes incident to humanity, and necessary to the com-
pletion of our journey to that country where there shall be no more
pain, nor sickness, nor death. 1 have felt the strongest inclination to
be with you all. But I have had a complete compensation for the
deprivation of that indulgence, in the satisfaction of having Mr. Lyman
there ; as I know his presence must have been of the greatest use to
father, as well as comfort, and a support to the spirits of surrounding
friends, and to yourself more particularly.

1 have hail the clergyman, Mr. Bigelow, staying with me; he is not
a very pleasing man, but seems like a very good one. lie knew father
in the eastern country, and seems to understand and value the excel-
lence of his character ; and has been truly sympathetic in his inter-
course, and consolatory in his daily prayers for us.

We have had a great deal of disagreeable weather, and the travelling
is like the breaking up of spring. Give my love to all friends, ami
believe me

Your very affectionate daughter,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mr. E. W. Emerson to Mrs. Lyman.

Boston, January 6, 1830.
My dear Madam, — I cannot help offering you my condolence on
the new loss you have been called to bear, which, with all its allevia-
tions, cannot but be a painful one. 1 never have had the happiness of
any acquaintance with your father, but he appears to have enjoyed in an
eminent degree, what is much more rare than public applause, the con-
fidence of the community. He has lived long and usefully, beloved and
honored, lie has not been taken from you till every office of parent
and friend had been discharged, and till he had reached that period of

264

life, when you could not reasonably expect for any long' time the con-
tinuance of his powers of action and enjoyment. Still, I know very
well that these circumstances, whilst they qualify, do not yet remove

the grief which the loss of a g I parent awakens; and I doubt not

you find your best relief in those consolations which never grow old,
which spring from the hopes which our Saviour has imparted to us.
Take away those hopes, ami death is more ghastly to the soul than the
corpse to the eye. Receive them, and the riddle of the universe is ex-
plained ; an account given of events perfectly consistent with what we
feel in ourselves, when we are best.

My wile unites with me in expressions of particular regard to your-
self and .Judge Lyman, and to your family. Give me leave to say a
word to him for a friend on the other page.

Respectfully, dear madam, your friend and servant,

I!. Waldo Emerson.

Boston, January 21, 1830.
My dear Madam, — I had mislaid the enclosed letter, till it was so
old that I hesitated at sending it at all, until I met Mr. Palfrey who
told me lie was going presently to Northampton. I should lie unwill-
ing to let the event pass, to which it refers, without offering you any
expression of condolence. Since writing it, I have seen your sister,
and heard at large such :i character of your father, and such accounts
of his life and death, that I feel acquainted with him ; and could almost
oiler a solemn congratulation, rather than condolence, at a life so well
conducted and ended. — or, as our faith has taught us to say, begun.
Yours affectionately and respectfully,

R. Waldo Emerson.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. (,',■■

Northampton, January V, 1830.
My dear Abbt, — 1 only heard last evening, when we had a great
many people about us, that 1 was to have a direct opportunity to send

265

to Cincinnati by John Stoddard, — a very nice young man, whom, as
coming from Northampton, yon will be glad to see.

Harriet and your mother have made out to get up some letters for
the girls, and I should have acknowledged the receipt of their letters
had time been allowed me. Harriet sends a couple of belt-ribbons to
her sisters, and much love to you. Please to accept for a New Year's
gift the ring I have inclosed, and value it not for its own but the
giver's sake, who holds you in the most affectionate remembrance,

and is always delighted with the accounts given by Mr. -, and

others.

I have a great deal to say to you which I shall be obliged to omit;
for the stage is already in which is to take this ; and I have robbed you
of the time, to give it to Martha, by the same opportunity, as she wanted
some things, and opportunities are rare at this season.

I have, for the last fortnight, been under a state of painful excite-
ment on account of the sickness ami death of my father, a statement
of which you will see in a paper I put round Charlotte's things.

Love to the dear little folks, Mr. Greene, and the girls.
Your affectionate aunt, in the greatest haste,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. — Your uncle desires love to all of you.

Mrs. Howe to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, March 2, 1S30.

My dear Emma. — In what words shall I tell what I feel for you
and yours in your overwhelming calamity ! It is, indeed, bitter.
Those who know the tender ties of affection, which have set time and
distance at defiance, and have only made the absent more dear and
interesting to you, will feel as I do for your loss.

When I think how kindly you have sympathized with me, I do long-
Si

266

to (Mine and mingle my tears with yours ; but my duty prevents, and
I know you have friends who will do for you all that human friendship
can do. Catherine is, alas! but too well-schooled to sorrow and sym-
pathy. Your mother, — tell her for consolation that she must remember
the purity of his character, his virtuous resolution, his tender affection
to you all ; and that they are immortal qualities, — not dependent on
the poor crust that surrounds them, — expanding now in a happier
state el' existence.

These thoughts will not always check the tide of grief, I know; hut
they will calm its waves, and. when time has stilled the tempest, shed
a cheering influence over your recollections. Ton will have blessed
thoughts of him. and peace will return to your dwelling. 1 speak from
experience. I know that sorrow can lie borne ; that, when the arm of
flesh is taken from us.it is often supplied by that, sustaining Providence
which is freely given to those who seek it. 1 know that divine conso-
lations and tender sympathy with each other will be yours ; how do
our hearts draw nigh to remaining friends in such periods of trial!

When I think of its influence on the younger members of your fam-
ily, it seems as though it might lie made of use in strengthening their
characters, especially John's. 11a may fie made now sooner to depend
on himself, and exert his own powers. 1 have no doubt that my hus-
band's death had a very favorable effect, both on Susan and Tracy, in
this way. And 1 will hope for you all, that a stroke of Providence so
direct will bring you nearer to the eternal world in vision, and show
the relative value of things here and there in a more just position than
you ever have witnessed them before. But while 1 say this, I do not
the less feel the lesson to he a hard one. I have shed too many
'•heart-wrung tears" ever to underrate a trial like this.

Bonnet. — how strong is the connection in my mind between him
and his brother! May his health he restored, ami his increased duties
as the eldest male member of flu/ family lie all fulfilled ! His ardent
and generous feelings have been given to virtue from early youth.

2(»7

How few have such a sou and brother as the support of their weakness
and affliction ! Thank God for the blessings left : and remember, my
dear Emma, how short the time we have to stay here, amid sorrow and
sin : and how glorious the Christian's hope for that period " when this
mortal shall put on immortality."

Whenever you feel able to write, lei me hear from you. You can
have no feeling on the subject which my heart will not answer. May
you have divine consolation, and the holy influence of —

- Thai blest nature, which unites above
An angel's pity ami a brother's love."

You will not be away from my thoughts. Their current is to the house
of mourning, though I still feel that there is blessing mingled with sor-
row, lie it yours and that of all your family, to whom I wish to lie
individually remembered.

Ever affectionately vours,

S. L. Howe.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbi s.

Northampton, May 21, 1830.

My dear Emma. Judge Wilde has just come along, and furnished

me with an opportunity of writing to you, which I did not anticipate :
and, though I have time to say but little, and have but little to saj .
I will not neglect so good a chance, as I cannot bear to send one of my
letters by mail.

I cannot express how much I was gratified by the few hours' inter-
view I had with yourself and Bennet. I like to realize my friends as
they are, even if it is in the depths of sorrow. And I cannot but hope
the ride may do you some good, and strengthen your physical system,
so as to enable you to make a more successful effort in fortifying your
mind against that weight of depression which must tend to impair both
your health and your power of usefulness in a great degree. It does

268

seem to ino, after Bennet goes away, it would be well for you to leave
those scenes, where every thing lends to awaken " the cherished sad-
ness of your heart," and that you ami your mother might come up
here and stay a few weeks, and ride about. I do not prescribe this to
divert your minds, hut for your health ; for I know that the more sen-
sibility there is to the beauties of Nature, and the more we realize the
fair world by which we are surrounded, the more deeply we regret the
absence of those who enjoyed it, loo, in its truesl sense : —

" Their voices in the soft wind sigh,
Their smile is in the evening sky."

But your plan of eo-operating with the hand of Providence is (lie
best of all antidotes to woe. Ministering consolation to the afflicted,
and instructing the young and ignorant, will brine light and comfort to
the soul, in the midst of darkness and depression ; for it is then you
may feel assured you are about your heavenly Father's business; that
you are, indeed, assisting him in the greal cause of virtue, and sowing
seed which will bear fruit in heaven.

I shall enclose the poetry you asked for. With best love to your
mother, and the twirls, and Bennet,

Your very affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. — I cannot bear to semi any blank paper, but am obliged to.
I want to tell you all about ordination ; but shall soon write to Cathe-
rine, and must lay up something for her, and Mrs. Barnard, too.

Mr. Greorge /!. Emerson to ■Jin},/,' human.

Boston, June, 1830.
Dear Sir, — Your daughter never has been doing better than
she is doing at present. She had not made a perfectly good begin-
ning in the languages, and therefore found it more difficult to

269

learn accurately than she otherwise would have done. She has
succeeded, and is succeeding, in conquering the difficulty, and daily
becomes more accurate and discriminating in her language and, I have
every reason to believe, in her perceptions and thoughts. This 1 con-
sider the must important part of her work. She is inquisitive, —
acquires and retains well. Eer taste is beyond her power of execution,
and she is much oftener dissatisfied with herself than I am with her.
Her feelings are nice and delicate, and her deportment, without a single
exception, has been always exemplary. Perhaps there is a slight ten-
dency to undue severity in her judgments. Nol more, however, than
seems to be incident to a quick perception of what is ridiculous : and
the forgiving spirit of our religion will probably eradicate it in its
application to others, especially as she applies it first to herself. On
tin; whole, she is such as I should wish my daughter to be at her age.
And it has been a subject of regret to me and to Mrs. Emerson, that
we could not have so pleasant a pupil a member of our own family.
Very respectfully, your obedient servant and friend,

George B. Emerson.

Mrs. Lyman t" Miss Forbes.

Northampton, June 16, 1830.
My hear Emma, — I received your letter on Friday evening, and
would have answered it immediately, but determined to weigh the
subject well. Mrs. Howe thinks there could not be a better place
for a child than Dr. Willard's. I have heard from a gentleman who
preached for us to-day, and who is well acquainted with Dr. Willard's
partner, that Mr. Lincoln is a very methodical and excellent teacher.

I do not think, if you wished it, you could place in the Convent.

for I have heard it was quite full, and Madame St. George's laws are
immutable. My preference for that institution is grounded upon the
idea of its being founded on all the improvements of a strictly English

270

system, which is allowed by all intelligent, people who have visited Eng-
lish schools greatly to exceed those of this country. And then, in
addition to that, the great economy of it. You know all our superior
schools are exceedingly extravagant, and not at all within the means
of common circumstances. Every thing a child has time to learn is
taught for three dollars a week, including washing and the care of
clothes, in the convent. 1 believe the expense is much the same at
Dr.Willard's school, but probably doesn't combine quite so many things.
Mr. and Mrs. Hall arc thinking of a. plan for opening a school in Med-
ford, of a similar character with that of Dr. Willard's. Mr. Hall got
home the same day that his child was buried, in time to attend its fune-
ral : it was a sad reception for him. Mrs. Hall has been deeply affected
by this dispensation, but behaved, as she always does, with patient sub-
mission. She has such an humble view of her own deserts, that she
thinks any thing is good enough for her. But, at the same time that
her child lay dead in the house, she had to encounter a great trial in
the sickness of a servant woman, who only came to stay while .Mr.
William Ware's family were with her. Mrs. Ware and her children
went home a week since.

] was amused by hearing of a remark of Mr. James Savage, upon
the birth of Mr. Henry Ware's Roman daughter. " Well." said he.
on hearing of the event, " when people are in Rome, they must do as
Romans do "

Now, you must know I have been very dissipated of late ; for three
days of last week were passed in getting up to Northfield and back again,
to an ordination. My motive in going was the pleasure of the journey,
which was delightful beyond any thing you can imagine. V>\\\ besides
that, I had a great deal of pleasure in the occasion. Mr. Walker was
there with his wife, — a very agreeable lady, — Mr. Ripley with his wife,
and Mr. Goodwin and his wife. — all quite interesting, well-educated
women, notwithstanding bright-red hair. — Dr. Kendall and his daugh-
ter, who went to sec how she should like Northfield. as she is to marry

271

Mr. Hosmer, the gentleman who was ordained ; and a greal many
agreeable people that I have not mentioned. All the parts were ex-
tremely well performed, and it was, on the whole, a very interesting
ceremony. Mr. Lyman feels quite provoked that we have uol got
either Mr. Hosmer or Mr. Goodwin for our clergyman. I have no
idea we shall do as well as to have either of them : and one thing 1
am sure of, we never shall have another Mrs. Hall for our minister's
wife, though 1 was exceedingly pleased with the specimens of minister's
wives that I have mentioned above. They appeared to be the right
sort, as near as one can judge from seeing them a few hours.

Your very affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman I" Miss Forbes.'

June 26, L830.

My dear Emma, — I shall be able soon to ascertain who wrote the
poetry I scut you. Poor Mr. Peabody has been very much tried of
late. Mrs. Peabody has been confined with a son, and has since been
very ill, but is now quite out of danger. There is nothing happening
among us of any interest. Jane is at home, and 1 think comfortable ;
she rides every day, and I think gains strength fast ; lives on milk and
rye bread, gruel, &c, taking quinine twice a day. When she first
returned, she thought it would be impossible for her to see any one or
hear any reading, or be amused or employed in any way. But we
allowed it to happen accidentally that she should see people, and found
it did her good. I have read aloud to her to try her, and found she
could bear it very well, and was interested in " Cloudesley " and
'• Clarence." ...........

1 have been afflicted for a few days with sore throat, but that never
stays by me long, you know. I have just been up to see Mrs. Hall,
but she is not well enough to see any one yet. Mary Hall thinks she
will be, in a few" days. She has had the most complicated trials you can
imagine, as Ann Allen will tell you when you come to see her, and

272

they have preyed upon her till they have produced a slow fever. She
tried a short journey, hoping that might cure her. and went as far as
Northfield ; but came home the same evening Ann Allen left here, rather
worse than when she left.

It was my intention, when J last wrote, to have spoken to you of the
interest I take in Dr. Jennison ; but, in the confusion that surrounded
me, my letter was closed without. 1 think Bennet will find him a rare
treasure, full of good feeling and sympathy, with the best of principles,
and uncommon experience in surgery ami medicine fur one who has
practised but a few years. He delivered the best Lyceum lecture we
ever had in Northampton, and has been always a student as well as good
writer. And to me lie is an agreeable companion, notwithstanding
I think him rather stiff, owing probably to early disadvantages ; and if
you and your mother knew him as well as 1 do, you would take greal
comfort in knowing that Bennet and John had such a companion for
their lou- voyage, as well as such a talented medical adviser.

As I have not entirely got over the dizziness in my head, 1 shall not
he able to write any more this time ; and you must give that as a
reason to Mary and Catherine. For I felt it my duty to write Anne
Jean and Joseph : — you know how much they want " line upon line,
and precept upon precept."

1 like what 1 have seen of the Smiths very well, but have not had
them here yet ; except that they have called several times, as I have on
them. And when Russell Sturgis comes with his wife, I shall have
them to make me a visit; and I hear that will lie soon. Miss Rose
has interested herself in the Botanical lectures given to a class of
ladies by Mr. Bryant : and .Mrs. Howe and I go, being very young and
teachable. Miss Sally Drayton is nearly sixty years old. and she always
keeps learning something new ; and this is my encouragement that,
perhaps, I may too. At any rate, it gives an impetus to her mind,
which, as it is rational, tends to promote happiness. If Margaret were
here 1 should carry her.

273

I am pleased to find Mr. George B. Emerson is interesting Anne
Jean in subjects of Natural Science, and walking out to botanize with
his scholars.

Yours, in haste, with love to all friends,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to 3Irs. Greene.

Northampton, September 26, 1830.

My dear Abby, — We were rejoiced to hear from you by Mr. Har-
rington, though he passed through town so rapidly that I did not have
aii opportunity of seeing him. We were glad you liked Mr. Walker.
as he went to your place determined to stay, if possible. He is such
an efficient, hard-working man, that I think he will be an acquisition
any where. Mr. Hall is undoubtedly with you before this time, with
his excellent wife. After you have penetrated the reserve of her char-
acter, and become familiar with her, which I am aware takes some
time, you will be amazingly pleased with the simplicity, entire single-
mindedness, and good sense by which she is distinguished. But I
think, on the whole, that Mr. and Mrs. Hall speak better for them-
selves, than I can for them. ......

Mrs. Colonel Dwight and her two daughters, the Mrs. Howards, are
staying with me now ; and the Supreme Court is sitting here, so that
I am very much occupied just at this time.

You see Boston papers enough to know who dies and who is married.
You will recollect a very fine youth who was with Dr. Willard, at Mr.
Peabody's ordination — Edward Lowell; he matured into almost unpar-
alleled excellence and fine talent, and had completely redeemed the
pledge given by the striking characteristics of his early youth, when lie
was called to join the world of spirits. One can form no calculations
upon the loss the world sustains by such an event. The diffusion of the
influence of a correct and highly-gifted mind through society cannot
35

274

be appreciated by any data our experience furnishes us with. But if
we cannot estimate its value, we can sincerely deplore its loss. Every
thing and everybody who assists to elevate the standard of human per-
fection, and exemplify the power of virtue, gives incalculable strength
and efficacy to it.

Your very affectionate aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

During the year 1830, my mother was delighted to hear news of her
old friend, Miss Debby Barker, at Hingham, whom my Uncle and
Aunt Revere visited. In the course of the visit, my Uncle Revere said
to her, " We have met with a sad loss, Miss Barker, in the death of
Chief Justice Parker." Miss Debby applied her handkerchief to her
eyes and remarked, " We, too, have met with a heavy loss, Mr. Revere,
in the death of George the Fourth." And on looking at her again, my
Uncle observed that she was dressed in purple, — which was then the
mourning of the Court. These old ladies always spoke of themselves
as " eating the King's bread," because they received a small pension
from the British Government, on account of their father having been
an officer. His sword always hung over their fireplace in Hingham as
long as they lived.

CHAPTER XIV.

IN the first letter in this chapter, written by my mother to my Aunt
Catherine, is an allusion to a young law student who was then
leaving' the town. Of her own devoted kindness to him she said never
a word, — I doubt if she remembered it. Every young man was " some-
body's son " to her ; and when she found that this youth was some
one's natural son, — she knew not whose till long after his death, — all
the more was she under the necessity to make her house a home to him ;
and to soothe, so far as might be, that craving for kindred ties that is
apt to become morbid in young persons so circumstanced.

I never have found it easy to speak of my mother's beneficences.
They were a part of her nature ; she could not help them ; they were
the great luxuries of her life. She had no set plan of doing good, she
belonged to no organization, was president of no society. Not that
she did not honor all good organizations, but they were not needed
in Northampton, and scarcely existed there. And it accorded far
better with her temperament and habits to do exactly as she did. She
simply kept her eyes, ears, and heart open all the time ; and they
were always finding enough to do. It was the occasional strong word
spoken in season, the always-helping hand. And It was the feeling
that every one must have had in that village, that it gave her heartfelt
pleasure to share their joys and sorrows, and aid them where she could,
that gave her such constant opportunity. In her daily rounds through
the lovely village, how many things met her eye that escaped common
observation. One day, a few years later than this period, she came in

•216

from a walk, greatly afflicted because she had seen a small boy tor-
menting a chicken. lie was an orphan, and, though tenderly cared
for by the excellent women who had him in charge, she felt he needed
a man's hand to direct his future course. She lay awake at night,
unable to get him out of her mind : then rose at four o'clock to write
in secret a letter that brought, a few weeks later, a distant male relative
to the village, who took away the boy, and educated him for a good
and useful man. I recall her air of apparent grave abstraction as one
neighbor after another spoke of the boy's disappearance as -k a special
Providence." " Susanna," said she, looking over her spectacles, when
they had all gone out, " I have observed that the Lord works through
human instruments somcti/nes ; but this is none the less a special
Providence." " Do I see the human instrument before me?" said I.
A nod, with her finger on her lip, was the only answer.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. JtMins.

Northampton, January (3, 1S30.

My dear Catherine, — 1 was very thankful to get your letter by
Mr. Lyman, for his letters never had been particular at all, — merely
stating from day to day that father was living, until the close. And
since he returned, every body has been after him, and I have found it
difficult to hear much from him. You know after he has been absent
some time, what a pressure of business there must be ; and there was
a failure, just before he returned, to increase it.

Though I ever must regret that I did not again behold my dear
father, I cannot feel self-reproach. I was all ready with my trunk
packed, after having a great conflict between my desire to go, and my
fears for the situation in which 1 must leave the children, when cir-
cumstances developed themselves which convinced me (besides my
being quite unwell ) that it would not do ; in addition to a letter from
Mr. L., stating that, in all human probability, father would not lie

277

living when the letter readied me. But it is idle for me to say any thing
on this subject, for it will not be a very great effort of a reasonable
mind to perceive why the head of a family cannot leave her household,
with her best domestic given to intemperance, and no other guard
against it than her presence and watchful care ; and a minister stay-
ing in the house, requiring various accommodations which no one else
could perceive.

I dare say you remember my anti-prophetic spirit, which led me to
determine that father would live till he was ninety years old. I cannot
help thinking of all these false calculations. . . .

I had a letter from Eliza a few days since, in answer to several I
had written her. She introduced me to one of her favorites, whom she
said had been in Northampton for the last two months, — -Rush Bryant ;
he is keeping the town-school here, and appears excellently well. Our
minister, Mr. Bigelow, is aot a very interesting preacher. I believe 1
told you how he impressed me when I heard him deliver the Thursday
lecture (when I was in Boston last). My impression in regard to his
preaching is not changed ; but he is exceedingly instructive in his style
of conversation, — not only from his abstract speculations, but from
the most wonderful historical information and memory that I ever
knew combined. It is always a treat to hear him talk ; it is peculiarly
so to me, for he was well acquainted with father some years ago, and
seemed to realize the grounds of his enthusiasm for the eastern
country, — where he was once settled himself.

Mr. is about leaving this place. I cannot help feeling sorrow

to have him go away. He seems so friendless ; and here he has warm
friends, which he really deserves. He has behaved in an upright
and dignified manner towards every one, the two years he has been
here. The want of any kindred ties on eai'th seems to lessen the
motives to goodness very much in quite young people. And I have no
doubt it had its effect on him. But he seems now to feel the value of
a good character on its own account, and I hope he will prove it. We

278

that are the interested parents of children, and that have reposed our-
selves in confidence (against the storms of the world) under the pro-
tection of parental influence ourselves, ought not to he unmindful of
the great disadvantages of such a person, and should exercise peculiar
charity, 1 think, towards their defects.

I am most glad that my children, Joseph and Anne Jean, were where
they could so fully realize the death of their grandfather ; and I am
.sure Joseph must have been deeply impressed with his grandfather's
notice of him, and I trust it may have a good effect and a permanent
one on his heart and life. I have written to James Howe, — tell his
mother. With my love to all friends.

Yours,

A. J. L.

P. S. Tell Sally that Susan has the accession of two to her family,
— Frances Fowler and Harriet Sheldon, General Sheldon's daughter.
I should have invited them to stay here a week, if I had not had t lie
minister, — who is a profound student, and requires to lie very still
and quiet.

Mrs. Lyman to her Daughter^ Ami,' Jean.

Northampton, June 1, 1830.

I have been hoping, my dear children, to have time to write to you
for some days; but one thing and another has occurred continually;
and, besides, I have had a constant expectation of letters from you
both, but have been disappointed.

By this time you, A. J., have got settled down in your new abode,
and 1 dare say have determined to do every thing that is wise and
rational; and. at the same time that you are trying to do what you know
will best please your parents, you are laying up a store of self-satis-
faction. Be very particular, my dear Anne Jean, never to appear
dissatisfied with the people you live with, nor with their living. The
mere matter of cn/iu;/ and ilrinkimj is of too small consideration for a

279

rational, intelligent being to make any ado about. Our desires in reaped
tn it ought to begin and end as expressed in that excellent prayer,
" Give me food convenient for me;" that is. such as will sustain life.
The coveting of luxuries betrays ill-breeding and habits of self-indul-
gence. Never fail in politeness to the people you live with, and their
friends. I think, with your Uncle Revere, a little more dancing-school
grace would be no disadvantage to you. A want of ease and grace
indicates vulgarity, and is a reproach to those who have educated you.
Few young people have had such watchful care from their birth as you
and Joseph have had, that you might not be surrounded by immoral
and deleterious influences. You were neither of you separated from
your home and your parents till you were old enough to have some
established principles, and to discriminate between right ami wrong
accurately. Now, in proportion to these advantages much will be
required of you. May you never find occasion to say, as Lord Byron
did, —

" The thorns that I have reaped are of the tree
I planted. They have torn ine and I bleed.
I might have known what fruit would spring from such a seed."

Fix in your own mind a standard of real goodness, and what kind
of manners are the truest indication of such a character. Nothing
appears more ill-bred than a rude familiarity towards those who are
older and wiser than we are. It looks as if we thought ourselves their
equals, and in that there is a great want of humility and modesty.
All those qualities which we most value in others, we should of course
endeavor to possess. It is a source of some satisfaction to know we
have the esteem of others. But that is nothing to the comfort of hav-
ing our own. I have thought innumerable times how happy I should
be if I could satisfy myself.

I have but little news that will interest you. Miss Davis has opened
her school, and has eight scholars. I believe she is disappointed not

280

to have more, as that is not sufficient to maintain her. Susan and
Sally have fourteen scholars, which furnishes them with an interesting
and improving occupation which they would not have without it.

Have you and Joseph ever called to see Miss ?

Mr. Bancroft read for us on Sunday ; but we had but a small collec-
tion of people. I hope we shall hear soon of some one who will be able
to come and preach for us.

Your lather and I talk of going to Northfield to the ordination, in the
hope of finding some stray clergyman to preach for us, or of hearing of
one. I was at Enfield a few days week before last. Mary has a line
healthy child, but she is poorly herself, though Miss Patterson thinks
she is better now than she was when 1 saw her. Eliza has been passing
a week with her, and returned to-day.

Your father was at Chicopee last Saturday, and found Jane improv-
ing slowly.

You need not be particular about sending this to Joseph ; I will try

and write to him, though I intended when I sat down it should answer

for both. When your Uncle James comes up, 1 wish you would send

" Charles Fifth ; " those volumes you have done with ; and if you have

made any pencil-marks, rub them out with your india-rubber. I should

like to return them without injury, for they are wanted.

Your affectionate

Mother.

P. S. Give my love to all friends. I wish you would let me have
an exact account how your time is occupied, what you are studying,
what proficiency you have made in drawing ; and let me have some of
the abstracts of the sermons you hear, which your father says would
give him peculiar pleasure.

Since the above lias been waiting for a private opportunity, I have

received a letter from yourself and Mrs. (June 5th), and Aunt C.

Your affectionate

Mother.

281

Not long before my Aunt Howe left Northampton, she wrote this

letter to Cousin Emma : —

3frs. Hoive to Miss Forbes,

Northampton, June 25, 1830.

My dear Emma, — I fear you think me negligent before this ; but 1
often think of writing and then delay it, because I have so little to
communicate.* Mother and I have spent most of the time together in
my little library since you left us. There has been so much rain that
we have been rarely tempted abroad. Mamma's health and spirits are
greatly improved ; she looks quite like herself again. She reads a
great deal ; we have just had " Clarence." Mother and I were de-
lighted with it; we sat up one night till after midnight, reading it .
Now, this girlish interest in me is not so remarkable, because I know
and love Catherine, but to mother she is a stranger ; and, in the last
three generations, mother has witnessed more romance in real life
than any person, except Sir Walter Scott, our noble cousin, could
describe.

I know you feel interested for Mrs. Hall. She is now quite sick ;
has been confined to her bed most of the time for the last five days.
She made a great exertion to get through the death of the child, and
some other domestic trials, with fortitude ; but she went on neglecting
herself, although she had been some time getting out of order, till she
was forced to give up, and have a physician and, go to bed. . . . Mary
Hall arrived last night, and I have no doubt will be a great comfort and
assistance in breaking up ; for they think of leaving as soon as Mrs.
Hall is well enough. The death of the sweet boy seemed a great
hardship, under all the circumstances of trial his parents have endured
the last year.

I intend to send this by Dr. Jennison. I think it will be a great
comfort to your mother and you to have him go with Bennet. He is
rather stiff in his manners ; so I shall not be surprised if you do not

282

like him much at first. But he is a worthy, sensible man, and has had
very good advantages in Ins profession, and is quite trustworthy.

I have not seen a great deal of your friends, the Smiths. We have
exchanged several calls, but have not been very fortunate in meeting.
I believe Susan is to meet them this evening at Mrs. Mills's. I do not
know how they like Northampton, but think they must have depended
principally upon their own powers for entertainment. We have had
no gayety among us, and less fine weather than is usual at this season.

Mother talks of expecting your mother here by-and-by to make us a
visit, and go with her to Hartford to sec your Aunt Fanny. I hope
she will be able to execute the plan, and should think she would be
benefited by the journey and change of scene ; but of course she is
the best judge.

Jane Lyman has got home. She is quite nicely, — able to ride every
day. 1 speak comparatively: she is not near well, only a great deal
better than we expected.

To Bonnet and John you must remember me most affectionately.
Sail as such a separation is, you will all sustain yourselves under it,
with the thought that they wander not from the guidance of the same
protecting Power which watches over the pathless ocean as certainly as
over the happy home. No circumstance can stagger this thought in
the reflecting mind.

Mary Hall was stating to me this morning the death of her little

niece, who found not even the nursery a security from fatal accident.

What creatures we are ! How mysterious our destiny ! But the tissue

is wrought in love. The sad accidents, the touching sorrows, the

" lightning happiness," the daily blessings all manifest it. We need

our chastenings to teach the value of our blessings ; we need our

blessings to enable us to support our sorrows. Do write to me after

they are gone, and assure me that you are not too much grieved

with it.

Mother joins me in affectionate remembrance.

Sarah L. Howe.

283

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, L830.

My dear Abby, — One month since I received a letter from yon,
accompanied by a collar, which will have great value in my eyes, from
the circumstance of its having been wrought by " her I dearly love."
Immediately after receiving it, I went to Boston at the earnest solicita-
tion of Joseph, who took the most honorable part at an exhibition al
Cambridge. At this you may be sure I was highly gratified, as one of
the testimonies that my labors have not been in vain ; not but what
many parents have had higher gratifications without taking any pains
at all. Still, I shall always think it is safe for parents to do all they
can ; besides it is an honorable and appropriate employment for moth-
ers to aid in instructing their children, as well as in devoting them-
selves to their animal wants, — which, to say the least, are not greater
or more important than their mental wants.

I found Anne Jean, too, high in the favor of her instructor, Mr.
George B. Emerson, who is an elegant scholar, and one of the most
gifted teachers in this country. She has been with him eight months,
and is to stay with him until her school education is completed, which
will probably be in about two years. Anne Jean, you know, is not re-
markably bright, — but good, with a mind sufficiently accessible to
receive instruction, and of a character that is perfectly safe. The little
ones are still more the delight of my heart than the older children.
Though there is the most inward satisfaction in contemplating the
characters of those who are grown up, because there we realise the
fruition of our labors. Enough about children.

When I returned from Boston a fortnight ago to-day, I found in my
absence Aunt Lord had made me a visit, and I felt truly sorry to have
missed seeing her. I believe I have told you in former letters, that
Martha went to Litchfield six months ago, with a view to pursue her
studies, and enlarge her experience a little, as she has been in this one

284

spot, without changing her position at all, for nearly five years. Since
my return, Mrs. Cary (a daughter of Colonel Perkins) has sent for
her to come to New York and take charge of the instruction of her
children. . . .

I have found Martha and Harriet two excellent girls ; remarkably
free from any moral defect.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, July "20. 1830.

My dear Abby, — Mr. Walker, a gentleman of talents, who lived in
N. three years, has been in to say that he is on his way to Cincinnati,
and would like to take letters from us to yourself, which I am most
happy to furnish him with. He has been the last year with Mr. Ash-
mun, at the law school, in Cambridge, and is now taking a tour of
observation to the West to find a chasm in the law department, which
he may fill. He is a man worthy of confidence and respect; and,
wherever he is, will make himself a valuable inhabitant, by delivering
lectures at lyceums, or answering any incidental call for learning. He
is about eight-and-twenty years old, and has a good deal of experience
in the ways of the world. And now I think I have said enough about
Mr. Timothy Walker.

Jane has been sick at Chicopee nearly six months, but was well
enough to return to us six weeks ago, and I think it probable will live
a good deal of an invalid for many years. She is more patient than I
should think she could be, considering her constant ill-health.

I am very much interested in the progress of your infant society. I
know all the stages of its growth, and the many trials to be encountered
in bringing it to maturity. But they will be amply compensated by
the satisfaction that must inevitably result to those who have borne the
burden and heat of the day.

Our clergyman was taken ill in the autumn, and passed the winter

285

at the South, after dissolving his connection with us. We are now
listening to candidates again. I wish Mr. Hall would go to Cincinnati
and preach. He has a peculiar talent at making proselytes. And Mrs.
Hall, who is a daughter of Dr. Ware, is one of the most talented, and
at the same time, one of the most humble and excellent women I ever
have known. We have seen her in joy and in sorrow, and no one could
have borne blighted prospects, and in the midst of it the loss of a fine
child, better than she has ; though the effort to be patient and sub-
missive has cost her a great deal, — that is, a month's illness, — and
when she left us, she hardly had recovered from a slow fever.

Sam and his wife are very well. He is now absent in the eastern
country, and Joseph has accompanied him. Joseph, you know, takes
his degree in August. He will have a conference, I believe, for his
part, which is as much as we could expect ; for he has no kind of am-
bition to distinguish himself, and he is much the youngest member of
his class. He thinks it distinction enough to be chosen into the Phi
Beta, and that he has attained. He has been very good and very indus-
trious since he has been in college ; not so much so as he might have
been in what are called college studies, as he has been in pursuit of
general literature and modern languages. He always has been a pro-
ficient in Spanish, French, and Italian, since he went to Cambridge,
and is fond of various branches of natural philosophy. I am disap-
pointed that he does not take to theology for a profession.

Anne Jean will return in the course of this week from Boston, where
she has been for a year without returning ; she will go back again and
stay another year. For she is at one of the best schools in this country
for a thorough classical education, though there is very little that is
ornamental attended to in it.

286

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

November 20, 1831.

My dear Emma, — One thing I do, I always answer letters the first
moment I can get after receiving them. But. I have lived under un-
usually high pressure for the last two months. It would he idle for
me to attempt to give you any account in detail. But such coming
and going you can scarcely conceive of, and the train of thought
under such circumstances is altogether indescribable. A friend, a
short time since, asked me what 1 had been reading, and 1 could not
help answering that I did not know, for it was a great while since I
had done any thinking. And reading is not of much value, unless
one has some opportunity for reflection. There is no doubt but in the
midst of this whorl of matter my mind has had great rest, and it is
not certain but 1 may come out quite brilliant after all the refreshing
is over.

After writing the above, Mrs. Mills sent for me to go up to her ; aud,
alter passing all the day, except while eating dinner, in such a high
state of excitement, it seems hardly right for me, in my exhausted
state of feeling, to try to afford you any pleasure by my pen. Oh,
Emma! how hard it is to be reconciled to these dark dispensations ! And
yet we need not go farther than Salem and New Bedford to discover
that there are much greater trials and sorrows than can be produced
by the death of good and dear children. You and your mother know,
without my telling you, how intense the sufferings of poor Mrs. Mills
are, as well as her family. Elijah, had he lived, might have discovered
great frailties. But I only knew him as pre-eminently gifted in grace
of maimers, rare wit and genius, which made him highly interesting
as a companion, and gave fair promise of usefulness and distinction.
He was the only youth who has grown up in this place, within the last
twenty years, at all distinguished for genius or talent ; though Mrs. J.
H. Lyman's sons are very fine young men ! I must say, I consider him

287

as a loss to our town, and to me in particular, as he often risited us.
If there was any thing new in the papers, he would come down into my
parlor to read it to me, and make his comments, while I minded my
work. And having Mr. Ashmun removed and Elijah taken away, in
addition to the removal of Mrs. Howe's family, is rather more than 1
know how to bear.

In relation to Anne Jean, your mother and yourself have been very
kind in proposing to have her accommodated ; but I think, if her health
is indifferent, we had better get her home, particularly as 1 am very
much in want of her for society and assistance. I would, however,
forego all personal gratification for her good, if I could have her in
every respect situated to my mind. I should like very much to have
Mary Forbes return with her, and I would contrive some mode of
improvement that should be useful to them. I wish you would
suggest this to your mother.

I am inexpressibly sorry to hear of Mary Ware's being so much of
an invalid. I trust she is not going to follow in the steps of her
mother, who was prevented by ill health from any enjoyment nearly
twenty years. We have a young clergyman from Cambridge, who
thinks Mr. Ware is doing an immeasurable quantity of good in the
Divinity School.

My love to all friends, for I am not able to write another word.
My next letter, according to rotation, will be to Catherine.

Yours, with much love,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to 3Iiss Forbes.

Northampton, December 28, 1831.

My dear Emma, —

Anne Jean has just informed me that, if your mother had known
that she was to be at home, and if I had not had my house so encum-
bered, she would have let Fanny come here this winter. As it regards

288

all this, I am quite provoked. I never had a more unencumbered family,
and the time never can be when it would be a greater favor to me to
have one or both of the girls than this very winter. Joseph has
been a great comfort and entertainment to us Ihe last two weeks ; but
when he leaves us we shall be solitary, and Anne Jean in particular in
need of an animated companion. As to her health, I should be glad
never to speak of it, for 1 know not what to say. She has lived
entirely on tea and dry cracker, or gruel, ever since she returned from
Boston, and otherwise adhered to the doctor's written prescriptions.
She would not be called by strangers very cheerful : but with us is
uniformly pleasant, and very much interested in reading and attending
to the children, and making herself as useful to me as possible. But
she never has been out of the house since she returned from Boston.

I dare say you have seen the account of Miss Cogswell's death in the
paper. She said she had had all the difficulties Anne Jean complains
of, more than forty years, and was finally carried off by the influenza.
There were two Portuguese boys who shed tears and expressed sorrow
for Miss Cogswell's death, but that was all : tor she — poor woman! —
was placed in a singularly inappropriate situation for one of her habits
and feelings.

Yesterday, I had a voluminous epistle from Dr. Jennison, and was
sorry it could not have been accompanied by one from John, whom he
speaks of in the highest terms, and likewise with warm affection of
Cousin Bennet. He does not say a word about leaving Canton, but
Joseph says he has left : if so, I wish you would mention it when you
write to me.

Since I have been writing this letter, I have heard of the death of
little Robert Ware. I feel as if this blow would penetrate the inmost
recesses of Mary's heart. He was the first object who had awakened
in her the feelings of a parent, and witli that feeling made this earthly
sphere a new world to her. — one of new interest and new hopes,
unlike any she could have felt before, and such as no one knows who

289

has not experienced thevn. To have all these cut off and crushed will

tax the whole panoply with which Mary is armed. But it is not in
human nature to resist unharmed the stroke which severs these tender
ties. I feel much for her, and hope she will be sustained, as I have no
doubt she will be.

Mary mentions that you heard Dr. Channing's discourse on the
death of Miss Adams and Mrs. Codman. It must have been a highly
profitable one. Mrs. Codman's was a remarkably useful life, as well
as Miss Adams's, though in a very different way.

I dare say you have heard of the death of Henry Sedgwick. . . .
Few of my acquaintance, if any, have had their virtues so tested as
Jane Sedgwick, and I never knew any one who had given such a prac-
tical exemplification of their power. If the riding continues as good
as it has been, I mean to try to ride up and pass Sunday with her ; but
may be I shall not accomplish it.

Dr. Flint has just returned from Stockbridge. He was sent for to
make an examination ; . . . and he wonders how H. has lived for
years.

Give my love to your mother and all friends. Write me a history of
your life the past year. Tell Margaret it would have been a good idea
for you and her to have returned this way from New York.
Your affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

3Irs. Lyman to Mr. John M. Forbes.

Northampton, January 1, 1832.
My dear John, — ... I had not much belief when
I wrote, that you would attach much value to the letters of such an
antiquated lady as your cousin. But since they find favor in your sight,
and lest you should forget the many social ties which bind you to your
race (in spite of your expatriated condition), I will occasionally emit a
37

290

little of my habitual dulness I was pleased to get your letter of the
29th, and am sorry to find that the want of all those privileges which
are peculiar to Christian countries makes you unhappy ; and yet 1 am
glad to find that you realize the want of such rational and salutary
means of enjoyment, as are common to all who inhabit this favored
land. There is none that would be a greater deprivation to me, than
not being able to go to church, and feel that myself and household had
one day in seven for rest as well as worship. We require ( particularly
men of business) the relaxation as well as mental refreshing, which
this exercise furnishes. The analogy between the mind and body is
very striking. They both require to lie nourished and stimulated by
food adapted to them ; and if we don't have much time for reading
and reflection, owing to the occupations we arc engaged in during the
week, — if we go to church on Sunday and renew our good resolu-
tions, and feel our moral and religious views strengthened and invig-
orated by the arguments contained in the discourse, our gratitude
and devotional feeling stimulated, — we are made happier and bet-
ter I'm- it. 'Tis a favorable exercise for the mind, to abstract it
occasionally from the harassing pursuits of business, and allow it to
take an upward flight into the regions of intellectual space, and to the
abode of Deity, of angels, and the spirits of the just: —

" Mind, mind alone, without whose quick'ning ray,
Tin' world 's a wilderness, and man but clay ;
Mind, mind alone, in barren, still repose,
Nor blooms, nor rises, nor expands, nor flows.''

Then, my dear John, do not forget to take care of the mind, as well
as the body. Become an intellectual being, and it will prevent your
being a sensual being, and ] ire vent you from feeling the little incon-
veniences which affect the senses only, — by constant attention to
which, we bring a blight over all disinterested and generous purposes.
You will begin to think that I mean to give you a sermon instead of a

291

letter, and that my New Year's reflections are to supersede the con-
gratulations of the season, and the history of the times, which will
be, I am sure, much the most interesting to you. It is now more than
a year since Joseph left college and entered the Law School. I have
just parted with him after a few weeks' visit. He is thinking of going
to live with the Rev. Mr. Emerson, and study law in Mr. Charles G.
Loring's office, in Boston.

Charles Mills is fast acquiring the confidence of his
employers, and I believe he has a good prospect before him. Anne Jean
sits by me and sends her love to you, and hopes you do not forget her.
When you see Cousin Bennet, give my love to him ; I hope he will

soon be on his way here

I feel much obliged to Dr. Jennison for an excellent letter, and shall
soon write to him. Mr. Lyman and Joseph send you much love. I wish
you to economize all you can, and lay by a little money, and then get
yourself translated to a pretty cottage in Northampton, and sit down
and lead a calm and pastoral life, with some nice, agreeable young
woman.

Your very affectionate friend and cousin,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. Your old friend, Miss has taken her flight to future

worlds ; she was sick only one week. She took it into her head, it
was so cold, that she would sit up nights ; — it has been uncommonly
cold ; we had a month of very severe weather before Christmas ; — and
the consequence was, she took a violent cold, which settled on her
lungs, and withdrew her from this sublunary abode. The next morn-
ing, I looked out of the window and saw a double sleigh passing, with
a long trunk in it, covered over with a bed-quilt ; and was told it was
" sister," going to Ipswich to be buried.

292

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, January 21, 1832.

My dear Abby, —

Anne Jean, instead of coining home well, and being what she is
when in health, a cheerful companion, came home a most confirmed
invalid ; and this circumstance would operate as a perpetual weight on
my spirits, if it did not bring with it incessant occupation." Since Harriet
left me, I have had the children at home most of the time, and have
given what time I could to them. You must tell the little girls that
my children talk a great deal about them, as they do about the dear
child that is in heaven enjoying its kindred spirits.

I have enjoyed reading, a good deal, this winter ; and find it is an
independent resource, and one that always confers some pleasure.
Mackintosh's " History of England," and Von Miiller's " Universal
History," together with Lockhart's " Life of Burns," have thus far
kept us busy. Anne Jean enjoys being read to, and, though she has
read them before, occasionally reads a " Waverley Novel " herself. I
am not afraid of her cultivating her imagination too much ; but be-
lieve in Dugald Stewart's views on that subject, " that our occasional
excursions into the regions of imagination increase our interest in
those familiar realities from which the stores of imagination are bor-
rowed." We sublimate the organical beauties of the material world by
blending with them the inexhaustible delights of the heart and fancy,
by combining with them the associations of a refined and cultivated
imagination.

My Edward petitions that he may accompany Joseph to Cincinnati.
When Joseph was with us, this was a frequent theme of conversation.
But 1 suspect it will remain an unrealized vision of his fancy. Harriet
has received a letter from Sally ; but she does not say whether you
have ordained your clergyman ; I wish very much to know.

Your father has been out a good deal this cold winter, but seems to

293

licar it better than could have been calculated. We have tried to
induce him to remain by his fireside, but he likes the variety of going

about

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, February 28, 1832.
My dear Abby, —

My employments are always of a very engrossing nature when the chil-
dren are at home. In the morning and evening I instruct them, with
the assistance of Anne Jean, — who returned sooner than I intended
she should from Boston, owing to indisposition. She has improved
her time well since she has been at Mr. Emerson's school (the last
year and a half) ; and, though she is still attending to her studies
under Mr. IViree, — one of the teachers on Round Hill, — she has fur-
nished me with a great deal of entertainment (being very good com-
pany) this winter. She now has a friend making her a visit, — Miss
Wilson, of Keene, New Hampshire, who is a remarkable young person
for fifteen. She is as much engaged as Anne Jean in the study of
algebra, Latin, and history ; and we have had Mr. Rush Bryant giving
lectures in chemistry all winter ; he is a brother of the poet. I dare
say you wonder that I should retain an enthusiastic zeal in regard
to education, when I tell you that those brought up under my care
have exhibited striking marks of imperfection. But, so far from its
being a reason for lessening my care and my zeal, it only increases it.
If, with all the pains my children have had, they are no better, what
would they have been without it ? Possibly, the weeds of error might
have overgrown and rooted out the few virtues they now possess ; at
least might have so far overshadowed them, as to have checked their
growth. There are a few immutable principles in education that will
never be controverted openly in any theory, and that furnish a fair
groundwork for a cultivated understanding. Let example and sur-

294

rounding influences, as much as they can be controlled, tend to cherish
a love of truth and perfect sincerity. Let all those petty interests and
vanities be excluded which take such strong hold of the minds of young
people, which tend so little to making them happy or tranquil, and
which so entirely pre-occupy the mind as to prevent any thing good
from entering into it permanently. How can children love knowledge
when their daily experience teaches them that their most attractive
grace and best distinction is the beauty of their clothes, or something
exclusively external and adventitious ? They must perceive that what
creates the highest happiness is the acquisition of something intellec-
tual, or the power to contribute to the good of their fellow-creatures;
and early be taught the superior worth of the soul, with its various
capacities, over the body, — which is a mere tenement of clay for an
inhabitant destined to remain in it but a short time, and then return to
its Maker, unspeakably enlarged and qualified for eternal, as well as
celestial, occupations and joys, such as never entered into the heart of
man to conceive. It is rare to find well-educated women who have
grown up in great prosperity. If their minds are tolerably cultivated,
their hearts are perverted, their objects of pursuit are shadows.

Martha is very fortunate in living with people who educate their
children exclusively with the purpose " to produce a certain state of
mind," rather than to accumulate a great catalogue of accomplish-
ments. Martha has, I presume, told you that Mr. Cary's children are
the finest that ever lived. They were never in a school. They never
viewed themselves in competition with any other children in their lives,
— to think who had the prettiest clothes, or who was the head of a class
most frequently. But their minds, being divested of all such vain com-
petitions are like a sheet of white paper, on which you may write what
you please ; and there are, she says, no impurities there to mar the
impression. I have seen children so educated, and, I must say, that
the best people 1 have known have had a private education. People
can study mankind to better advantage alter they come to maturity

295

than while they are children. I believe yon are tired of so much
prosing, and I should think you might he. Mr. Hall will want to know
who we have had preaching for us; Mr. Julian Abbot, the first of the
winter, and Mr. Pierre Irving the last six weeks; that is, he has read
to us, and gives us a very fine selection of sermons and prayers. .Mrs.
Henry Ware is still a very great invalid, and many think will never
recover. Tell your sister Sally I was much obliged to her for her letter,
and shall answer it. Your mother is a good deal of an invalid, but
your lather enjoys comfortable health. Harriet has a small school,
and I think it very improving to her, and hope something better will
offer for her.

Give my love to your husband and children, and other friends.
Your affectionate friend and

Aunt.

Mrs. Lyman to Jliss Forbes.

Northampton, March 5, 1832.

My dear Emma, —

I am in hopes Anne Jean's invalid state will not be entirely unprofit-
able to her. Solitude and habits of reflection generally produce good
fruits upon a good mind ; and I think they have upon hers, and I
don't know that they have not done her as much good as Mr. Emer-
son's school, — though I was very much disappointed that .she could
not have had the advantage of his instructions another year. A
gentleman who has spent fifteen or twenty years of his life in classical
studies, and in the acquisition of various learning, gains great ascend-
ancy over the mind of a girl of sixteen ; and, if he aims at a good
influence over it, can generally obtain it. I value such an influence
highly from having felt the want of it.

You can't imagine how much I was pleased with John's letter. The
manner in which he spoke of the want of our Sabbaths, and other
humanizing not to say Christianizing institutions, was truly touchiug.

296

I am glad he carried away with him such a true sense of what makes
people good and happy. But think of the numbers who go to such
situations unprovided with his principles and his information to feed
upon ! — who arc unacquainted with the antidotes that furnish halm to
all the sorrows and perplexities that life is made up of, and equally
unacquainted with all the refined moral sentiment which adds so
much to the enjoyment of prosperity !

I am glad you have been able to get so well acquainted with your
Forbes cousins, and to hear they are such good and agreeable people.
The interest you take in each other would have been pleasing to both
of your parents were they living. 1 suppose you have not seen much
of Mary Ware this winter : 1 am glad to hear of her approaching con-
solation. It was her mother's destiny to lose a fine boy and bring up
an only daughter. I am happy to hear Mary's lot is like to be differ-
ent. Mother's and Catherine's Cambridge experiment seems to have
been thus far unfruitful of comfort : but I hope they will not be dis-
couraged. Let us be where we will, there must lie cloudy seasons ; if
there were not, what would be the use of patience, resignation, and
submission ? They would be like the gift of sight without the light of
heaven.

I am very glad Mrs. Cary has moved to Boston ; there is a very cold
social atmosphere in New York. Mrs. Chancellor Kent told me once,
that it was so cold it had chilled all her social feelings to extinction.
I do not wonder Mrs. Cary could not make herself contented there. I
wish if you hear any thing about Martha you would let me know.

If you observe any discrepancies in this letter, all I can say is, it has

been written in haste, with Mr. Lyman reading Clay's speech as loud

as he well could. Give my love to your mother, Margaret, and the

younger ladies; and remember me to Miss Martha Stearns, whom I

was much pleased with. Tell her her brother is well, and preaches

finely.

Your affectionate , T T ,.„

A. J. LA MAN.

297

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 22, 1832.
My dear Abbt, — I ought not to write to any but those who find
"sermons in stones, and good in every thing," for the poor detail of
my unvaried experience is really worth nothing, and, if not invested
with value from the imagination of the recipient, 1 don't know what
would become of them. This winter has been the coldest that ever
was, but we have known none of the disasters that have been common
to your part of the country. I was truly sorry to hear that Mr. Rog-
ers's mill was carried off by the flood. I hope his property, or that of
Mr. Godim. was insured, and that it will not be so great a disappoint-
ment as his friends in this part of the world apprehend. Poor young
man ! He has experienced a great deal to prepare him for this sublu-
nary abode. He must be wonderfully fortified by religious trust and
moral courage, or his spirits would sink entirely. Fortunately our
destiny is not at our own disposal, but is ordered by infinite wisdom
and unspeakable love. This consideration is a reconciling balm to all
wounds, and stills the murmurs that spontaneously proclaim that we
are of flesh, and full of imperfections. We, who have families growing
up around us, cannot help contemplating the course of young advent-
urers with a good deal of interest, always having reference to what is
to become of our own sons and daughters. A view of the agitated con-
dition of nearly the whole civilized world at this moment cannot but
fill the mind of a young man with the most serious interest and appre-
hension, both as an individual and as a member of the human family.
But it is a principle with me to lay up no trouble in anticipation :
realities are as much as we can sustain ourselves under, and it is
enough that we fortify ourselves to meet them when they do come.

You never have seen our friend, Mrs. Hentz. I hope, when the
weather becomes pkasant, you will be able to. Though Sally men-
tioned that she was not on the same side of the river that you arc, I

298

hope she will go to your church and become acquainted with your
clergyman. She is as much distinguished for her humility and amiable
traits of character as for her genius.

Tell your sister Sally that I was very much surprised to look in the
paper and sec the marriage of Bernard Whitman.

I wish, when any of you write, you would mention how Mrs. Hentz
and her husband succeed in their experiment at C.

Mr. seemed to think Mr. M. was getting along very poorly. I

am sorry if it is true, for he manifested a most amiable and excellent
disposition while he stayed here, and made many friends. Miss Drayton
and Mrs. Wilson are very anxious to hear good accounts of him. I
believe he writes to them, but of course says nothing of his troubles, if
he has any. We were very much obliged to Isabella for adding a few
lines to us. Tell her I should like it if she would help Sally and
Charlotte keep that journal which is to tell us all that happens, — where
you all go a-visiting, who visits you, what she does about preaching,
and whether she is reconciled to Mr. Peabody and his views, what
books you read ; in short all that interests you, whether it be people,
or books, or things.

Anne Jean and I have had a good opportunity to read this winter,
and to improve the children in various ways. Indeed, I think winter
is the season of mental improvement, and summer the time to study in
the great book of Nature, and apply our knowledge. If we make
friends with Nature, she will never fail us ; but wherever we go, the
intimacy, like the Masonic tie, will be acknowledged, and we shall find
her good company. Not so with artificial tastes ; you may look in
vain abroad for the forms of society and means of amusement to which
you have been used in the world ; but if you have loved the grass and
clouds, go where you will, they are indigenous in every climate, and
arc always to be enjoyed.

I was very glad to get your last letter, but have seen accounts in the
paper of still greater distress than you said any thing about.

299

Our clergyman, Mr. Stearns, begs me to communicate to Mr. Pea-
body, through you, that when he comes to the eastward lie should like
to see him in Northampton. To which I beg leave to add, I shall like
to see him at my house. I feel very desirous to know what you arc
doing about your ordination. I should not think any body could take
such a journey as even from Baltimore to Cincinnati, while the travel-
ling is as it is now.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbing.

Northampton, April 8, 1832.
My dear Catherine, — I don't wonder you have considered yourself
neglected ; I am sure I have thought so. But Anne Jean and I think we
are too prone to commit ourselves in the palpable form of black and
white. Now, if I were like dear Miss Debby Barker, it would do ; for if
she read, it caused her to think wisely, and operated like food to her
mind ; but not so with me. I can read a good deal, and one of the
effects of it is to entertain me during the time I am so occupied, and
prevent me from being ignorant on the subjects when they are called
up, and talked of by other people. But I have no time or ability to
scan, and write critiques when I have done, as she could. And my ex-
periences are of such a limited character, that I never feel that I have
any thing very interesting to communicate to anybody. I feel dread-
fully about the poor s, though I do n't know what has happened to

them. . . . But I have no doubt Mrs. has acted to the best of

her judgment about her son ; yet it was a case about which she had no
judgment. Now let me tell you, that there are no people I pity more
and blame less for their mistakes than I do widows. They don't see
enough out-of-door life to know what is best for young men, and they
have to judge without any means of knowing what is best for them.
Mrs. A. could relate a volume of sorrow on that subject. I am grate-
ful every day of my life, that my sons have got a father to direct their
course.

300

1 wish you could come up and see what comfort we have in our
Sundays. Mr. Stearns hardly ever exchanges, and always preaches
well. And I have a charming set of scholars at the Sunday-school,
which gives me a sort of foretaste of the millennium. If you are ever
well enough, and go to one meeting long enough at a time, I recom-
mend to you to take a class in a Sunday-school, that are old enough
to study Palcy's " Evidences," and Miss Adams's " History of the
Jews," and " Josephus," and such kind of works, as well as the Script-
ures ; and if they are intelligent, there is real pleasure in it.

The Irvings are soon to leave ; we shall be sorry to lose Mr. Irving,
and I don't know that any fault can be found with the ladies. They
are amiable people.

1 hear that Mr. Ware is coming to Northfield, and hope he will
return this way. It would do me so much good to see him once more.
Our minister is to be married soon, if lie can get any one to board him
and his wife.

Do write by the first mail, if Mr. Brewster don't come along soon.

31rs. Lyman to 31rs. Crreene.

Northampton, July 23, 1832.
My dear Abby, — Amid the many cares and occupations of life, I
do not feel under any temptation to forget you or yours. I have felt
quite anxious on hearing that your little Catherine was unwell, but
hope she has quite recovered before this time. Through the warm
weather you will find it advantageous to withdraw her from study as
much as possible, and give her the air of the country. She is too
delicate a child to bear constant confinement ; and I know by sad
experience that it is often necessary to make a sacrifice of one's plans
to the unavoidable occurrences incident to the youth of a child, and it
is indispensably uecessarj where health is concerned.

.301

My little Catherine lias been in Cambridge, with her grandmother
and Aunt C, for the last six weeks. I have just heard that my sister
Catherine has sailed for Eastport, with my brother James, on account
of her health, and this makes me more than usually anxious for
her.

When Joseph got well enough to go to Boston, I went down with
him ; but I stayed little more than a week, as it was not a good time
for me to leave home. Mr. Parkman reached home hut a few days
after I left, which I was very sorry for, as I wished much to see the
eyes that had seen all my dear Cincinnati children.

We have received the various despatches by Mr. Walker, and were
much indebted to those who wrote and sent various remembrances.

We all felt much sympathy in the various cares which have recently
fallen to you ; but it must be a pleasure to you to have Sally married
to a young man, who, if not rich, has your confidence and respect.

No one can be more contented and happy than Martha, or more suc-
cessful in making herself beloved by a most excellent family. H.'s
increased efforts and habits of industry are very creditable to her.
Whenever she can get sewing, she does it promptly and very well.

I hear Mr. Timothy Walker and his wife are very well, and that
people are pleased with her. I suppose they will be here before many
weeks. I should invite them to stay with me, but my domestics are
too indifferent for me to try to do any thing, except for known and tried
friends.

I have one of Mrs. Revere's children passing the summer here, and a
friend of Anne Jean's, — Mary Forbes, a younger sister of my Cousin
Emma, and a very good girl. After a long winter's confinement, Anne
Jean came out bright, and I do n't know but she has extracted as much
good from that misfortune as could be calculated on. She never can
be striking or wonderful ; but she is, in its truest sense, wise and good ;
looks well and behaves well ; gains confidence in herself, and is more
affable than she w-as a year ago. She and Jane and Mary Forbes have

302

been passing some time with Mary Jones, at Enfield, and have had a
very amusing time ; and since then have been at Chicopee.

Eliza has a very healthy, fine child. Mary came in and had her
baby christened, — another Joseph Lyman.

I feel glad you are to have your sister with you, and wish she would
write to me, and tell me all that is going on.

I suppose the girls have told you about the splendid wedding we
have had here, Miss and Mr. V

Mr. Stearns is a real first-rate preacher, as every one says your Mr.
Peabody is. It is, I think, a very important means of improvement
and happiness, and I hope wc arc both sensible of it, and grateful
for it.

Your affectionate Aunt.

P. S. Give a great deal of love to Mr. Greene and your sisters, not
forgetting dear little Catherine.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Bobbins.

Northampton, October 10, 18:32.
My dear Catherine, — . . . I write so many trumpery
letters, and in such haste, that in a few days I forget to whom 1 wrote
last, as like as not. An opportunity always brings with it a strong
impetus, for I could not bear the idea of my letters costing anybody
any thing. I feel very much delighted to think Sally has got such a
good family, and hope it will be a permanent thing, — it is so unpleas-
ant to be always changing. I have not heard very particularly, but
hope I shall by Miss Davis, how Mary and the baby get along. I hope
you have not lost any of the Spurzheim lectures. If it were possible,
1 would go all the way to Boston to hear them, 1 have such a curiosity
to know all that can lie said on the subject ; and Anne Jean says, if any

303

thing could induce her to leave home, it would be that, — after hearing
Mr. Hayward"s description of him and his style. Bui 1 wonder
people don't get tired of one subject, after talking and writing of it for
a number of years, as Spurzheim has. 1 should think, by this time,
he must have got through with his enthusiasm about it, and lie dull
and uninteresting. I suppose you have had the entertainment of hear-
ing the Hermanns sing — which would be a great pleasure to me. Mr.
Lyman has gone to Worcester, and I am wondering if Joseph will not
meet him there.

Mr. P. I. has lost his wife. I do n't know of a family so much
changed in a few short monlhs. He seemed to have the greatest
pleasure in the society of the three ladies of his household. Death
has bereft him of one, and marriage has deprived him of the society
of his two interesting sisters, who idolized him ; and he seemed to
reciprocate their kindness. Mr. Whitmarsh has just returned from
New York, and says he does not know which way to turn ; that he can
only think of distress and sorrow. He is without any home ; was at
board with his wife in the city when she died.

I do n't know as you have heard that poor H. W. is near her end.
I am in hourly expectation of the sad intelligence of her death. She
has had a most devoted husband, and every prospect to make life desir-
able and happy. But for reasons inscrutable to us, it has been other-
wise ordered. It is an unspeakable comfort to believe that such things
are ordered in perfect and unerring wisdom. But it is very hard to
see such people cut off in the commencement of such a career. The
last kind thing she did, when too unwell to make any effort at all, was
to have the whole Harding family at her house before they left Spring-
field, a week.

I suppose Anne Jean wrote you she went to dancing-school, and
kept school for the children in the vacation, and is very much engaged
about the anticipated Fair. I can't say that I am, but I am very glad
to have her.

304

Mrs. Henshaw, with her children, will come up here (probahly to

the Mansion House) for the winter, in about ten days. Give my love

to all (he friends.

Your affectionate Sister.

P. S. 1 suppose you wonder what we read. I have just tried to
get through the " North American Review," and have completed the
" Life of Howard." If you hear of any agreeable book you must
mention it. The little girls send their love, and say they shall write
when they do n't have so much dancing to do.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbins.

Northampton, November 6, 1832.

My dear Catherine. — I got home last night. We were gone just
a week : bad pleasant weather every moment of the time, soft and
warm. Found all well, and Mr. Lyman and my substitute had enter-
tained parties in my absence.

Anne Jean was exceedingly reluctant to go, but was animated
and pleased beyond expression : and they (the Stockbridge ladies)
were pleased with her, and insisted on her remaining, which I don't
know but she would have been inclined to do for a week or two, had
she been prepared. Both Mrs. Watson ami Catherine Sedgwick were
staying at Jane's. Jane and Mrs. Susan never appeared more inter-
esting or agreeable to me, as did Mrs. Watson and Catherine. I am
uncertain whether our visit has done us most good or harm. It cer-
tainly has helped to illustrate the indifference of our state of society
in a most striking manner, lint it is something of an offset that we
have the best of preaching, while they have the most dreadful nonsense
that ever was uttered.

I dare say you have seen Mary Speakman and little Jane, who is to
go Ibis winter to Mrs. McCloud's school. The other children are
uncommonly lovely. We carried little Harry over to Lenox, where he

305

is to stay this winter. I pitied Elizabeth ; she is literally like the old
woman that lived in her shoe, that had so many children she did not
know what to do

They have for their instructor this winter .Sam Parker, son of John
R., I suppose. He esteems it an advantage to live in a pleasant family,
where he can pursue his studies. He is quite an experienced teacher,
and they are delighted with him.

When we got to Hartford, we heard John M. Forbes and his family
had left Litchfield, and from what we heard thought it probable Aunt
Lord had too, and determined to go straight to Stockbridge, and leave
L. for another time. Bennet took the boat for New York. He
amused us very much on our ride to Hartford, and notwithstanding
the lateness of the season we had a most delightful ride, often wishing
we could have had Emma or yourself to occupy the vacant seat in
our carriage. Stockbridge had lost neither all its verdure, nor all
its foliage, and we were able to go out, or rather the children did, and
gathered a pretty bouquet in Miss Speakman's garden after we got
there. And the place looked almost as beautiful as I ever saw it
in summer. But perhaps it was the smiles of the people that reflected
such a hue on the face of Nature ; and besides, when we are pleased,
you know, we are subject to a kind of optical delusion.

To-day we are having a hard rain, and I feel glad I have reached
home without any interruption from wind or weather. I have felt
some self-reproach lest I have prevented Mr. Revere from availing
himself of this beautiful weather to come up here ; but I could not
bear to have him come when I was gone.

M. Sedgwick is going to Boston, in January. She is a very interest-
ing girl, after you have penetrated the first reserve. . . . But,
like your eldest niece, this is to be encountered before you get to the
pure gold.

I suppose Sally feels worried, as I do, with hearing dreadful accounts
from Cincinnati. If I get an opportunity, I will send you a letter I

306

have had from C, that I think Sally would like to see. But in the

mean time tell her they are all pleased with Tracy. Whenever I hear

of a private opportunity I shall write to him, for once in a while I do ;

and you know postage is very severe.

Give my love to mother, and Sally's family, and all my other friends.

We had a charming visit from Mrs. Hall : enjoyed every moment of it,

and wish, if you see her in Cambridge, you would tell her that we

made three hundred and seventeen dollars by our Fair; net gain,

two hundred and seventy-seven dollars. Which altogether exceeded

our expectations.

Yours affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. Little Edward is well. Ask his mother if she should like
to have me get him some woollen socks, or if she has got all she wants
for him in Boston.

Nothing new occurred while we were gone, except Mrs. Charles Dewey
had a pair of twins. When I was in Pittsfield I inquired for those at
the public house, and they were brought out for me to see ; they are
exactly alike, and very pretty. Judge Wilde sent me in a present, —
Mrs. Cushing's Journal while in Europe, which you may have met
with. We read it on our journey, and are much pleased with it. If
it is not probable that you and Sally will light on it, I will send it. I
am now in haste, for I am going to have Mrs. Dr. Blood and the
Stearnses here this afternoon ; likewise Mrs. Apthorp and Mrs. Sage.

How perfectly I recall my mother's delight in my Aunt Mary's twin
babies ! It was during this year, I think, that General Moseley, our only
military hero, was thrown from his horse during a review, and broke
his leg. He was carried into Warner's tavern, and spent many weeks
in a room on the upper floor. I recall my mother's insisting, as soon
as she heard the limb was set, that she must go and see him, and take
the twins with her. She had them dressed in pink, and seated on the

301

foot of his bed. " The sight of these twins can't mend his broken leg,
but would mend a broken heart any time," she said.

My mother suffered severely from the ill health of both Joseph and
Anne Jean. All her plans of life were formed for health, and the
sight of severe suffering always distressed her immeasurably. Then,
as she was apt at times to exaggerate symptoms, through her intensity
of sympathy, and was rarely judicious in the use of remedies, her chil-
dren avoided the mention of disease, whenever it was possible to
do so.

In a letter to Cousin Abby, dated December 3, 1832, she pours out
her sorrow for the sufferings of these two beautiful and noble young
people. Speaking of Joseph, she says : —

" The idea of so young a person being under the necessity of acting
the part of an invalid, and carrying about him a local infirmity which
may last him through life, I sometimes feel to be almost insup-
portable."

Speaking in the same letter of the cholera, which had prevailed dur-
ing the previous season, she adds : —

" We have had a great deal of anxiety on your account, ever since
the cholera was known to be in your city. I am rejoiced to hear it has
abated. It is a new form of trouble to me. In the summer season,
there were a great number of people here from the cities, and all won-
dered that we did not conform our mode of living to the prospect of
cholera, as they did in New York and other places. But your uncle
and I both thought that we had better continue to do exactly what we
had done, as that had preserved us in health so far ; and we never
made the slightest difference about eating or drinking, and you know
we never were very luxurious livers. But a kind Providence has pre-
served us."

308

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 22, 1833.
I have the impression that I have written since I received any letter
from C, except one that Tracy was so good as to write, and which I
got at Boston. His mother and myself are both very much gratified
that he lias found favor in the eyes of our friends at Cincinnati ; I
feel very certain he never will prove himself unworthy of it. Anne
Jean has probably written all about Jane's connection. She is going
to be married in May, — perhaps not till the first of June. Mr. Brewer
is a truly worthy young man, and we know he will make Jane happy ;
so we are happy. . . . Now, believing that you will not let my loud
thoughts take air, even in your own family, I cannot help making the
further remark relating to matrimony, that my opinion concerning

Mr. 's connection with is unsatisfactory. I know ■ is

handsome and amiable, . . . but I did not perceive in her any of that
intellectual acumen or moral dignity which I should think necessary

to the happiness of such a man as Mr. . She may have formed

habits of reflection, and acquired mental graces which were not con-
spicuous when she was young, and I hope she has ; but if she has not,

I think must live without much sympathy. . . . Now, in the case

of Mr. , his wife has already been a fortune to him, besides being

good-tempered and amiable. But such cases are very rare. I mourned

over 's connection with , but I hear she makes him perfectly

happy; and Anne Jean says, " don't be croaking over people's fates,
reasoning as you do merely from abstract principles." . . .

Anne Jean is much improved since you knew her ; I think I would
not alter her in any respect, except to give her a sound constitution.
She has, no doubt, extracted much good from her invalid state, and
lives in the calm enjoyment of all rational and disinterested occu-
pations, — such as teaching the children, working for the poor, keeping
Sunday-school, reading, &c. ; spends no time on dress, looks exactly

309

like a nun, with quite as pale a face. She has not many congenial
young friends here. I sometimes think it would be best to build up
the waste places in her heart by a little more youthful sympathy ; but
then she would be at a much greater distance from me ; and, as it is,
we are just of an age, and I am her most congenial associate. Nor is
it obvious that there are any waste places. But, you know, I think
much of the education of the affections. " Keep thy heart with all
diligence, for out of it are the issues of life," is a command indicating
of how much importance it was considered by the inspired psalmist ;
and it is a sufficient authority for the most watchful care, showing that
the affections are a most essential element in the human character.

A. J. got a letter from Catherine to-day. I am sorry I never got
the newspaper you were so kind as to send ; but it did not reach me.
Give my love to Mrs. Hentz and to all friends. We are sorry we are
not to see Mr. Dana. When you write, tell me about the Walkers,
Hentzs, &c, every tiling that interests you, and about the children,
to whom give my love. My children have just gone through a four
days' examination at their school. They all send their love, — Jane
in particular.

Your very affectionate

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. I think your father has been remarkably well and happy this
winter. They have in every respect appeared comfortable. I see your
father every day. He talks of his happiness as something that he
realizes; and says, "Don't you see how much better off I am than
Major Taylor ? " I enjoyed seeing a great deal of M. when I was in
Boston. She is the most improved young person I know of, and has
secured herself the best of friends in Mr. and Mrs. Cary, — who say
they never shall be willing to do without her till their children arc all
grown up. Mary Jones is, going to Boston for a visit soon, and Jane,
after she is married.

310

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Bobbins.

Northampton, March 28, 1833.

My dear Catherine, — When 1 first got home I was, of course, very

much occupied, — I need not say how. And soon Mr. 'a folks got

aground, and came after me to pay them some attention, but they are
now getting along nicely. They have not much resolution to meet
difficulties in the onset, but they have patience and perseverance, and
that always carries people along. I hope mamma got a letter I wrote
rather more than a week ago. The badness of the travelling has pre-
vented Joseph from going back as soon as he intended. He has been
a constant source of entertainment to all of us, and produced the
exercise of a great deal of laughing. I have sent you Mrs. Cushing's
" Travels," and wish mother and you may derive as much entertain-
ment from them as 1 did. 1 believe 1 have not read any thing since
my return but Mr. Ware's book, — which I am delighted with, as another
specimen of his beautiful mind, — and "Lord Collingwood's Letters,"
and " Cousin Marshall." 1 hope Miss Martineau will continue to
write ; I don't know of any kind of writing calculated to do so much
good to common readers. I wonder if you have read the last " Chris-
tian Examiner;" if you have not, you must see what malignity and
ill-will can suggest against that faultless work of Mr. Ware's, " The
Formation of the Christian Character." I am glad you are able to
hear Dr. Follen. I am sure he must be an interesting lecturer, though
I do not care so much about the German literature as many people do.
1 think, if I were young and able to, I should not learn the language,
but should devote much more time and attention to the best works in
the English than is common for the young people of the present day.

I do not hear how Susan Howe is getting along with her school, but
1 hope well. I am very glad to hear Mary is enjoying so much at
Philadelphia. The weather has been very fine here for a week past,

311

and of course it is much warmer there. The travelling is still horrid,
and I dread to have Joseph take this journey ; but he thinks it won't
do for him to stay any longer from the office. You must tell Emma L
do not expect to be any thing hut a drudge till after Jane is married,
though I shall try and answer her kind letter one of these days. And
tell her, if I had not heard her say she never meant to do any more
work with her hands, I should beg she would come up and help me till
next June. Margaret Emery was coming up to make me a visit from
Springfield : but I shan't let her come till you arc here, or Emma, or
somebody that has time to enjoy her fine intellect, which, in the pres-
ent state of my interests, would be lost on me. Give my love to Sally
and her family. I hope she will get up here this summer. Give my
love to mother and all friends.

Your affectionate sister,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, July 14, 1833.
My dear Abby, — I was much pleased to receive your letter of the
4th. Your repeated invitations to Anne Jean have not been unheeded,
or passed over without much speculation. The chance to go with Mr.
and Mrs. Peabody I consider a good one ; or with Mrs. Cutter. But
though we have thought much of it, both in connection with her health
and likewise in connection with our desire to have her in your society,
enlarging as well as increasing the fountain of good affections, still it
requires an effort of resolution that I do not feel equal to at present.
Her father says she may go if I think best. I cannot help remember-
ing that it must be a long separation, and that her health is very indif-
ferent, and that I should have great anxiety on her account, and great
deprivation. For she is every thing to me in the way of a companion,
as well as an assistant, and it would come hard to me to do without
her. I have not the least doubt you would be satisfied with her, and
find much sympathy and pleasure in her society. She lias a serious

312

and reflecting mind, and I know she would be much improved by
enlarging her experience in such a tour. . . . This proves that I am
wanting in a heart full of gratitude for the blessings I have ; and I am
induced to utter this portion of Pope's prayer : —

" Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness leut."

We feel very much delighted to hear that Sally is getting along, and
that her baby was doing well. You did not say who she called her
baby for ; it is a very pretty name. I told Anne to write and say we
hoped it would either be called Abby Greene or Anne Jean. But I
think on such occasions people are right to follow their own judgment.

I am very glad you are pleased with Dr. Bancroft. There is no
member of his family who is half as interesting as he is, and, notwith-
standing his cracked voice and shaking head, there are few who in the
vigor of youth can write so well. I am glad too that you realize the
promise of her youth in Miss Beecher : I always thought she must be
a most intelligent companion. Her "Essay on Education," which was
published a few years since, was highly creditable to her, and gave me
a high idea of her mind.

My sister Catherine is staying with me, and says nothing but the
entire impossibility of her leaving an aged mother prevents her from
accepting your kind invitation : for she has a great deal of enterprise
about moving and journeying, besides, in this case, a great desire to
sec her friends. She sends her love to you, and says she shall lay up
her invitation for a more convenient season, and that she is much
obliged to you for it.

If Anne Jean gets the resolution to think she can undertake this
journey, before the opportunity passes by, we shall promote it, with all
our hearts.

313

I went down to Springfield last week. I found Mrs. Colonel Dwiglri
was dead, and Mrs. Howard quite unwell. She was very sensible <>f
the importance of H. to her comfort. H. has improved essentially ;
she is very contented and happy.

Nobody can be more delightfully situated for her improvement and
happiness than M. is. She is a very fine character, and the family she
is in value her highly, and would not part with her for any considera-
tion. When 1 look around upon your family, and see how good they
all are, how respectable and how happy, and how capable of taking
care of themselves, I am encouraged to believe and rely on the same
sustaining Hand that has carried them along. Your father and mother,
too, appear remarkably comfortable and happy, and he seems in every
respect better than when you saw him.

You need not be surprised if Anne Jean should conclude to visit
you. Of course I cannot urge it very much, but I never discourage any
leaning she may have that way. She calls herself quite well now.
She has lately returned from passing a week at Lebanon, but could not
be induced to go to Saratoga. I believe an increased sensibility is one
of the inseparable attendants of an indifferent state of health, the
effect of which keen susceptibility induces a desire for retirement and
reflection. It is the great counterbalancing gift which the infirmity
of the body lias the privilege to confer, that the mind, left free to its
own contemplations, prefers the high and the intellectual, to the low
pursuits which too often engross poor human beings. Anne Jean
shrinks from a crowd, and has no particular fancy for accomplish-
ments, except drawing, which occupation we discourage because it is
unfavorable to health. From your account, your Catherine is very
much in the state my S. has been in all summer. We have not been
able to send her to school since May, from mere debility. I am very
sorry to hear this account of C, for there is nothing more embarrass-
ing to parents than to decide what is best for children in such a state.
One thing is certain, they must have their liberty, and have very few
40

314

requisitions made of them, and take such strengthening things as they
can bear. I think port wine and bark have done S. a great deal of
good.

A. J. Lyman.

In the spring of 1833, our dear sister Jane was married to Stephen
Brewer, and this marriage probably added more positive enjoyment to
our family circle than any that ever occurred in it. For this sister was
not, like most of the others, to be removed far from our vicinity. The
village known as " Leeds," in later years, was then simply called the
" Factory Village," and Mr. Brewer was the agent for the woollen manu-
factories there. He was a man of the finest feelings, and most reliable
judgment in his dealings with men. And this made him the personal
friend and care-taker of the whole little village under his charge.
During the years that he was there, no justice of the peace was ever
employed to settle difficulties in that place. His private influence was
all they needed to keep them in order. His house stood at the top of
the hill overlooking the village, with a charming grove of pines in
front and at the side of it, where the winds made constant music. It
was a most picturesque situation, and only a drive of four and a half
miles from our door in Northampton. To go with father or mother in
the chaise or carriage to see " Sister Jane," and have a frolic with
our kind and genial' brother-in-law, made one of the prime enjoyments
of our childhood, and we often were left to pass the night, or stay a
few days, — which was one of the most delicious treats to school children.
And as we grew older, and had young friends and visitors, our dear
sister and her husband made them also welcome to the hospitable
home, and many are the bright recollections of those happy days at
the Factory. Sister Jane had been a suffering invalid from her birth,
but her perfect patience and entire disinterestedness prevented her ill-
health from being any drawback to the spirits of the young people
about her. She carried through life that blessed unselfishness, inher-

315

ited from our dear father, which saved her from the worst crosses of
life, though she had always to bear the cross of pain and weakness.

I remember well the months preceding her marriage, — the wedding
haste of the dear Anne Jean, whose deft fingers made many a garment,
the drives to the Factory to see the house, and the day before the
marriage, when my mother took me, a child of ten years, out into the
grove behind the house, and said, " Here, Susan, you will often conic
and have happy days. I want you to learn Bryant's ' Thanatopsis '
here, for here you will understand it." And I learned it, then and
there ; and can never now repeat, " The groves were God's first
temples," without recalling those groves, and all the joys connected
with them. Who could have dreamed then, in those peaceful days,
that the beautiful village would become that scene of ruin and disaster,
which the calamity of 1873 made it ?

In the autumn of 1833, Anne went to Cincinnati to pass the winter
with Cousin Abby. It was indeed a heavy sacrifice to part with this
beloved daughter even temporarily, for, in spite of her ill-health, her
presence was of the utmost importance to the comfort of the whole
family circle. But when did they ever fail to make any sacrifice that
they believed to be for- our good ? Writing to Abby, in relation to
Anne's going, my mother said, " It is an unspeakable effort for me to
let her go, and one I could not make for any less beloved objects than
herself and yourself."

How plainly I recall my dear father's voice, trembling with emotion,
and his glistening eyes, as he told years afterwards one characteristic
story of his parting with Anne for this long winter. He gave her
fifty dollars, in ten gold pieces, for her pocket-money during the visit.
That was a great deal in those times, — more than a hundred would be
now ; and Anne duly appreciated the gift, and thanked him warmly.
When spring came, and he went to bring her home, she quietly handed
him a beautiful purse she had knit for him, of silk, with steel beads ;
and in it he found the ten shining gold pieces he had given her at

316

parting. She remarked simply that it had been a great comfort to her
to have so much money by her all winter, as she had felt herself ready
for any emergency ; but that she had had no use for the money, and it
was a happiness to her to return it to him, knowing how many people
he had to provide for. Such was her tender consideration for him, at
eighteen years.

During that winter, we children attended Mr. William Huntington's
school, and in March our brother Edward left home, to go into a store
in Boston. His loss was very great to the family circle. Yet all the
young people were at the time busy in getting up a little drama called
•• The Queen of the Rose," to be acted in our long hall, as the " Lady
of the Lake" had been, a few years before. And in the midst of all
her cares, and her journey to Boston before her, to take her youngesl
son, my mother allowed the play to go on, and it was entirely suc-
cessful.

Throughout this winter of our dear Anne's absence, how devoted
our mother was to the education of her little children ! It seemed as if
she wanted to make up to them and console herself for the absence of
the (laughter who was the sharer of all her cares. I recall the beauti-
ful winter evenings, when she gathered us after tea around the hall

table, and read to us from G 1's " Book of Nature,'* and a plentiful

amount of English history, which she made so dramatic and impres-
sive that in spite of Fronde, and all the light of modern literature, it
is difficult for us to think of " that old wretch, Henry the Eighth," as
she always called him, in any other light than hers.

Judge Lyman to his son Edward.

Northampton, March 10, 1831.
My dear Son, — We arrived safe home at half-past two of the clock
on Saturday morning. We found the family all well. Susan and
Catherine looked charmingly ; they had not a moment's illness during

317

our absence. Mrs. Carly and Elizabeth Brewer took kind care of them ;
they were all desirous that you should return with us, but it is neces-
sary that you should leave us that you may be enabled to take care of
yourself, and 1 hope and pray to deserve us the more. Mr. Eunting-
ton closed his school on Saturday, and Susan and Catherine are to
remain for a while under your mother's instructions. I have been this
afternoon to see Jane; she is quite well and has a line daughter. Mr.
Brewer is in ecstasy ; thinks it uncommonly handsome ; the old adage
is " handsome is that handsome does." I hope they will take good
care of it and inculcate goodness, that it may prove a blessing to them
and an ornament to society.

I hope that you do not find your situation unusually irksome ; that
you continue to be cheerful, obedient, and virtuous, and that you may
gain as many true friends as you have in this place. I wish you to
attend church, usually with your sister Eliza and her family. After it
becomes good walking, you may occasionally go over to your grand-
mother's.

I wish you to write me as often as you can, and tell me all about our
friends and yourself. Mrs. Carly, Justin, Susan, and Catherine, send
much love to you. Remember me most affectionately to your sister
Eliza, her children, and brother Joseph.

In haste, I am your affectionate father,

Joseph Lyman.

Postscript from Mrs. Li/man.

My dear Son, — When I saw that father was about to despatch a
quantity of white paper, I thought I would black a little more of it,
though there are not many interesting details with which to entertain
you. The bell continues to ring every evening, and people assemble
every morning without a bell. Mrs. — — has been in to-day to say she
is very tired of living here and seeing so much pretence of religion ;

318

but I told her I had found it convenient to keep a large cloak of indif-
ference for all the disagreeable things that presented themselves before
ine, that I could not avoid ; and if she would do the same I thought
she would get along much better than by indulging a great deal of
feeling on the subject as she seems disposed to do.

Elizabeth Brewer has left us, and we felt very sorry to part with her.
In losing her I have lost E. Cochran too ; they both deplored your loss
very sincerely. May you always deserve their regard. Our little girls
regularly set a chair for you at table, and a plate ; this gives me some
pain, but likewise much pleasure, for I know it to be an unaffected ex-
pression of their remembrance and affection, — and there is no part of
the Christian rule I value more than that which prescribes brotherly
love. " Love ye one another," ■ — "for by this it shall be known that
ye are my disciples." And though this command was not circum-
scribed by kindred ties, it may be allowed to begin in families, and ex-
pand itself over communities. . . .

Your affectionate

Mother.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

March 30, 1834.
My dear Edward, — I have but little to tell you — I have been so
much shut up — that can interest you. But I know sister Eliza will
want to know how things are going on at the Factory. Jane has had
the best of nursing, and when I went to see her yesterday I found,
preparatory to Mrs. Munroe's leaving, she had got down stairs ; had
got into the bedroom next the parlor, and was cheerfully seated by the
parlor fire, with Elizabeth devoted to her, and Mrs. Munroe quilting
the baby a cradle quilt. The baby has bad another name found to add
to her value. Hannah is the name of Mr. Brewers mother, and Han-
nah it must be. I for one have no objection to the name. Distin-
guished people have borne it, in both sacred and profane history. If

319

she is as good as the mother of Samuel, or as wise and exemplary as
Hannah Adams, it will be of little consequence what name she bears.
Our little ladies send their love to you. They have gone this afternoon,
with their father, to see sister Jane.

Mrs. Moseby Wright, who lived with and was housekeeper to Mrs.
Napier, is dead, and I must attend the funeral. Give my love to sister
Eliza and all the children.

Your affectionate Mother.

P. S. I shall soon send the remainder of your things and Joseph's.

I am afraid she did not altogether like the name of " Hannah,"
from the pains she took to prove how excellent it was.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 30, 1834.

My dear Abbt, —

There are certain states of mind I never should wish to write in ; and
that state furnished me with an excuse for allowing a number of weeks
to pass without writing to Anne Jean.

It was quite a blow to me to find, after I got to Boston, that Edward was
to be withdrawn from the paternal roof. And while I was there I had to
prepare him for the change of place, and my own mind for the event.
I find, as I grow old, an increased reluctance to a separation from my
children ; and, if it were not that I consider discontent a very great sin,
I am afraid I should, in this case, have become a victim. A third of
Joseph's short life has been spent away from me, and it seemed very
hard that Edward should go (probably never to return), when he was
but fifteen years old ; and he has always been so remarkably kind
and good in all his feelings, and so desirous to make those around him
happy, that it is impossible for us to forget the chasm produced in our
family circle. I always have aimed to avoid magnifying the evils and

320

inconveniences of my lot, and hope I do not attach too much conse-
quence to these things. Indeed, I have too many admonitions in the
fate of others to justify myself in complaint.

You will see in the Boston newspapers the death and character of
young Dr. James Jackson, the son of the distinguished Dr. of that
name. I wish you to notice it. It was written without any exaggeration.
This deatli has shaken the earthly happiness of his family to its founda-
tion, for he was their idol and pride. He was a friend of Joseph's, and
through him I have heen made acquainted with his worth. But speak-
ing of it in relation to myself, I feel that I ought to be grateful that
my children are alive, even if I cannot have the pleasure of living
with them. It is a rare case, when parents are the favored instruments
under Providence of creating and bringing to its highest perfection a
human soul that is an honor to them, an honor to human nature, and,
more than all the rest, an honor to his Maker. What an event in
one's life to reflect upon ! How much it must mitigate, while, at the
same time, how much it must magnify, the intensity of feeling! You
(as well as I) can bring it home to your own heart with a l-ealizing
sense

I am sorry to find I have written so much on subjects that can have
no interest for you ; but you know my proneness to reflect my own
thoughts upon paper when I write. " Out of the abundance of the
heart the mouth speaketh."

Love to all your household. Yours very affectionately,

A. J. L.

P. S. You must make up your mind to come back with A. J. and
your uncle, taking little Catherine with you, and as many more of
your family as you choose. Tell A. J. we have discovered her full
value, ami I don't know but we exaggerate it a little. There is noth-
ing like absence to produce this effect. Our little ladies send a great
deal of love to Catherine and her mother, and Anne Jean, and Isabella,
and Cousin Charlotte.

321

Judge Lyman to his son Edward.

Northampton, April 2, 1834.

My dear Son, — We received Joseph's letter last evening, and were
happy to hear that you were both well, and are also much pleased with
your arrangement of writing every Sabbath. You are aware that we
have no children with us except Susan and Catherine, and since you
have left I have no one to aid me in attending to the little out-door
concerns. Your own good was the only inducement to part with you,
and it will be a source of great satisfaction to me to know that you are
acceptable to your employers, and that your behavior is such as is
peculiarly gratifying to your friends. I have noticed so often your
diligence in studies and in business, that I think you will continue to
deserve the reputation which you have acquired. Whenever you have
any time, I wish you to revise your studies and preserve what you have
acquired.

I have concluded to go to Cincinnati on the first week in May, and
bring home Anne Jean. I have written her to that effect. I hope
that no disastrous occurrence will prevent me.

Our County Commissioners are now sitting, and I am writing in the
Court House amidst much talk about licensing taverners and retailers ;
those who encourage intemperance or keep disorderly houses will be
prevented from doing further mischief. With us it is disgraceful to be
seen at a tavern or retail-shop as drinkers or loungers. I am happy
that it is so ; the work of reformation goes on prosperously, and I am
delighted that you are coming to manhood at a time when the vice of
intemperance will be banished from the land. Be happy, my dear
son ; to be so — be virtuous.

We shall expect a letter from you on Monday night, next.
I am your affectionate father,

Joseph Lyman.

322

Mrs. Lyman to her sun Edward.

Northampton, April 6, 1834.

My dear Edward, — There is so little passing that is worth making
a record of, that if it were not that love and sympathy are ever present
to a mother's heart, and are inexhaustible fountains from which the
pen is always supplied with something to say to an absent child, —
I say if it were not for these you would rarely hear from me. Your
brother Sam has added to his treasures another daughter. A lovelier
babe 1 never saw: it is really beautiful, though but two days old,
weighing ten pounds. Almira appears remarkably well and comfort-
able. Poor Sister Jane is now having quite a trying time, and 1 have
sent Mrs. Carly out to stay with her till she gets better. Her child is
nicely. But she was not ready to part with her nurse; and I dare say
she will soon be better, now that Mrs. Carly is with her, — who is
very experienced in baby affairs. 1 dare say you saw Mr. Jones when
he was down. I hope Mr. Powers got your things safely to you. I
have not yet heard of your getting the apron and things contained in
the first bundle. J hope \<>u were careful to take the package for Miss
Jackson to Dr. Jackson's house.

I wish some time when you are passing by print-shops you would go
in and inquire for an engraving of Baron Cuvier : if there are any to be
sold quite cheap, let me know. 1 have been reading his life, and should
like to associate him (as I do many others of whom I read) with some
particular expression and appearance, which I can do only by having
a picture of him. The Baron Cuvier classes with the most exalted of
Gild's works, lie was two years younger than your father, and died
two years ago. Perhaps no man living in the same age in any part of
the world did as much good. No one could do more, for he passed his
life in the most untiring industry, commencing under a conflict with
poverty, which, however, rather brightened than repressed his native
genius. And his success in the investigation of one science only stimu-

323

lated him to the pursuit of another, until, at an early age, he became
the greatest naturalist in the world ; and was the chosen instrument of
Napoleon Bonaparte for forming constitutions for the various literary
institutions throughout his vast dominions, and for reforming and
giving laws to all common schools. And it truly may be said of him
that his superior knowledge and love of science were excelled only by
his philanthropy, which led him sedulously to apply his hard-earned
treasures of intellect to the various wants of man. The acquisition of
information is in itself a pleasure, — it is feeding the better part of
our nature — our minds. But the good does not end here. We must
look on these intellectual treasures as we should on our property, and
think, How can I apply them most usefully, and make them most ser-
viceable to myself and my fellow-creatures ? — " What can I do to reform
the wicked and enlighten the ignorant ? " is a question every one should
put to himself, and it indicates a duty none are exempt from. Till we
have reached maturity we are the daily recipients of favors. And the
only acceptable mode of proving our gratitude to our Heavenly Father
for such a provision of His bounty is in some humble manner to imi-
tate Him, and do what we can to contribute to the good or the happiness
of those around us.

Does Mr. Frothingham have a Sunday-school attached to his society ?
If he does, I wish you would tell me what he does in it, or has done ;
and whether your sister's children go.

Give my love to all, and believe me

Yours most affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. I had a long letter from Anne Jean last week. I am think-
ing she will see Mr. Henshaw this week. Your father will commence
his journey the first week of May. Has your Cousin Harriet left vet ?
Give my love to her and Martha.

324

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, April 20, 1834.

My dear Edward, — As letters from me do not depend on the
variety of incident that occurs, so you will not lessen your expecta-
tions, because there is no new thing going on amongst us. I expect to
devote myself this week to getting your father ready to go to Cincin-
nati. He will set out a week from to-morrow. I wish we were all
going, it is such a beautiful season for travelling.

We were disappointed that we had no letters from Joseph or you
last week. I should have written by your Uncle Edward, but I had
no idea he was going to return so soon. Jane is very slowly getting
better, and the baby likewise, who had become uneasy with its mother's
sickness. Dr. Flint's family are recovering. . . .

We have had very warm weather, and a fine shower has made the
country look beautiful. It seems as if one might enjoy every
moment, the season imparts such cheerfulness to one's spirit ; and
every new flower that makes its appearance is only a new expression
of a Heavenly Father's love and kindness, and seems to be calling on
us for a new expression, or rather a renewed feeling, of love and
gratitude to the Author of all our blessings, and furnishes us with con-
tinual lessons which we cannot refuse to extract good from, and

" Instructs us to be great, like Him.
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom Nature's works instruct with God himself
Hold converse ; grow familiar, day by day,
With His conceptions ; act upon His plan,
And form to His the relish of their souls."

I did not mean to be poetical ; but these beautiful, though simple,
expressions of Akenside are forced upon my mind spontaneously by
contemplating the subject of which they treat. I have but a shadow

325

of the beauties of Nature near me, but a walk will furnish it at any
time, and I am called to a good many rides.

Anne Jean sent me last week a prize tale, for which the author,
Miss Harriet Beecher, obtained fifty dollars. I like it very mucb, and,
after I have got Mr. Atwcll to copy it into his paper, will send it to you,
for I think your sister Eliza, and Joseph, and others, will be pleased with
it. It was published in the " Cincinnati Magazine," without any of the
cant that characterizes Orthodox publications, notwithstanding there is
sickness and death and conversion in it.

Mr. Stearns gave us excellent sermons this morning and afternoon,
on the importance of watchfulness of ourselves ; spoke particularly of
giving importance to trifles, and undue attention to external appearance,
— thereby fostering personal vanity, which closes the mind to good and
improving reflections. I dare say you hear a great many good preach-
ers, besides Mr. Frothingham. Does he have a Sunday-school ?

Give my love to all sister Eliza's family, and all other friends.

Your affectionate

Mother.

CHAPTER XV.

THE spring of 1834 was a sad one in our family annals. My father
went to Cincinnati to bring home our dear Anne ; and my mother
occupied herself in gathering together all the children in the neighbor-
hood, who were deprived of a school by Mr. Huntington's departure,
and teaching them herself, until some new teacher should appear.
But very soon she was summoned to Enfield, on account of the illness
of my sister Mary, who died only ten days after the birth of a son.
It was a bitter grief to have to communicate to the absent ones: and my
mother wisely kept it out of the newspapers, hoping they might reach
home without hearing of it by the way. It was a long and weary
journey by stages from Cincinnati to Northampton, and she had much
anxiety for the delicate Anne Jean in taking it. After they had left
Albany, and were in the stage for Pittsfield, a neighbor from North-
ampton entered, and expressed condolence with my father on the
recent death of his daughter. The shock to both of them was severe,
and, in the shattered condition of Anne's health, the manner of hear-
ing it affected her sensibly, as well as the loss of the sister to whom
she was so tenderly attached.

Not long after their return home came the added sorrow of brother
Dwight's death, at a moment when they were looking for his return,
after a two years' absence in China. I will not dwell on this sorrow-
ful summer. My mother's letters were full of sadness for many
months, and she felt keenly the heavy trials that had fallen on my
father. She mentions in one letter, that, though they deeply regretted

327

the illness of a young friend who was staying with them, it had con-
soled Anne and herself to he allowed to take care of her. They
passed a very quiet summer, reading the same books, weeping together
over the heavier sorrows of others, and devoted to the most tender and
affectionate intercourse after their long separation, — the chief trial of
the present, aside from the family grief, being the fact that Anne's
health had sensibly declined within the year.

In August, my father's only brother, our Uncle Lyman, died, and
again she writes to Abby : —

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, August 22, 1834.

My dear Abby, — For the past season you have continually heard
of the increased indisposition of your father. I have now to commu-
nicate that he has terminated his mortal career, and that we followed
him yesterday to the silent grave, where he was laid by the side of her
to whom lie had given his earliest and best affections. Our clergyman,
Mr. Stearns, officiated with great solemnity : and, when we got to the
grave, made such remarks on the mortality of all around, and on the
inevitable destiny of man, which was sooner or later to bring us to the
same point, that, had there been any want of seriousness or lack of
tears, he would have caused them to flow.

The day that Anne Jean wrote you last, my Edward, who was on a
visit to us then, carried your father to take a ride of several miles,
and he said riding refreshed him, and made him feel better. Your
uncle and Justin have carried him, whenever he felt able to go, all sum-
mer. But ten days before his death, when Justin went to take him to
ride, it was impossible to get him into the chaise, with the assistance
of another man, he was so very weak ; and from that time he grew
weaker daily, and your uncle found a man to go and watch by him.
day and night, till he died, at twelve o'clock in the evening, on the 20th
of this month.

328

We (your uncle and I) left him at nine in the evening, and thought
he might continue till morning. He knew us ; spoke quite strong ;
said he was in no pain, and believed he was better. Just at twelve, he
asked for a cup of tea, and, while they were getting it, ceased to breathe,
without a struggle. The Sunday previous, we thought he would not
continue through the day, and your uncle asked him if he was willing
to die, when he answered, " I am always ready. I can always say, as
Watts did,—

' I go and come ; nor fear to die,
YVhm Cod on high shall call me home.' "

His mind, I think, has been much clearer for the last year or two than
when you were here, and I have felt sorry that you could not witness
the tranquil happiness he seemed to enjoy ; being able to extend his
view beyond the " dark valley of the shadow of death," a glorious
prospect beyond it seemed to lie lighted up. When I said to him,
" You have done a great many kindnesses and charitable actions in the
days of your prosperity," he answered me, with his habitual self-for-
getfulness, " A great many people have been kind and friendly to me,"
— never reverting to the many who had been thoughtless and unkind,
or, to say the least, forgetful.

Your mother has been much exhausted by sleepless nights : and,
when I asked her to return from her solitary dwelling witli us for a
week or two, she said she must remain alone, while she should be per-
mitted to stay in the house, and recruit herself.

As to your sisters, I know that children who are brought up in mod-
erate circumstances may be better brought up than the children of the
wealthy, generally speaking ; though this is not infallible.

I have two young ladies, wards of Dr. Robbins's, who have been stay-
ing with us for the last three weeks, — Sarah Perkins and Elizabeth
Spring. An income like Miss Perkins's would seem to preclude a dis-
interested, self sacrificing zeal for the good of the distressed ; and yet
she is very disinterested and lovely, and as good as she can be.

329

I hear Martha's health is improving. I was very sorry I could not
induce her to stay with us this summer.

Anne Jean desires her love to you, Mr. Greene, your children, and
sisters. She went to your father's and stayed all day, and assisted
your mother when she would allow her.

Your affectionate aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, October 26, 1834.

My dear Abby, — I have just returned from Boston. I have a
strange and bewildering sensation left on my mind by this visit, in
which the joys and sorrows I was called to mingle were so rapidly
alternated that one could hardly dry one's tears before being called
upon to engage in scenes of mirth and festivity. This is, perhaps, only
a fair specimen of human life and its vicissitudes ; and those who can
sustain themselves best, under the various transitions they are called
to meet with, and are so fortified by strength of principle as to pursue
their course in the undeviating path of duty, may truly be said to be
Christians and philosophers.

When I first got to Boston, I attended the wedding of my brother
James. This I was most happy to do. In the first place, I liked the
connection ; but, more than all, because it saved him from a bachelor's
life, which I most sincerely deprecate. Miss Coffin made an elegant
supper on the occasion, and, as she lives in a very fine house, it was
not difficult to collect a goodly company, and we had a very good time,
and all went off well. But the next day, one of my brother's adopted
children died. She was the eldest, and had made me a long visit this
summer. The same house received the same guests at a wedding and
a funeral within a week.

After this was over, I went to Cambridge to stay with mother, and,
if possible, to help Mrs. Howe. Last Thursday we collected a large

330

number of the lights of the present age, and Susan and Hillard were
married. Judge Story, Mr. Sparks, Mr. James Savage, old Dr. Ware,
his son Henry, the Quincys, Prof. Norton, Prof. Farrar, with their
families, -and many lesser lights, to the number, I believe, of near a
hundred, were collected on the occasion, and Mr. Gannett performed
the ceremony in a most delightful manner. We had a very delightful
evening for those who had to ride into town, — that is, a bright moon,
and very mild.

I am going to hope that you will come to Boston or Providence to
live, for the benefit of the health of all of you, and leave the trials
behind. Anne Jean says I must hurry, for there is company in
the parlor. When you write, tell us what you hear of Mr. and Mrs.

Hentz.

Yours in haste, witli great affection,

Anne Jean Lyman.

The marriage of one of her favorites, Sally Lyman, to Mr. Richard
L. Allen, was the next joyous event to call for her sympathy, after the
sorrows of the previous spring. In one of her letters at this time, she
says : " There are few like Richard Allen in the world. He is an
admirable person."

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, January i. 1835.
My dear Edward, — I should have written to you by Mr. Wright a
week since, but your father and Anne Jean were both inclined to write,
and I thought I would defer it until the present time. We have had
quite an exciting week. Mr. Allen was here a week beforehand, and,
as the paper has shown you, was married last Tuesday evening. We
were invited to the ceremony, and left before the evening party arrived,
which was very large. 1 heard more than a hundred were invited, and
nearly as many there. Anne Jean did all the crying for all the com-

331

pany ; just as your Aunt Howe always does al weddings. 1 beard that
alter we left there was a great deal of fun and comic acting by Chris-
.topher Clarke, which Mr. Cogswell said was as good as Matthews in
Boston. The day of the wedding I had them all here to dine, — I
mean the gentlemen : Mr. Allen and his father, and Judge Hinckley,
and a few others. I had the families to take tea here before the wed-
ding, and now I believe I have done my part ; they know I can't make
a party for them, and will not expect me to. We have visited with
them, but no other company, at Mr. Lewis Strong's, and they were
promised a party at Mr. Theodore's ; but last night's paper brought
the intelligence of the deatli of Mrs. Strong's brother, and I think she
will have to defer it, till Mr. and Mrs. Allen make a visit here at some
future time. Tell Joseph they will be in Boston in about a fortnight,
and you and lie must call on them if you get time. I wish you would
let your Aunt Revere know that Mr. Lewis Strong and son are in
Boston this winter. . . .

Miss Caroline Phelps is staying. here for a few weeks, so that Anne
Jean may not be entirely companionless ; and A. J. likes to assist her
about her studies. Her sister Sarah is staying this winter with Mrs.
Hinckley.

We had a New Year's sermon from Mr. Stearns to-day; the subject
was the value and importance of time, — that is, a right improvement
of it. I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Stearns is one of the
very best preachers of the present day, not even excepting any of the
Boston gentlemen of his profession. I hope there will not be anybody
from abroad to hear him, from a vacant parish, for I am sure they
would think him amongst the most desirable to be found in our land.
Give my love to Joseph, sister Eliza, and all the children. Tell her,
notwithstanding the cold weather, Jane was in to attend meeting with
Mr. Brewer, and seems in very good health ; as is the baby now. And
they are now well at Sam's.

Your affectionate

Mother.

332

P. S. Anne Jean wants you to get two large-sized doll's heads, and
send up by Dr. Austin Flint. You can put them in a little ribbon-bos.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Martha Cochran.

Northampton, January 12, 1835.

My dear Martha, —

Tell dear L. I cannot say how much I am obliged to her for her kind-
ness and the books which I received two days since; but I have not
had time yet to read them.

Anne Jean and Miss Caroline Phelps, who is staying with her, read
to me the " Last Days of Pompeii." I beg you will read it, for it has
powerful description in it, partaking of the sublime. But it is alto-
gether the most sacrilegious thing that ever was penned. The whole
reminds me of Mr. Frisbie's description of Lord Byron's " Works."
The effect of Bulwer's writings 1 think very much the same ; but this
one more strikingly than any of the others. "The desolate misanthropy
of his mind rises and throws its dark shade over his writings like one
of his own ruined castles ; we feel it to be sublime, but we forget that
it is a sublimity it cannot have, till it is abandoned by every thing that
is kind, and peaceful, and happy, and its halls are ready to become the
haunts of outlaws and assassins." On the whole, he leaves an impres-
sion unfavorable to a healthful state of mind, which is to lie deprecated
and shunned.

Mrs. Lyman to Jliss 0. Robbins.

March 30, 1835.
. . . Oeorge Davis has sent me the " Recollections of a House-
keeper," which is certainly a most amusing thing, and one that all
country housekeepers have a feeling sense of. The children have read
it to me, much to my entertainment.

I was greatly obliged to you for sending " Silvio Pellico." The his-

333

tory of his feelings is an ample illustration of the doctrine of sympa-
thy, though I think Mr. Roscoe made a great mistake in not giving

some sketch of his previous life, and (he political state of the country
that should produce such calamities. Must young readers would be
eutirely in the dark as to the cause of his imprisonment, from what
little is said in the preface about it. I have not had a chance to read
" Philip Van Arteveldt " yet.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, September 13, 1835.

My dear Edwaud, — I cannot let Mr. Henshaw go without taking
a few lines, to assure you that you are constantly remembered. My
attention has been a good deal taken up the last week by Mrs. Watson,
who came on Monday, and is to leave to-morrow. She has stayed with
Mrs. Dwight, but has visited me daily, and I have carried her to Am-
herst, and went so far as to promise to go on the mountain with her ;
but fortunately the day appointed was so very foggy, that it was impos-
sible to go. Then there has been a family of Longfellows from Port-
land, very interesting, agreeable people; they had a daughter with
them, who married a Mr. Pierce, formerly in the law-school here.

I went up this evening to see Mrs. Bliss. I never have seen her
when she was so perfectly beautiful ; she had the color given by a
slight fever. Her eyes were very bright, and she was excited by seeing

me, and by having Mrs. by her side, who had just come in

and had burst out crying, for the sake of a scene : and in the midst
of it all the doctor, whom she seems much delighted with. Put it was
the glow of strong emotion which irradiated her whole face, and pre-
sented her perfectly beautiful. I do really think she may get well
now ; she has had a temporary interruption, which she is fast recover-
ing from. Miss Htcarns has been sick a week ; she has now recovered,
and dined here with Mr. and Mrs. Watson, Friday; and Mrs. Whit-
marsh and husband joined them in the afternoon.

334

We have had Mr. Noyes to preach all day ; he preached finely this
morning on the justice of God, and this afternoon on cultivating right
affections towards each other, — showing, what 1 have always said, that
if we have nothing else to give, we can be rich in good affections, and
bestow them where they are wanted, and will do good. I have felt
the value of a smile of cordiality, and could realize all that he had to
say on that subject. 1 know what a balm it may be to a wounded or
a too deeply humbled spirit.

Mr. and Mrs. Whitmarsh are going to sail about the same time that
I hear Mr. and Mrs. Blake are; I wish they might go together. Allen
Strong is going with them. I am sure Mrs. Blake would be delighted
with Mrs. Whitmarsh. She says she should be perfectly happy if Anne
Jean were going with her, and I believe she would. When you conclude
what you are going to do for the future, Edward, let me know. . . .

It is so late I cannot write another word. Mr. Professor Hitchcock
lias commenced a course of geological lectures, in which there seems
to be a good degree of interest.

Your affectionate

Mother.

In September of 1835, came off a great celebration at Bloody Brook,
South Deerfield, on the occasion of the one hundredth anniversary of the
fall of "the Flower of Essex," at the hands of the Indians. Mr. Ed-
ward Everett was to lie the orator of the occasion : and my mother
and Anne had looked forward to it for weeks and months. The beauti-
ful and accomplished orphan daughters of a distinguished lawyer in
Connecticut had, some lime before, taken up their abode in North-
ampton ; and, to find music-scholars for the elder sister, and make her
own house a pleasant resting-place to them at all times, was now one of
my mother's many deep interests. The second sister, after an absence
of :i year, had now returned to die.

335

Mrs. Li/uidn to Miss Cochran.

September 30, L835.

My dear Martha, — You will perceive by the date that this is the
eventful day which has excited so much expectation ; and, after all,
neither Anne Jean nor myself are enjoying Mr. Everett's address.
You will probably say, " What a disappointment ! " Indeed, it would
be, if it were not merged in a much greater. Our friend, Mrs. I!., is
just dying on our hands, and, if Anne Jean and I were to leave them,
there would be no one to take our places, and these young sisters arc
now in a state that they must have some one to support them through
the trial, for they are entirely prostrated by it. Mrs. H. got here a
week since, with all the effects of fever and ague upon her. The
Thursday following, Mrs. B. experienced, after a dreadful paroxysm
of coughing, a very sudden prostration of strength, and has never felt
any power in her limbs since, to move them, or any sensation but
weight. This state of things, of course, is an infallible indication of
dissolution ; and any account I can give of the effect this produced
upon the sisters must appear so much like exaggeration, that it is not
best to use any but general terms, and say they are paralyzed by it.

N. received your note and the fruit. Every expression of kindness
is grateful to her feelings, and she was much affected by this proof of
your continued interest and remembrance.

Since I have been writing, Anne Jean has informed me that she had
begun a letter to you, and I shall let her send hers by mail, and let
mine wait for an opportunity. It cannot be many days before you hear
of Mrs. B.'s death. She has had great comfort in Mr. Stearns's daily
prayers ; often requests him to pray that she may be resigned to God's
will, at the same time assuring him of her wish to live. Last night
her reason was very clear, after a faint turn which I thought would
end her existence in a very few moments ; and she spoke beautifully of
the Providence which had, under every trying circumstance, sustained

336

her youth, and raised up friends for her under every calamity. Anne
Jean has been able to stay by her in the daytime, with the assistance
of another, and I have been able to watch three times out of live
nights, and shall continue to devote myself to her while she lives.
Mrs. Hunt, too, has done all she could, by day and by night. Eliza
Seeger has watched once.

October 1. To-day Mrs. 15. has but little reason, and it does not
make any difference who is with her. Dr. Austin Flint is greatly
afflicted at the result of his care ; has sat up all night with her, and
been as unwearied as if she were his own wife ; has carried his father
to see her several times, and is still of the opinion that she is not con-
sumptive, as is his father. But it makes no difference what occasions
disease, if the result must be death. I do not know that I ever have
had a friend sick, when I felt such an intense desire that they should
recover, as in this case. Mrs. B. had, after many dark and troubled
days, arrived at a sunny spot in her existence, the radiance of which
was strongly reflected upon the destiny of her sisters. I regret that I
was not earlier acquainted with her, and have not done more for her;

but you know, when she was with the s, she was out of my way.

And Anne Jean's health prevented her from doing any thing about
anybody, unless it were the poor or the sick. She is now inexpressibly
afflicted by Mrs. P..'s state, and would sacrifice any thing to her
comfort.

I suppose C. will go with her sister, Mrs. H., to Buffalo. She
is a good little lamb, and I hope something will occur to screen her
from the coldness of a heartless world ; for she has a degree of
sensibility that will make her peculiarly susceptible to the trials she is
' likely to be exposed to. Oh, how I wish there were an asylum for all
the unhappy and unfortunate orphans within my sphere ! and that it
were my destiny to preside over it and make them comfortable! —
endowed, at the same time, with that heavenly-mindedness and Chris-
tian benevolence which would give efficiency t" the desire. As I am, I

337

need not ask to take care of any more people's happiness than has
fallen to me.

Mr. Everett satisfied the expectation of all who heard him, 1 am told.

Love to your mother and sisters,

And believe me, truly yours,

Anne Jean Ltm \n.

1'. S. You know the conflicting interests that ever await my
destiny. After I returned from watching, this morning, I was informed
that Miss Martineau would he here, and I should have the pleasure of
her company to dine, together with that of Mr. Everett and Mr. Brooks.

October 2. Mrs. B. is still living, but I think will not be when this
reaches you.

In the late autumn of 1835, our dear Anne was seized with a rheu-
matic fever, which prostrated her entirely for two months. Her
heavenly patience under suffering, and her great energy and efficiency
in the few intervals of comparative health she enjoyed, made her fre-
quent illnesses a source of the deepest sympathy in the family circle.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, January 24, 1836.
My dear Abbt, — When Anne Jean was very sick, I did not wish
to write at all, besides not having time ; for I preferred that your first
intelligence should be of her recovery. That you have heard from
herself, through Susan, though she was so long confined it seemed as
if we never should bring her to a state of convalescence. She thinks,
if she had returned with you to Cincinnati, she should have escaped
this fever, and perhaps she might. But I am something of a believer
in destiny, and cannot feel so sure of that. I ever have experienced
the alternations of joy and sorrow, and have learned to find solace in
weighing the sufferings against the consolations of our condition. The
43

338

moral nature, I suppose, bears some analogy to physical nature, and
its wants to that of the physical world ; and we all know that the
-alternation of storm and tempest with sunshine and bland zephyrs
is indispensable to the hitter, and we have equal reason to believe
that adversity, as much as prosperity, is a necessary discipline of the
former. To learn to bear whatever Heaven sends, and to feel that it
is right, is all that is required in the way of submission.

Anne Jean was confined to her room two months ; the last part of
the time she took a short ride every day. I endeavor to believe that
her constitution is to be greatly renovated and improved by this fever ;
but may be disappointed. She had Estes Howe's friend, Austin Flint,
for her doctor. Mrs. Howe wrote me that Estes had not got any
patients as yet, and it is hardly to be expected that he would, the first
six months. But I am strongly in hopes that he will do well by
waiting.

I am very desirous to hear if Miss Harriet Beecher is married, and
all that occasions any sensation among you.

I dare say Estes has received a letter from his mother, giving him
an account of Lucy Ashniun's death, which, as she has lived with her
many years, was a very affecting circumstance to her. Lucy died on
the 16th of this month. She had been in the habit of going down-
stairs every day, until Friday, when she thought she felt too weak to
rise. Her brother spent the afternoon with her, and, though they
talked a great deal, she did not advert to dying. But, early on Satur-
day morning, she passed away in sleep, without a motion or struggle,
just as her brother Hooker did. She had every thing to make her com-
fortable. Mrs. Spelman and her daughter made common cause with
Mrs. Howe in doing every thing for her comfort. These two ladies
are very charming women ; and I think, if Harriet should ever come
to live in Cincinnati, you will lie very much delighted with her.

How is Tracy, your sister Sally, the Feabodys, and Mr. Bartol get-
ting along ?

339

We have just been reading Sparks's second volume of " Washington's
Life," and are delighted with it. I never before have realized how
much he must have encountered from his earliest youth, forgetting all
the convenient and comfortable things an ample fortune and good home
would furnish him with, while he was living in the most comfortless
manner, eating for months what the meanest slave would complain of
as a hardship. How much our children ought to learn from such an
example in application to the common affairs of life ! and what a beau-
tiful illustration is his life of the power of self-denial and self-dis-
cipline !

I hear often of Joseph and Edward. The latter has recovered, made
us a visit, and returned. Eliza has been well this winter, but her chil-
dren have not.

Your affectionate aunt.

P. S. My little ladies and Anne Jean send much love. A great
deal of love to my nephews and Tracy's wife.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, July 11, 1830.
My dear Abbt, — Mr. Stone of Dayton called here in passing, and
was kind enough to say that he would take a letter for us. I should
have devoted the short space he gave me to writing, but I wanted to
take him to see Mrs. Rogers, as he would be likely to see her sister
when he got home ; and that has left me but a few minutes for the
pen. Mrs. Rogers has been here about three weeks ; her calm loveli-
ness has an attraction for every one, though none seem to feel the
power of it as Anne Jean and myself do. In her, beauty seems to be
the real type by which moral qualities are expressed in the outer man.
And if it were proved to be a false one, how entirely would it lose its
power over us ! When I see Mrs. Rogers, I can't help thinking how
one particle of affectation or artificiality in any of its forms would- mar

340

this pure emblem of virtue. And her children seem to be after the
same pattern. With such treasures, Mr. Rogers cannot know the bit-
terness of poverty.

When I was in Boston, in May, I saw your sisters every day. Martha
was well, and happy in her condition. Mrs. Cary has a son, her sev-
enth child.

Mr. Pierpont will be at home in August. Their youngest daughter
is at the same school where my children are ; with Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln
of Deerfield. They are accomplished scholars, and we are pleased
with the situation for our children. Miss Stearns was obliged to leave
here on account of her health, which left us no school but the Semi-
nary. Mrs. Cochran and her daughters have bought the cottage Sally
Woodard lived in when you' were here, and we think them an acquisi-
tion to our society. I have lost my dear young doctor, which is a very
serious loss to me ; because, besides his society as a friend, tliere is no
one in his profession here whom I have had the same confidence in.
He was the only one who continued to be a student, and who was
interested in the modern journals ; besides being the best surgeon we
had. He has gone West, in tbe bope of meeting with some elderly
physician who would like a partner, and like to establish a small med-
ical school, such as lie lias taken care of here with his father. If there
is any such want in your place, I beg you will inform me. I do not
hear how my nephew succeeds with you. But 1 have been disposed to
the opinion that he would not remain in C. on account of the young
lady he is to marry. And I doubt if Tracy will remain tliere always,
though I have not seen him yet. Give my love to Estes ; tell him, if
he has any information to give Dr. , he must address him at Buf-
falo, for the ensuing six weeks. Mrs. Rogers sends a great deal of
love to yourself, sisters, and Mr. Greene. Says there is no place on
earth she should like to live in so well as C. I do not feel sure, if an
opportunity should occur, but Anne Jean might be induced to go to
you in the autumn, if her father feels as if he could afford it.

Anne Jean Lyman.

341

Mrs. Lyman to Dr. Austin Flint.

Northampton, July 14, 1836.

Dear Austin, — Your friends here begin to feel very anxious to
hear from you, though in ten days' time they could have no reason to
think they should. When you had been gone a week, there was

a private opportunity offered us, and your sister, Mr. , and myself

wrote, being religiously determined that no private opportunity should
escape us. I believe I did not mention then, though I intended to,
that you left several letters behind, among others Dr. Gallop's ; and
that Mr. Lyman enclosed them and sent them by Morris Butler, who
may not be in B. for some time yet. I dare say when this reaches
you, that you may not have received the package -by Mr. Stone,
for I found out after he was gone that he expected to linger on

the way. Mr. Huntington will be accompanied by Mr. , Miss

's devoted friend, who has just been to visit her, with what suc-
cess Mr. H. can best inform you. All I can learn is that he is deter-
mined to persevere. So much for the power of almighty love. But
I am afraid he will not. I am afraid that she has an invincible indif-
ference, and is indisposed to make any sacrifices to the circumstance
of matrimony ; not believing that to be the infallible means of happi-
ness, any more than school-keeping. In this view she is right in the
abstract ; and still it is one of the elements belonging to the plan of
human destiny, out of which much good or evil may be extracted
according to its fitness and adaptation, and in that respect is like all
the other raw material of which human happiness is made. And we
have really no reason to complain, for a little observation will show us .
" good counteracting ill, and gladness, woe," continually ; and the
circumstances we most deplore are often the spring of our greatest
blessings.

I feel sensibly the deprivation of the sight of those cheerful faces I
have seen so often for the last fifteen months, to say nothing of the

•342

angel-baby. But the pleasures of the mind ought to be as great as the
pleasures of sight ; and I can say to you as I do to my own sons, If I
can contemplate them happy and useful, and respectable in their voca-
tions, an honor and not a disgrace to their friends, I will give up the
pleasure of seeing them.

I do not think of any thing in particular to communicate that will
interest you. Susan and M. Cochran were here last evening, and they
are all well at your father's. I have written twice to Anne as oppor-
tunities have offered, but have not yet heard from her; for she knows I
do not expect she will be particular to answer my scrawls, which have
been written only to inspire her with a new supply of strength and con-
tentment with her destiny.

In haste, yours,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Dr. Austin Flint.

Northampton, July 18, 1836.
My dear Austin, — When there is any kind of excitement amongst
us, you know it comes like an overwhelming torrent. This has been the
case last week. On Thursday Mr. Webster came here, I believe with the
intention of leaving the next day. But Mrs. Webster was taken quite
ill, and required a physician, and he was obliged to remain until she
recovered, which was not until the following Monday. Of course, as
he was well, and his daughter who was with him, there was a chance
for a great deal of glorification, in which we as usual bore a distin-
guished part. On Friday, Mr. Bates and myself held a council on
what was proper to be done by the ladies, and agreed there must be a
party that would include everybody that ever visits, and who would
be gratified to see Mr.' Webster and daughter; and he consented that
it should be at his house in the evening. During the day, Mr. Lyman
and Mr. Bates were to ride with the man whom the people are
delighted to honor, and show him whatever was worthy to be seen ;

343

and in the evening an assembly at Mr. Bates's. The next morning, the
young gentlemen and ladies rode on horseback and in carriages to
Mount Warner, and home under Mount Holyoke and the Ferry, and
in the evening assembled at my house; while the elder gentlemen took
a late dinner at the Mansion, given in honor of Mr. Webster, who
came also in the evening. Mr. Webster listened with absorbed atten-
tion to your sister's playing, an hour and a half, and said he was
rarely so much entertained by a lady's music' : and added, " I could
have loved her had she not been fair," — making, very gallantly, the
quotation from one of her prettiest songs.

Only think of supposing that you will get home-sick and dispirited if
you are not written to! I should like to punish you a little for letting
Mrs. Huntingdon come away without a line to somebody to say that
you had a pleasant or unpleasant journey ; tbat tbe first impression
was joyous or grievous ; that you had borne the separation from the
loved ones manfully or otherwise. I wish we had kept A. and baby
here a few weeks, for then we should have been sure of hearing tic mi
you. But I was delighted with what Mrs. H. told me ; only that I
wanted it from yourself.

After lingering five weeks, Mr. Stearns's child died on Tuesday even-
ing, in a most suffering state. Your father and myself were with it.
The parents are exhausted and sick, and we hope to get them to take
a journey. Dr. Bancroft happened to stop here for a visit, and officiated
at the funeral, and will send Mr. Teabody up from Springfield to preach
on Sunday. Thus the vicissitudes of this life are ever proving to us
that " This is not our rest." But there are some joys which nothing
can deprive us of, — our peace of conscience, and sense of doing
right ;

" What nothing earthly gives or can destroy,

The soul's oalm sunshine and the heartfelt joy :

'Tis Virtue's prize ;

Is bless'd in what it takes and what it gives."

344

I am told Buffalo furnishes an epitome of the grossest vices of the
largest cities. If you stay there, you will have often an opportunity of
acting the part of minister at large, or missionary. And you must
never forget that every opportunity of doing good is a golden privi-
lege ; inasmuch as it furnishes us with the chance to imitate Him " who
came to minister, and not to be ministered unto." Our worldly and
our spiritual interests are so beautifully harmonized, that every thing
we do contributing to the latter may likewise be made tributary to
the former. Your profession, like that of a clergyman, furnishes the
power for a wide diffusion of every thing that is useful, morally as well
as physically. To be seen at church every Sunday is an unequivocal
manifestation of your respect for the institution of the Sabbath ; the
instructions and reflections of which occasion lie deeply at the founda-
tion of both morals and religion. I know of no way to nourish spiritual
life in the soul but to " feed it with food convenient for it." Tis the
day for balancing our accounts with conscience, and laying in a new
stock of wise reflections for future use ; which want replenishing as
often as one day in seven, or Heaven would not have appointed such a
use for a seventh part of our time.

July 23. Since the above was written, many things have occurred
deeply interesting to my feelings. My friend, Mrs. John Howard, of
Springfield, has died as she has expected to, — under the most aggra-
vated circumstances that a woman can leave the world. She never gave
birth to her child ; but died in the effort. In this dreadful manner
have six of my youthful contemporaries departed this life ; though
some of them were advanced, as was Mrs. . This morning I re-
ceived a letter from dear Anne Flint, which was unexpected, I assure
you ; for I thought, with the baby not very well, she had enough to do
without writing to any one but her husband ; and I knew she would be
faithful to that duty. She expresses much pleasure in the idea that
you are encouraged as it regards your future prospects. I am delighted

that you realize your anticipations. "We never can Lave unmingled
pleasure in seeing and being near our friends, unless we can see them
prosperous to a certain extent, and happy. That you always may be
so, and deserve to he so, is the anient wish of my heart.

I passed all day yesterday in your father's society, at Mr. C. P.
Huntington's, who has another sun. 1 have seen your sister S. (his
morning. She was just going to take a ride to Bclcliertown to pass the
day. .She says the terms of existence are much mitigated to her by
having a good domestic; they are all well at your father's. What
shall I say in extenuation of the crime of writing such a long and un-
profitable epistle? But no matter; by an effort of imagination you
can convince yourself that it is written by an affectionate mother after
her first separation from an amiable and much-loved son.

I think, if you remain in Buffalo, you will find no difficulty in getting

the organ for to play upon.

Yours affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

In the foregoing letter, my mother tells Dr. Flint that his sister said,
" the terms of my existence are much mitigated," &c. This young
girl never could have made use of that expression ; and this her cor-
respondent knew. My mother and her sister, Eliza Robbins, had both
of them a wonderful use of language. I never have heard any thing
at all like it. To repeat the things they said always makes them
sound pedantic ; but in their mouths this was never the case. As late as
the summer of 1856, in Cambridge, my mother took her granddaughter,
Hannah Brewer, to the window, and described in most glowing lan-
guage the change in the appearance of the Common ; beginning,
" Formerly, Hannah, this green expanse was only an arid waste ; " and
going on as if she were making a speech. And the same summer,
when I was crossing the Common with her, she stopped suddenly,
looked at the little trees with their growing foliage, and exclaimed,

346

"Oh, Susanna! I have crossed this Common under the vertical rays of
a meridian sun, when I have sighed ' for a lodge in some vast wilder-
ness, some boundless coutujuitij of shade.' But, thank God, that time
lias passed."

It is related of my Aunt Eliza, that once, being on a visit to the poet
Bryant, she remained alone in his study ; when a cabinet-maker brought
home a chair that had been altered. When Mr. Bryant returned, he
said, " Miss Robbins, what did the man say about my chair ?" " That
the equilibrium is now admirably adjusted," said Aunt Eliza, scarcely
lifting her eyes from the book she was reading. " What a fine fellow,"
said Mr. Bryant laughing ; " I never heard him talk like that! Now,
Miss Robbins, what did he say ? "' " Well, lie said ' It joggled just
right,' " said my aunt.

In the "Life of Catherine M. Sedgwick," in a letter from Miss
Sedgwick to Mrs. Minot, on page o"20, occurs this reference to my
Aunt Eliza : —

" I called to see Miss Robbins on my way home. She lamented her
brother's death with the eloquence of an old Hebrew. If your eyes
were shut, you might have fancied that it was a supplemental chapter
of Job. It was a holy rhapsody on life and death. I thought I should
have remembered some of it, but I might as well have caught a pitcher
of water from the Falls of Niagara. — its force carried it away."

Mrs. Lijiuiiii tn Iwr s<>n E<ln'ttr<l.

Northampton, September 25, 1836.
My dear Edward, — . . . When you spoke of but just coming to
the conviction of what Sunday was for, it reminded me of what I have
often said. " that, though precept is good, cr/irrirucf is a better teacher
still." You always have seen and felt that it was a day to acknowl-
edge and worship a Heavenly Father, and learn what our duty to him
is. But now your experience teaches you to realize, that in addition

.347

to those duties there is another design in it; and on thai day a man
may rest from his labors and give himself up, while resting the body, to
holy meditation, and to balancing the accounts of his conscience, seeing

wherein he can improve upon the past week ; and with the aid of such
reflections he may extract much good from the circumstances which
have occurred to him. Many think that books are the only source of
improvement ; but the affairs of this life, while they enlarge our
experience, may continually administer to our improvement by proper
reflections, — and books can be of no use without reflection, though most
valuable auxiliaries with it. "Keep thy heart with all diligence," was
a wise admonition from our wisest and best of friends. In those few
words are contained a great many valuable principles. It may be
interpreted, Keep your affections pure ; avoid all pleasures that are
sinful, and hurt the soul : there are endless pleasures which are
innocent, and improve it. Cultivate a sense of the presence of an All-
seeing Eye, one whom you would not for the world offend.

Now I am in too much pain to sit long to write ; it is two months
since I have known any long interval from pain. I was three days
divested of it, and wrote all my friends I had got well ; but at the end
of that time it returned with renewed violence, though not at all as I
had it last winter, and the year before. I continue to take quinine,
and use the same remedies I did under Dr. A. Flint's care ; but I dare
say it will hang on three months as usual.

A young man from Buffalo says the doctor has magnified himself
greatly by his success in the case of a very bad fractured skull, and
reducing a dislocated hip of long standing ; and thinks he has already
distinguished himself very much for the time he has been there.

Miss Tyng comes often to see me, and I enjoy her very much. I
think she will stay some time longer.

I was sorry to hear Mr. Blake and wife had gone, as a last resort, to
the Maverick House. Give my love to all friends, and believe me the
greatest pleasure of my life is the belief that my children are good,

348

and an honor to their parents. When I am in the most severe bodily
pain, I can say with heartfelt satisfaction this is nothing, when I think
of those whose children are a source of daily tears.

In this last letter to my brother Edward, my mother mentions being
in much pain. To those wh<> remember the fearful sciatica that at-
tacked her in 1834, and lasted for five years, often with intense severity,
her infrequent and slight allusion to it is marvellous. For months
together she would sometimes pass whole nights walking the room in
agony; but at the breakfast-table no mention of all she had endured
escaped her. She bore the infliction with the heroism of a martyr, inter-
mitted none of her duties, laid aside none of her hospitalities: simply
remarking, when we expressed sympathy for her, or wonder that she
could do so much, that she thanked God for the great physical strength
that enabled her to go on with her work even in misery. The elder Dr.
Flint showed her the greatest consideration and sympathy. He once
told me he had never given powerful sedatives with so little effect.

In the autumn of l*;'.ii. our dear Anne went to her room for the
last time. Ten weeks of alternation between hope and fear followed,
and on the 21st of January, 1837, this saintly young spirit, this ideal
daughter, sister, and friend, with her exquisite beauty and Madonna-
like purity passed from earth to the society of angels.

Mrs. Lyman to her *<ui Edward.

Northampton, December 11, 1836.
My dear Edward, — I have nothing new to tell you of Anne ; she
seems to have reached a stationary point in her disease. She suffers a
great deal, and by her continuing so long I think it fair to hope that a
favorable change may yet take place, — though at present there is not
even a. faint indication of any thing of the sort. You may well sup-
pose I feel my spirits worn out, when 1 tell you she scarcely ever loses

349

herself in sleep, notwithstanding continued draughts of an anodyne
character. She can't bear any thing on her stomach but such draughts
and soda water.

I was surprised to hear of my friend, Mrs. Barnard's death, but I
hope her friends will see nothing but mercy in this dispensation. I
had heard she was considered, at Hartford, as incurable ; and, to me,
death seemed like a friend to her. Mrs. Barnard's uniform kindness
and sisterly affection, which commenced with my earliest childhood,
never will be effaced from my memory. I am glad I have noi seen
her since her reason was impaired, for my impressions of her are
always agreeable. Anne Jean observed, when I told her of her death,
" no one ever did so much to make me happy as Mrs. Barnard, except
my near relatives." Many young people may say the same thing with
equal truth. Assure her husband and children, and Miss Bent, of my
warmest sympathy ; for I shall not be able to write to them, as I should
under other circumstances.

Your affectionate mother, in haste.

P. S. Jane has been sitting with A. J. while I have written to you and
Joseph. Your aunt bore her journey well, and has gone to meeting
to hear Dr. Willard preach. Give my best love to your sister Eliza,
and let her see this.

Judge Lyman to his son Edward.

Northampton, January 1, 1837.
Dear Edward, — I have nothing new to say concerning dear Anne
Jean's situation. She is much as she has been for the last twelve days.
Within that time we have had some days when we have been much
encouraged, and had strong hopes of her recovery. This day we have
been discouraged, — ■ though Dr. Flint says that she is no worse. What
the event may be is known only to Him with whom are the issues of life

350

and death. To His will it is our duty to be submissive and resigned.
My heart is, perhaps, too much bound up in this dear child, whom I
have ever expected to soothe my dying moments, — to submit patiently
to such a dispensation of Providence as would deprive me of her. Dr.
Flint continues to encourage us, yet we are at times distrustful.

Wishing you a happy New Year, and that you may increase in knowl-
edge, virtue, and usefulness, is the earnest prayer of
Your affectionate father,

Joseph Lyman.

Our dear Anne died on Saturday evening, the 21st of January.
When there occurs one of tbosc marvellous natural phenomena that
excites universal wonder and delight, we are wont to associate it with
the event most deeply interesting to us at the time. I recall, at this
distant day, the sad evening after her funeral, when, after our brother
Sam and sister Almira had left us. — they also in the deepest afflic-
tion for the loss of their beautiful little daughter, who had died only
a few hours later, and was laid in the same grave with our Anne, —
as we all sat mournfully round the fire in the old parlor, the door
opened softly, and our kind neighbor, Mrs. Hunt, looked in. " I think
it would do you all good," she said gently, " to come to the front door
and look out." We all put on shawls, and went out into the snow.
Oh, what a glorious scene was that ! The whole heavens were red and
glowing, from horizon to horizon ; the snow was red, and the effect
of this wondrous light upon the whole landscape, the leafless trees,
the buildings, was something magical and indescribable. No tele-
graphs announced next morning how that wonderful aurora of 1837
extended over the whole northern hemisphere ; but, in the course of a
week or ten days, the newspapers had informed us how all the prin-
cipal cities had received this spectacle ; how fire-engines had been
pursuing what they supposed to be a great fire, for many miles, in cities
like New York and Philadelphia.

351

Only a few years later, our friend, Mrs. Hunt, was called to pari
with her daughter Maria. And shortly afterwards occurred another
scene, — different, it is true, but equally impressed upon the minds of
those who witnessed it. A gentle rain falling all night had frozen
about the trees and over every little twig and bush in our village, and
we- waked to a brilliant sunshine and blue sky, and a fairy-land of
prisms and wonderful enchantment. The whole village was astir;
sleigh-hells were jingling everywhere. Every one who could hire beg,
or borrow a sleigh or horse of any description was out as if for holiday.
Up to Round Hill first, then down to the Meadows ; neighbors joyously
hallooing to each other from morning till night. And, oh ! when
evening came, and the full moon shone down on the beautiful village,
what words can describe the scene ! I remembered the aurora of 18o7,
and Mrs. Hunt's calling us to look at it. And I went to her door and
asked her to come out. Through her tears she said with fervor, " Oh !
if this world can be so beautiful, what must be that to which my child
has gone ! "

Mrs. Lyman to Br. Austin Flint.

Northampton, February 1, 1837.
Your letter, my dear Austin, reached me at the very moment when
1 was expecting the immediate departure of my beloved child ; but she
revived, and lived two days afterwards. How can I, if 1 would, de-
scribe to you all the sorrow of this separation? I have no language
adequate to the expression of what I have suffered, and what I must
suffer. The shadows of the past hang like a cloud over my path ;
they obstruct my view of the future : and I am almost in doubt where
I am, or what I shall do next. I can say, with Job, " Though he slay
me. yet will I trust in God." But, think how all my plans, all my
objects in life, were connected with her that is gone ! Was she not
my sun-light, my angel of mercy, my pride, my stay, my companion
and friend ; and withal (unworthy as I am to have that privilege) my

352

holy child ? She was, indeed, more a being of heaven than earth ; and
why should she stay here ? It was my greatest pleasure to make her
happy. But who could release her while on earth from that dreadful
burden her Heavenly Father had seen fit to lay upon her? She was,
indeed, perfected through much suffering. Dear child! I wish I could
dispossess my mind of the weeks and months of anguish by which she was
finally brought to resign this life. 1 could have been more resigned to
commit her to some of the many mansions prepared for those who die
in the Lord ; but I have found it very difficult to be resigned to her
sufferings. The long and sleepless days and nights, which continued
nine weeks, are ever before my imagination, like so many spectres ;
and I feel thankful when I can lose, but for a short time, this painful
and all-absorbing consciousness of distress; and I am trying in every
possible way to divert my thoughts from it. Many people ask me what
she said and what she did. I can only answer, she suffered all the
time. If there was an interval long enough, she was willing to lie
amused in any way ; or to have prayers read, or the Scriptures. Her
mind was always unclouded and rational; and, when she was aide to
see him, she enjoyed Mr. Stearns's conversation and prayers. But she
told him he must not. expect the same degree of religious fervor from
her, that was common to her in health, for she felt that all her powers
were under the dominion of disease. She said she had no fear of death.
She was at peace with her .Maker, and with all mankind. She was
truly kl a holy child of God," whose excellencies could be discovered
only in the recesses of her retirement.

You know with what a relentless grasp disease had fastened itself
upon her. I shall not attempt it, but I wish your father would give
you an account of the variety of derangements that had been fixed for
years upon her constitution. She was convinced herself, ami spoke of
it, that she must- have been very carefully medicated when under your
care a year ago, ever to have regained any portion of health, after that
long and dreadful fever. She often spoke of your saying to her, " You

353

must make an effort to get out of your room and take the air, and get
some exercise." "How little he knows," said she, "that it is an effort
to live, under any circumstances ; and to draw the vital air, even in
my easy-chair." How often I have shed tears over such recitals,
Heaven only knows. To feel that one so young was under a perpetual
blight was at times unspeakably distressing to me. But why should I
prolong this gloomy subject ? It is because " out of the fulness of the
heart, the mouth speaketh ; " and I have no power to think of other
subjects.

came to see me yesterday ; she says your father thinks and

talks of you a great deal, and entertains a tender anxiety for your

progress. I judge from what Mr. says about your lectures, that

you are encouraged that they will be an advantage to you. I was much
obliged to you for sending me the newspaper, and I sent it to your
father. If I could have given attention to any thing but my sick-room,
I would have sent it to your grandfather. You must not think I am
unwilling to be the repository of your troubles, if you will only allow
me to be the participator of your joys. Anne Jean said, " I am delighted
that he has found, amidst all the disappointments of this world, what a
resource religious hope is. May he, in his life, illustrate the '-beauty
of holiness.' May he spend it in laying up treasures in heaven." Now
your very profession constitutes you an " angel of mercy," one of
Heaven's agents for applying antidotes to the physical miseries of the
human race ; it enables you to mitigate the suffering of your fellow-crea-
tures. And I know by my own experience, both of yourself and others,
the magical charm in obliterating mental suffering, such as we often
find combined with physical pain, that gentlemen of your profession
have power, by kindness and suavity of manner, so liberally to ad-
minister.

Give my love to dear Anne, and the baby ; tell her to consider this
as equally addressed to herself. Tell her she must look on all the
disappointments she meets with in life, as so many ministers of good

354

to her soul. She must not allow them to make her impatient, but
apply them so as to produce "the peaceable fruits of righteousness."'
If she does not, her religion is of no avail.

Yours most affectionately,

Anne Jean Lyman.

P. S. I did not mention that I had the comfort of my son Edward's
presence the last weeks of Anne Jean's life ; and should have had Jo-
seph, but I wrote and entreated him not to come.

Mr. L. thinks if, after you have finished your course of lectures, you
would offer yourself for an assistant to some physician at Buffalo, who
would like to keep a medical school, you might advance yourself in that
way.

Mr. R. W. Emerson t<> Mrs. Lyman.

Concord, February :J. 1837.
My hear Madam, — I have not attempted to write to you since I
heard of the death of Anne Jean, for death makes us all dumb. They
who have had many losses, gain thereby no wisdom that can be im-
parted, and each loss makes us more and not less sufferers by all that
follow. Yet I must write, if only to tell you that the news was very
painful to me, — to me, quite out of the pleasant circle in which she
was living, and, on account of my distance, quite uncertain of ever
seeing her. How gladly I have remembered the glimpses I had of her
sunny childhood, her winning manners, her persuading speech that
then made her father, 1 believe, call her his '-lawyer." In the pleasant
weeks I spent at your house, I rejoiced in the promise of her beauty,
and have pleased myself with the hope that she was surmounting her
early trials, and was destined to be one of those rare women who exalt
society, and who make credible to us a better society than is seen in
the earth. I still keep by me one of her drawings which she gave me.
I have scarcely seen her face since. Cut we feel a property in all the

355

accomplishments and graces that we know, which neither distance nor
absence destroys. For my part, I grudge the decays of the young and
beautiful whom I may never see again. Even in their death, is the
reflection that we are forever enriched by having beheld them, — that
we can never be quite poor and low, for they have furnished our heart
and mind with new elements of beauty and wisdom.

And, now she is gone out of your sight, I have only to offer to you
and to Judge Lyman my respectful and affectionate condolence. I am
sure I need not suggest the deep consolations of the spiritual life, for
love is the first believer, and all the remembrances of her life will plead
with you in behalf of the hope of all souls. How do we go, all of us,
to the world of spirits, marshalled and beckoned unto by noble and
lovely friends ! That event cannot be fearful which made a part of the
constitution and career of beings so finely framed and touched, and
whose influence on us has been so benign. These sad departures open
to us, as other events do not, that ineradicable faith which the secret
history of every year strips of its obscurities, — that we can and must
exist forevermore.

You will grieve, I know, at the absence of Joseph, at this time. I
lament his great loss. When you write him, please send him my
affectionate remembrance. He has kindly forwarded to me lately a
bundle of Charles's letters to him, which have given great pleasure to
my mother, Elizabeth Hoar, and myself. My mother feels drawn to you
by likeness of sorrows, and desires me to express to you her sympathy.
Your friend,

R. Waldo Emerson.

CHAPTER XVI.

In tliy far-away dwelling, wherever it be,

I believe thou hast visions of mine;
And thy love, that made all things as music to me,

I have not yet learned to resign ;
In the hush of the night, on the waste of the sea,

Or alone with the breeze on the hill,
I have ever a presence that whispers of thee,

And my spirit lies down and is still.

And though, like a mourner that sits by a tomb,
• I am wrapped in a mantle of care,
Yet the grief of my bosom, — oh ! call it not gloom, —

Is not the black grief of despair ;
By sorrow revealed, as the stars are by night,

Far off a bright vision appears ;
And Hope, like a rainbow, a creature of light,
Is born like the rainbow, — in tears.

T. K. Hekvet.

ALTHOUGH my dear mother had experienced griefs and dis-
appointments, snch as come to all the children of earth, no
sorrow had ever been to her like the loss of our Anne. Anne resem-
bled her father more in temperament and character than she did her
mother. Her temperament was always balm to the large and generous,
but too impulsive, spirit, whom she loved and understood as few others
did. My mother's grief was life-long ; and we, who knew her best,
felt that from this time on she lived always in the invisible presence of
the beloved child who had gone. There was not a trace of selfishness
in her grief, or of rebellion ; it was the pure and intense sorrow of
longing for the beautiful presence and companionship that had rounded

357

her life. The forms of grief were nothing to her ; she never shut herself
up for a day ; the house was open to friends and neighbors, as it always
had been ; and to the casual observer there might seem little change.
But, what added tenderness and sympathy for all sorrow we saw in
her, and renewed activity in serving all who came within her reach !
And as years wore on, her cheerfulness returned, and that fulness of
life that gave joy to many, — although, while reason lasted, she was
subject to occasional days of violent and bitter weeping for Anne Jean,
which nothing could assuage, — even as late as twenty years, ami
more, after her departure.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, February 8, 1837.
My dear Edward, — I thought as soon as you had gone I should
busy myself in setting my house in order, getting rid of Lucy, and
attending to all sorts of creature-comforts ; but no such things did I
do. I found I had come to a golden opportunity for reflection, and I
would avail myself of it, and let Mrs. Bird and others take care of my
affairs. How I wish I could set my mind in order with the same ease
that I can my house ; that that large branch of the mental household
we call the affections could be revolutionized, — changed in its various
appropriations, with the same facility we do our furniture ! But it is
not so. She who has occupied my first thoughts, my most tender in-
terest, because of her infirmity for so long a time, still keeps possession
of my heart, and blinds my eyes to other and now more important call-
ings. But we must direct our thoughts into other channels, and
appropriate our attention to other objects than have hitherto engaged
them ; and accustom ourselves to the new duties that have devolved
upon us, by this change in our hearts ; and, like others in like circum-
stances, in time we shall. But it can't be done in a minute.

358

Mrs. Lyman to her son Eclivard.

Northampton-, February 14, 1837.

Since Susan recovered from her indisposition we have had the inter-
ruption of a good many calls. I cannot say I have received any that
were not grateful to me, for they seemed to be a sincere expression of
kindness and sympathy ; and I have had every proof of the respect
they had for the character of my departed daughter. My neighbors
have all expressed regret that they could not do any thing for Anne
Juan, who had, they said, " done so much for others." There is a
pleasure in feeling that we are remembered in our trouble, and are the
subjects of the good-will of those around us. And it is particularly
gratifying to know that one you loved and appreciated was likewise
valued by your friends and neighbors.

I have last week read aloud to your father " Yon Raumcr's Eng-
land," as it was in 1835, < luring the change of the ministry, and the
passage of the Reform Bill ; likewise, " Ion." — a tragedy, beautifully
written, with a very poor plot. I am glad you have heard Mr. Emer-
son's lectures ; whatever censures he may incur from those too gross
for his refinement, he always will draw from a fountain of purity and
accurate information. I had an excellent letter from him, and shall
acknowledge it at my leisure. . . . The children are a constant
comfort to me : I don't know what I could do without them.

Your affectionate

Mother.

Mrs. Lyman to Airs. Greene.

Northampton. February 20, 1837.

My dear Abby, — I got your letter and Mr. Greene's yesterday.

They are a cordial to our wounded spirits. There is a melancholy

pleasure in realizing that our friends make common cause with us in

our affliction. I know that you are among the few who could know

359

and appreciate my dear, departed daughter. The world had left no
stain upon her heart. And 1 feel no doubt that she is enjoying the
beatitude of "the pure in heart." Dear, holy child ! I wish 1 could
obliterate the remembrance of the nine weeks of pain and suffering
which brought her to the relentless grave. But these seem indissolubly
blended with her now. and add much to my suffering. Much as sor-
row claims from the remembrance and sympathy of friends, I can
truly say that mine have more than answered my expectation. All of
them have expressed their sense of our loss, and remembered our
sorrow, and understood its magnitude. But, with all that reason,
religion, and the sympathy of friends can suggest, the heart will bleed
for a time, and the shadow of the past will hang over our path, obscur-
ing our views of the future. You have realized how sad it is to think
that one of our best earthly treasures is gone from us, never more to be
enjoyed in this world. And this is the impression strongest on our
minds for a time. Reason and religion assure us that the Almighty
can arrange our destiny much better for us than we can for ourselves ;
and that all we call ours is but a loan that, whenever called for, must
be resigned with submission. May I prove able to learn this hard
lesson : and at the same time make all those new appropriations of
thoughts, feelings, interests, and affections, — to say nothing of time
and companionship, — which have so long been bestowed upon her that
is gone ! Few can know what Anne Jean was to me. But it ought to
be, and is, an unspeakable consolation, that the earliest fruits of her
youth were given to her Heavenly Father. She never was unmindful
of her religious duties, and tried to make us all better than we are ;
her life was fraught with much instruction to others. She accustomed
my children to receive strong religious impressions from many passing
events that otherwise might have been lost upon them, and had the
most unlimited influence over them ; so much so, that I never knew
them on any occasion to fail in attention to her recpiests, or in any
duty which she had prescribed to them. When she had been sick

36U

about a fortnight, the children returned from Deerfield. She often
called them to her, and reminded them of little deficiencies ; telling
them that life was made up of trifles, the aggregate of which constituted
duty ; and from time to time reminded them of what they must do to
be acceptable to their Heavenly Father, as well as what they must do
to be agreeable to their parents and friends. She said, if there was any
thing good in her she was indebted to me for it; but I shall always
think she was more indebted to self-discipline and self-instruction than
to anybody living.

She had had and promised herself much pleasure in continued inter-
course with you, if she had been destined to stay on earth. She was,
indeed, a holy child, of a most stainless character and life. 1 do n't
know that I have any thing to regret about her, but the burden her
Heavenly Father saw fit to lay upon her, all of which, no doubt, tended
to insure " the peaceable fruits of righteousness." During her long
sickness, much as she suffered from the weariness of being unable to
lie down, though she kept her bed nine weeks, and from sleepless-
ness,— for she rarely slept two hours in the twenty-four, — her mind
was perfectly unclouded and rational ; and she always had prayers and
the Scriptures read to her by Susan daily. She enjoyed frequent con-
versation with Mr. Stearns, and his prayers; was taken into the
church, and had t lie Rite administered to her in her room, with Susan
beside her. She told Mr. Steams he must not expect the same degree
of fervor from her that she felt when she had possession of her full
strength. She was willing always to be amused by reading or conver-
sation, when her sufferings were not too great. After she appeared to
be struck with death, the day before she died, she repeated Mrs.
Hemans's little poem, " Christ's Agony in the Garden," which will give
you a good idea of her reflections; and the last verse of the ■• Sun-
beam," by the same author. I try hard to divert my mind from the
sad reflections which now fill it.

I did not tell you that Sam's dear little child was buried at the same

361

time that Anne was, from our church, and in the same grave ; that
Mr. Stearns took the occasion to make an impression on the young

people by an appropriate address, which S has copied for you, and

it shall be sent by Mr. Dana, or some private opportunity. We shall
be disappointed if we do not see Mr. Dana here.

Give my love to all my nieces and nephews. I am much obliged to
them for their letters. I shall save them and yourself some of Anne
Jean's hair ; and, if it were in my power, I would have you all pins or
rings made.

Many think to do justice to Anne Jean's character when they say,
" she was very serious," or " very melancholy." But it was not so.
The absence of all worldly and unholy desires left her at peace in her
own mind, and enlarged greatly the means of intellectual enjoyment.
She had uniform cheerfulness ; and, had it not been for personal suf-
fering, might be represented as unusually happy.

With love to all your family, in which your uncle joins, believe me
Yours very affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. The children desire their love to yours. Poor Joseph writes
as if he were inoonsolable under his great affliction. If I go to see
him in the spring, I shall certainly get as far as Cincinnati. I have
no school for my children, and feel the importance of devoting much
time to them. They have an excellent French teacher, and seem to
he improving very fast in that, as well as in household accomplish-
ments, which must always be important to a woman in any condition
of life in this country. Tell Harriet the last work Anne Jean ever did
was to make three garments for her grandmother, which she sent
her.

362

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, April 21, 1837;

My dear Edward, — As I am all the society the little girls have,
and Susan is not very well, I endeavor to be as cheerful as 1 can be.
It is twelve weeks since I buried one of my best earthly treasures, and
my daily experience only serves to magnify the weight of my depriva-
tion. We cannot realize at once the extent of our privileges. I do n't
know that we ever do until they are withdrawn, and then it takes a
long time to discern the full extent and influence of our loss. But, in
the course of time, disappointment will gather to itself the vigor of an
enduring form ; and it is then that we realize the true state, not only
of our own nature, but the means of happiness which actually surround
us. And, having drunk of the cup of bitterness, we are taught to feel
the full value of all that is good and pleasurable in our destiny, — rid-
ding ourselves of all unreasonable and imaginary hopes of the future,
and substituting in their places anticipations which cannot fail.

Mr. C. P. Huntington got home last night, and brought me a young
girl of fourteen years of age, that I was very glad to get. Catherine
seemed so much to want for something to animate her that I have tried
the experiment of sending her to the high school.

Mrs. Lyman to Dr. and Mrs. Flint.

Northampton, April 28, 1837.
My dear Friends, — I sat down to write, thinking I had a good
opportunity, but hear the persons going will go West by the way of
Philadelphia instead of Buffalo, which is a very serious disappointment
to me, as I have had a bundle for you, sent me by Mr. Kinsley a
month ago, and have never been able to hear of any one who could
take it from that time. If, my dear Anne, you should hear of any one
going, you must write and let me know, or you must submit to the

363

delay ; for the bundle is too valuable to subject to any risk. A coat
cannot be packed in a very compact form, and I expect to be able to put
in with it a morning dress for you, like one S. F. has, which she says
washes perfectly well, and that I suppose, to one who tends baby, will
be a recommendation ; for I do not profess it has any other. S. is
now in my parlor giving my Susan a lesson on the piano, and calls
herself pretty well ; though I think she is rather thin, and she occa-
sionally lias a head-ache, for which I recommend her to drink soda
water. So you see I have not given up my old habits of quackery.

You will remember the interest taken in the young Pole, who came
here less than a year ago — Jakabowski. He has taught my children
French during the winter in my parlor, and Lizzy F. a part of the time.
It is not a fortnight since he gave the last lesson ; but so rapid has
been his decline that yesterday morning he expired. When he was
told by Dr. Wright, who staid with him during the night he died, that
he probably would not live through the night, he said, " he could not
believe it, for he felt perfectly well."

Of another of the interesting occurrences of our village, perhaps S.
has written you. Last summer a young married woman, the only
child, and only tie to earth, of a widow lady in New Bedford, came
here to stay a few days ; got your father to prescribe for her, not being
very well, and the effect of his prescriptions doing her good, she per-
suaded her husband, Mr. Tabor, to leave her at the American Hotel
with a friend for a couple of months. And when she thought she had
perfectly recovered, in the autumn, her husband came and took her
home. But in the course of the past winter her consumptive symp-
toms returned ; and, in March, her husband brought her here, and
again put her under the care of Dr. Flint ; but after being here six weeks
she died, having interested those very much who became acquainted
with her during the last summer. She had very quiet Quaker hab-
its, was a cultivated woman of uncommon beauty, and made a good
deal the same impression that my beloved daughter was prone to, — a
being to be loved and valued for her intrinsic worth, but never to

364

excite admiration or astonishment. If you see the Northampton paper
of this week, you will see the account of her death. Seeing this pure
being placed in the relentless grave, I felt as if I had gone through
all the feelings of burying my Anne over again. So tenacious are we
of placing ourselves in the front ground of sorrow, and so entirely
could I make this mother's feelings mine ; almost forgetting the many
mitigating circumstances accompanying my misfortune, which did not
attach to her, who lias no husband and children to solace her weary
pilgrimage through this vale of tears.

1 shall ask no apology for this intrusion upon your attention, for
with my letters you probably anticipate receiving the inhabitants of my
mind and its interests. I do not think there is any thing melancholy
in Jakabowski's death; it was a consummation devoutly to lie wished
for. There was nothing in prospect for him but settled infirmity, with
no means of support but a reluctant charity ; and no one ever made
the transition from life unto death with less suffering. What he has
earned here was sufficient for bis support and funeral expenses, want-
ing but a few dollars.

Mr. H., M. D., has returned, and made a visit here. A winter in
Philadelphia has given him a good deal of ease, self-confidence,
and general improvement, as it relates to the external man. For I
think he has intrinsic worth of character and goodness enough to
excite warm friendship and sympathy ; and capacity enough to war-
rant the belief that in the course of time he will get a good living ;
and integrity and stability enough to justify perfect confidence.

As we can penetrate but little way into human destiny, it is hardly
worth while to trust ourselves in very profound speculations about
the future. One thing is certain ; we shall all die. I wish it were
equally certain that we should be prepared for the celestial abodes,
inhabited by the " spirits of the just made perfect."

You may see, in the " Northampton Courier," that Mr. Atwell has
informed the public that Mr. Stearns has asked for dismission. But
it is untrue. He is unwell, and wants this summer to recruit, and is

365

going to have it, and then return to us in the autumn. 1 think it not
unlikely that you may see him in the course of the summer in Buffalo.
Mr. Stearns has moved into Harrison Apthorp's house in the meadow,

and Mr. boards with them. And now, I believe, I have communi-
cated all that relates to Northampton, in which you could take an

interest. The Misses are going to Boston to-morrow to pass the

vacation. It is supposed goes with them, to learn the latest lash-
ions, and get wedding gear for . But of such affairs I know

nothing.

A voice from the spirit-land is ever in my ear, strengthening the
conviction of what I have lost, and urging me to consider the weight
and magnitude of the deprivation I have sustained. This, however,
does not prevent me from estimating the many blessings that remain,
nor of cultivating all those resources by which I am surrounded.
Heaven knows the greatest motive which prompted mo to desire the
life of my daughter was, that she might illustrate by her example the
beauty of virtue, and show how indissolubly holiness was connected
with human happiness.

When you see them, give my love to Mr. Allen and his wife, and do
not forget kind remembrances to Mr. Huntington and David. 1 have
been pleased that David has described the uncommon beauty of our
baby. I thought he was elegant when he left here. And now he is thir-
teen months old, walking about and talking, I think you must have
increased your pride in him greatly. I would give a great deal to see
him, as well as his father and mother. I was glad to hear your mother
and sister were going to Buffalo ; but I shall not quite believe it until
I hear they are there. I hope nothing will prevent your going to
house-keeping, for I think you will find " life's cares comforts." I have
realized that truth all my days. I consider living at board a painful
necessity, with which people should be patient if it is necessary, but

not a moment longer.

Your very affectionate

A. J. Lyman.

366

Mrs. Lyman to Br. Austin Flint.

May 14, 1837.
My dear Austin, —

The prevailing topics of conversation are the disastrous times. Those
having professions and (hose in office are now best off; so congratulate
yourself that you cannot fail. According to an immutable law of Divine
Wisdom, births, sickness, and death must always occur, ami must
always require the aid of your profession, and must consequently
always furnish you with the means of living. If not a splendid liv-
ing, a humble one ; and whichever way it is, I feel no doubt you will
have the wisdom to adapt yourself to it.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, June 23, 1s:;t.

My pear Abby, — Though my eyes have become so dim I can hardly
see, and though I am inexpressibly heavy and stupid from the effect of
a cold and sore throat, which I got when returning from Boston ten
days since, I will no longer do the violence to my own feelings and
principles to omit writing to you. I went to Cambridge, not thinking
my mother would live but a short time, and I returned under the im-
pression that her disease might be protracted for some time. I carried
my children, and we stayed a month, and their healths were greatly
benefited by the change ; for they had seen nothing but melancholy
faces for so long a time, that it had had a very deleterious influence on
their health, joined with other causes. But I returned to realize more
fully the desolation of my house. Martha returned with me, and I
have enjoyed her society very much. It is some time since we have
been together. She feels the great change in my house.

Joseph is now with us, and we are often entertained with his expe-
riences of western life and manners. He seems to have had great

367

satisfaction in all lie has seen and heard, and 1 tell him he had better
resume his profession and go and fill the place made vacant by Tracy.
"We have been truly grieved to hear of Mr. Greene's disappointment.
But he has had the magnanimity to bear a greater misfortune \\ ith sub-
mission, and I have no doubt will be sustained under this. 1 know the
diversity of his genius; and when the even tenor of his business re-
turns, I feel his difficulty will disappear. I know, too, your country is
fruitful in resources for the persevering and industrious, and that he is
one of them. Therefore I console myself with the idea that his present
interruption will be only a temporary inconvenience. This is a muta-
ble world, and those best prepared for its changes are best off. For if
we live apparently without changes, it is but for a season. With me,
disappointment has taken an enduring form. I expect my future enjoy-
ments will consist in unexpected exemptions from anticipated trouble.
When I lost my dear Anne, I determined never to consider any earthly
possession as mine again, but all indulgences, that might with justice
be resumed by the Supreme Disposer at any moment.

I hope you will be careful not to crowd little Catherine with studies,
for I think it has been an injury to my S., though it was self-inflicted.
Last summer she gave the most devoted attention to study and music ;
and for eight months, with the exception of a French teacher, she has
not been able to give any attention at all to any thing but reading. I
do not allow myself to depend upon her life ; if I did, I should antici-
pate unspeakable happiness from such a resource. For she has nothing
in her feelings and practice, that would not justify the belief that she
must be at least eighteen. She is very tall for fourteen, though rather
thin. . . .

I wish you and C. could come and pass a couple of months with us.
Give my love to your sisters ; I want much to see them, and think
another year I may get to Cincinnati. But I have thought so a great
while.

Your affectionate aunt,

Anne Jean Lyman.

368

P. S. We are listening to one of the best of preachers, Mr. Bulfinch ;
if you had not fixed upon a preacher, I should feel very anxious that
yon might have him at C. Our minister has left for the summer to
recruit his health.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Anne Flint.

Northampton, June 25, 1837.

My dear Anne, — I perceive that I shall not have time to write you
a real letter, but I can say a few words to congratulate you on getting
to house-keeping : a desideratum in young people's lives of great im-
portance in my estimation. It is in that, condition only, that people
can act themselves, and fully realize their own responsibility, or that
they can fully enjoy "that only bliss of paradise that has survived the
fall." Now you will feel your own power, in administering to the hap-
piness of eaeli member of your household, and not feel yourself to be
always in the power of other people; as those who are boarders must
feel. You are happy, too, in having a fountain of experience to draw
from, while your mother is with you ; and I hope she finds herself con-
tented and happy in her new condition. Some people are much more
easily transplanted than others, but she has carried the principal ele-
ments of happiness with her. Her children must lie the best resource
she has, in regard to society, and I am sure they will add both grace
and dignity to your establishment.

Mr. Stearns has gone away to recruit his health, and we have Mr.
S. G. Bulfinch in his place. -Mr. Bulfinch stayed a fortnight with us,
and we were delighted with him. He is an admirable preacher ; quite
as good as Mr. Steams; which you know is very high praise. I have
had a charming letter from Hannah Steams, and am glad to find you
have. There are hw, any where, as good as she is, and I shall be truly
glad if we ever get her back again.

I am glad you like Mr. Ilosmer, and hope his family will prove an
acquisition to you.

Your affectionate A. J. Lyman.

369

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, October 16, 1837.
I was a long time engaged away from home, and when I returned,
four weeks since, I found a great deal to do, to redeem the time I had
lost; besides the feeling of sickness at heart, which I realize to intense-
ness, whenever I return after an absence of some weeks to my deso-
lated home. I wrote to you some weeks since, to go by a private
opportunity, accompanied by a letter from Catherine to your Katie.
But I think it doubtful whether you will ever get it, when I consider
the length of time which had elapsed, when you last wrote, since I sent
the letter. Every thing I could learn of Mr. Silsbee was highly in
his favor. How happy is it for us, my dear Abby, that our foresight
carries us so little way, and that we are saved from the misery of an-
ticipating the sorrows that await us ! Almighty power and unerring
wisdom overrule our fate ; let us be humble, and, if we can, " rejoice
evermore."

Since this was written, I have heard that Mr. Greene was in these
parts, and hope I shall see him soon. Joseph found him on board the
steamboat, at New York, and left him at Newport. I cannot help
wishing Joseph had found some inducement to remain in the western
country, though, I suppose, in time he will get settled down here. He
seemed delighted with the West.

I have a great deal I could say to Charlotte, and trust in some com-
posed hour to be inspired to sit down and write to both her and Har-
riet. Tell H. it would gratify me to have her write me a history
of the past year, — her experiences and Sally's in general.

I did not see your Aunt Lord when I was in Cambridge, for I could
not go into Boston, my mother was so unwell.

Mr. Pierpont called on me, and said they were all well.
Since my return, I have been more busy than I can describe. My
woman has been sick, and is now gone ; and my young girl is so ineffi-

:J70

cient, that, if it, were not for my children being capable and useful,
I do n't know what would become of us. As it is, we get along com-
fortably, considering that we have constantly before us what we have
lost, — our efficient aid in times of need, as well as pleasurable com-
panion in times of rest.

As to Miss Martineau, her book is not without its good and pleasant
things ; but it is full of mistakes, misrepresentations, and radicalism.
It is an un wieldly task to judge of every thing, and it is a want of
modesty and good judgment to attempt it ; nor is it strange she
should fail. But I would have excused her for every thing but her
slander of the women of our country, and her chapter on the " Rights
of Women," in no part of which do I sympathize with her. I desire no
increase of power or responsibility. 1 have more than I can give a
good account of this moment.

Give my love to the children and your sisters. I hope you will be
able to read this hasty scrawl. In my other letter I have said every
thing you could desire concerning Mr. Peabody and his preaching.

Mrs. Rogers and family are well. They have bought the house they
live in, of Mr. Hall, fitted it- up, and seem to enjoy a great deal. They
have a beautiful baby, called Henry Broomfield.

Mr. Huntoon was much beloved, both in Milton and Canton. I
never heard aught but good of him, and hope your people arc disposed
to feel all they should for him. I presume he would not have left Mil-
ton had he not thought the western country a better position for the
advancement of his family.

November 10. People are not happier or better for being rich.
They are more composed and tranquil under the circumstances indi-
cated by Agar's prayer as good for all, " Give me neither poverty nor
riches," &c. May you always realize the enjoyment which that state
brings, and reflect with pleasure on the good you were enabled to do to
others under more prosperous circumstances. I have always lived under
circumstances requiring close economy, by the exercise of which I have

371

found as much satisfaction as I have observed others to gain m squan-
dering a great deal, because they happened to have the means. Now,
the practice of economy lays the foundation of much virtue ; for it
accustoms one to self-sacrificing habits, which leads to disinterestedness
in every variety of form. And we ought to be grateful for any event in
our destiny upon which by force we must erect a virtue ; — which virtue
will prove a satisfaction while on earth, and a certain treasure when
transferred to our heavenly abode.

Mr. Theodore Sedgwick died on the 7th. Though a bad politician,
he was a most amiable domestic character, and a severe loss to his
wife and daughter, who are now in Europe with Miss Sedgwick and
Robert's family. They will pass this winter in Rome, unless this
event determines them to return immediately. My cousin Emma
Forbes and my sister are making me a visit, and send their love to
you.

If Joseph is with you when this reaches you, he must read it. I
hope you will see Mr. Harding's daughter Margaret, who is travelling
with her father, for, though not beautiful, she is extremely lovely. Mr.
Harding's family are highly creditable to him, — Ophelia and Margaret
and William in particular. Caroline I have not so much knowledge of,
and the others are quite young.

You and I each have been the means of translating a being of earth
to an angel in heaven. It ought to be a continual incentive to us to
make progress in the course which shall take us to the same abode.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

December 3, 1837.

You must tell us how you enjoyed Thanksgiving, and if you have

read the " Letters from Palmyra," which, upon a second reading, I

think one of the most delightful books I have ever seen. There you

see illustrated the dignity and interest of the female character in its

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true light : a beautiful representation of agreeable intercourse between
young people ; a great deal of well-sustained conversation, of the most
intellectual character, and well-calculated, by the refined moral senti-
ment contained therein, to improve and raise the standard of morals
and religion.

I am disgusted with the great commendation given to the " Pickwick
Papers." I think it might have done to publish one volume of such
stuff; but four is oppressive, and promotes a waste of time that is
unpardonable, to say nothing of furnishing an additional quantity of
vulgarity to contemplate, when there is already a superabundance in
everybody's experience of every-day life.

My mother's criticism of novels often surprised and disappointed me ;
but she came to enjoy heartily, in her later years, many books that she
had not earlier appreciated. She was slow to change her early and
accepted standards about many things; and her standard of novel-
reading had been formed in those early days of Mrs. Ratcliffe and Rich-
ardson, and later, of Miss Edgeworth. For her, a novel must relate
either to that high-toned and romantic cast of character and scenery
and thrilling incident that removes one entirely from her own daily
atmosphere ; or it must have a distinct moral purpose underlying the
story, as in Miss Edgeworth, and faithfully carried out to the end. The
modern novel, with its natural description of common-place people and
events, its paucity of incident, its artistic delineation of persons and
scenery and surroundings, its absence of all distinct moral purpose,
except that which makes itself felt in all truthful portraiture of a
mixed society, such as exists everywhere on the earth, — all this was
for along time a sealed book to her ; and it was almost funnier to hear
her talk about Dickens than to read him ; the solemnity with which she
wondered how any one could spend hours reading about such low peo-
ple, when nothing on earth would induce her to pass half an hour in
their company, was amusing to the last degree.

373

She used to be as much moved and excited over the characters in
novels as though they had been real, living persons, and this gave an
indescribable charm to one's reading aloud to her. I recall her getting
very angry with Miss Edgeworth's " Helen," — out of all patience with
her for not telling the whole truth, — till, just as I had got nearly
through the second volume, she suddenly calmed down, a broad smile
spread itself over her face, and she touched my arm and said, as if the
idea had just come to her, " Well, Susanna, if Helen had not told
or acted all those trumpery lies to save her lying friend, we never
should have had these two very entertaining volumes."

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, December 5, l.s:37.

I should be much pleased to go to Boston at a time when I could
meet Mr. Dana. Anne Jean always spoke of him with so much pleas-
ure, that it would be a peculiar gratification to me to know him per-
sonally.

I do n't know what your customs are on Thanksgiving Day, or if you
have such a day. Last Thursday was ours, and a sad anniversary it
was to me ; for never can memory bring back the recollection of more
bitterness than was inflicted on me one year ago, — my convictions
then confirming all which afterwards took place, sowing seeds of sorrow
and disappointment that will follow me to the grave, and be the com-
panion of all my solitary meditations, however cheerful I may appear
to others. I am sure I would not be so selfish as to annoy others by a
continual demand on their sympathies ; for, indeed, people have no
right to be always intruding themselves and their peculiar feelings on
their acquaintance. And I do not doubt the goodness of unfailing Love
and unerring wisdom in the destiny allotted me. I know that it is
better than my deserts, and that it is still my duty to " Eejoice in hope,
and to be patient in tribulation." It is a happy circumstance for me

374

that I am under the continual pressure of care. My family is now
small ; but you know it is a family subject to continual mutations.
Sometimes one of my women are sick, or the old lady, Mrs. Carly,
goes away to take care of a sick child, or it is court^week, — and you
know nothing exempts me from my social duties.

S. was sent to Boston a month since for the benefit of her health.
Her cough left her, and she will stay the winter there to go to dancing-
school and attend to music. I need not say that she is greatly missed
at home. . . . Catherine is in many respects her opposite, but not
in conscientiousness ; and, now that Susan is gone, she is devoted to
the effort to make her place good. I have too much satisfaction in
these children to believe it will last. But you know by experience how
much is to be enjoyed from our children. I hope the pleasures from
that source will be greatly multiplied to you. You must think more
of the education of moral sentiment than the enumeration of acquisi-
tions, if you wish to make your daughter a happy and a useful woman,
— considering accomplishments only as the proper and well-adapted
ornaments of a consecrated temple.

You spoke of our coming to Cincinnati for a winter. Nothing
would suit me better ; but I have little control of my own time or
movements. The journey would be no bugbear to me. But for your
satisfaction, I will tell you we have a large stove, with a great deal of
pipe, that warms the whole back part of our house, and makes it as
comfortable as could be desired. I have just put down a new carpet
in the nursery, and I do n't know where there is a warmer or pleas-
antcr room to work in ; and the stove in the parlor has always warmed
that.

Mrs. called here yesterday with two of the children. I wish to

her external loveliness I could superadd the " vital spark of heavenly
flame," in a pre-eminent degree, for that is somewhat wanting. She
is a universal favorite here.

Jane was in on Thanksgiving Day with her family ; but she was not

375

fit to be out of her room, she was so unwell. Hannah is a fine, healthy
child, and destined to lie their only one, and I think they will have
much comfort in her.

Give my love to your husband, children, and Bisters.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

December 24, 1S37.
My dear Edward, — It was just twelve weeks from the time I left
your grandmother to the time of her death. I could not have believed
it was possible she should continue so long ; and when I heard of her
death, it took a weight from my mind, for I could not think of her
but in a suffering condition, both to herself and her friends. The aged
we expect will die, and after we have seen them survive all their
resources of enjoyment, and outlive all their susceptibility, we ought
not only to be willing, but to be glad there is the provision of another
and a better country prepared for them ; that there is a rest from the sor-
rows flesh is heir to. It is when the young who are amply prepared for
usefulness are taken, that we are led to question, Why is it so ? It is
now eleven months since we parted from her who was so necessary to
our happiness. . . . But the children I have left are a great
resource to me ; if I cannot live with them all the time, I can hear
from them, and have that pleasure of imagination, which is always
giving me the satisfaction that they will do well, because they intend
to do right ; and I do not expect any exemption for them from the
common vicissitudes of life ; but I think they will have fortitude to
meet with such trials as Heaven shall send.

Mrs. Lyman to Br. and Mrs. Austin Flint.

Northampton, February 8, 1S38.
My dear Children, — I was truly gratified by finding, on my return
from Boston, a letter from you awaiting my return. Indeed, I think

376

it was nearly a month old. Its contents, though satisfactory in most
respects, have inspired me with a desire to hear again immediately, for
now yon must have something important to communicate to my in-
terested ears, — probably nothing less eventful than an increase of your
earthly ties, with .a corresponding enlargement of your affections; so
true is it that every additional child brings with it a fresh fountain of
love, of hope, of gratitude.

You speak of the trials inflicted by pecuniary difficulties. In this you
only share in the common lot of the multitude, with most of whom it is
accompanied by aggravations that you know nothing of. For you have
never known the multiplied sorrow of having inadvertently or impru-
dently occasioned hopeless misfortune to numbers of your friends, to
large families, who can never expect to retrieve their comfortable cir-
cumstances. Such trials, though common, may Heaven defend you
from ! I think you must have found, and must enjoy, some intelligent
companions in Buffalo. While the good and the wise are in the world,
it is desirable to participate in their friendship and knowledge. A
French writer has remarked, that " it is for the interest of every person
to multiply ideas in the community to which he belongs; to know all
that is current, and the best use of the information he possesses; to
enrich his own mind, and at the same time increase his means of assist-
ing and instructing others." Our acquisitions do not merely enrich
ourselves, they greatly contribute towards increasing human sympa-
thies. If we meet a stranger who is exclusively a botanist, and we are
likewise well-informed on this subject, we can at once make common
cause of the same pursuit. It is equally true of any other art or
science, and of every other taste we discover in the persons whom
accident has thrown in our way. Thus we realize that an increase of
ideas helps to multiply human sympathies, to harmonize human in-
terests, and to connect God's children by a most desirable tie. The
Almighty Maker of heaven and earth, the earth itself, and what is
contained therein, are interests common to all, and we want nothing but

377

intelligence, information, thought, and philanthropy to make us agree-
able to each other.

I have been gone so long, that I cannot muster any budget of news
for you in this place. Henry Shepherd is going to add greatly to the
value of his character and standing in society, by marrying a Miss
Strong, of Belchertown. She is accomplished in various languages and
music; but, more particularly, has the grace and greatness to think
humbly of herself. She was educated by her parents, with a particular
reference to making her a first-rate teacher ; and came here a year ago
to assist in a high-school for girls. Boarded at T. Shepherd's, and
assisted Henry in his musical taste, until sympathy grew into love.

I believe 1 told you in my last that would marry , together

with half-a-dozen other matches, which I will not repeat. Northamp-
ton is not much like heaven in the respect that there is neither
marrying nor giving in marriage.

Miss has just returned from Springfield. She says your father

told her he had as much as he could do, and that the kind of business
he had was preferable to that here. S. has probably written to you all

about her affairs. She is now in Lenox, teaching music for Mrs. ,

in place of , who is going to Europe with her aunt. For the last

month she has had no use of her eyes from weakness, which her aunt
thinks a voyage may cure. Your father has made an offer to take

Dr. into business, and he is now in Springfield, I believe, to help

him with a medical school, and take care of a hospital which he cal-
culates to have.

I often think, my dear Anne, what a comfort it must be to you to
have your mother and sister with you, and hope they like Buffalo well
enough to remain there. We have a beautiful child here, which I take
pleasure in looking at, because it looks so much like little Austin,
when he left here. It is Mrs. Rogers's, and has all the brilliancy
of its mother. I hear Mr. Allen is coming here next week for M.
Lyman to go and stay with Mrs. Allen a year. If I can get them to
48

378

take a small parcel, I think I shall find something to send " mother
and the babies." My S. has been in Boston this winter, and I hope
will improve in proportion to the sacrifice it occasions me to part with
her ; tor she truly is the embryo of the dear child 1 have parted with.
You would be surprised to see how much Catherine has gained, too,
in size, maturity of character, and good appearance. I dare say
you have seen by the paper the marriage of to a poor school-
master. I was at the wedding; and very glad to have things so
happily consummated.

Remember me affectionately to your mother and sister, and believe
me with much love.

Yours truly and affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, April 1, 1838.

When I returned from Boston two months ago, I had the pleasure of
finding a. letter from you. Since that time I have received another
from Harriet. Neither of these mentioned Charlotte's near approach
to the land of matrimony. But to-day 1 have received a newspaper
stating the fact, and beg leave to congratulate you all on the happy
event.

I feel conscience-smitten that I have not written to Charlotte, for I
always have had the intention ; but when you consider my numerous
duties, my old age, and the constant claims upon my pen by absent
children and sisters, you cannot wonder at my delinquency. My
mother had been so long a sufferer, that her death was a release from
trouble. It was anticipated, and we could not be distressed by it. You
know we look for the death of the aged, and rejoice that they have been
permitted to remain so long. It is when the young die, those on whom
we expect to lean, those on whom our hopes are built, and with whom
we identify our future happiness on earth, that we feel smitten, — our

379

strongholds taken from us, and our hearts lacerated to bleeding. This
has been a source of such constant reflection for a year past, that it
lessens my sympathies on all other subjects. Every day increases the
conviction of the magnitude of my loss. All my duties are increased,
— you will judge how many go unperformed. In the loss of my
mother, too, I feel there is one barrier less between me and the
grave.

You have heard by my last letter all about Joseph's situation ; he
says it is the most beautiful climate in the world, and all his expecta-
tions have been more than answered. ... He speaks of a Mr.

, who is principal engineer, that lives in the house with him,

together with his wife, the granddaughter of Rufus King. This gen-
tleman I thought must be a relative of Mr. Greene's, because his mother
was a Greene. Joseph likes both him and his wife very much, and his
partner Mr. Pratt, who is likewise a married man. The society there
has many intelligent, sensible men, though men actively engaged in
business. E. belongs to a new firm consisting of two of his old mas-
ters, and a new one. He is promoted to be first clerk, with a salary
equivalent to his living, and feels like quite a great character. He is
as tall as Joseph, and larger. ... I never wanted to see you more
than I have since our dear Anne's departure. What concerned you and
your family, was among her dearest interests.

I suppose Charlotte and her husband have left you. I should like to
know where a letter would find them ; but I am hoping they are on their
way to this place, previous to going to Salem, and that I shall have a
visit from them. I wish you would answer this as soon as you can,
and let me know that you and Mr. Greene and Catherine are coming
here this summer. I have tried hard to get my sister C. to go to
Cincinnati this spring, or to take a short voyage and see Joseph at
Brunswick. She has been so long shut up, and her eyes are so useless
to her, that I think she needs an entire change. She has gone now
to Philadelphia and New York ; will probably be absent a month. Jo-

380

sepli thinks the climate he lives in would be a perfect restorative to
her. . . .

You have heard what an idol Mr. Peabody was made in Boston, and
of his call to Dr. Channing's, and of his accepting a call at New Bed-
ford, where they have gone, I believe, the last week.

Give my love to all your sisters. When you write, tell me about my
nephews, and J. H. Perkins and wife, Mrs. Stetson, and all the neigh-
bors, not forgetting Mr. Tim Walker and Mr. and Mrs. Lawler, too ; what
are they doing ? You have heard that Mrs. B. has lost her father, who
left very little property, and that she is trying every way she can to
get a living.

My S. is at Mr. Emerson's school in Boston, where she will continue
until she is done going to school. C. is an improving child, but the
progress is slow. She is more gifted in good principles, good manners,
and good sense, than in scholarship of any kind. There are no advan-
tages here of the right kind for my girls, and I shall have to send them
away for all they get. This is a great sacrifice on my part ; but we
learn to do what we think best for our children, let the sacrifice be what

it may.

Your affectionate

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Dr. Austin Flint.

May 6, 1838.
My dear Austin, — I believe I told you that a year ago, when our
Mr. Stearns left us, his place was supplied by Mr. S. G. Bulfinch, one
of the most angelic beings that I ever knew in that profession. He
stayed, together with his young wife, many weeks with us. She has
recently died in giving birth to her first child. This is the fourth case
of a similar kind which has occurred among my acquaintances since
your little A. was born, and 1 mention it that A. may know how fav-
ored she has been among women ; for, common as it is for children to

381

be born, so it is very common for mothers to lose their lives in this
perilous enterprise. And I do think the gentlemen of your profession
cannot give too scrupulous a degree of attention to this subject ; for,
while the world remains, this must continue to happen, and must
make a constant demand on the attention of the profession.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, October 23, 183S.

My dear Emma, — I am ashamed to think that six weeks, if not
more have passed over my head without my having acknowledged your
heart-warming favor. I will not pretend to give you all the reasons
why I have not ; you must, whenever you can, come and see. Instead
of two persons to perform all the social and domestic duties that belong
to this household, there is now but one ; and she has been from May
until the last two months, a poor, infirm old woman, in constitutional
habit at least eighty years old. But enough of that ; what is, cannot
be helped, and should not be complained of. My lot has always been
better, far better, than I deserved ; and if I have had treasures that have
been withdrawn, it was because the Bestower of all good knew I had
more than my portion, and far more than my deserts.

You must have enjoyed a great deal at Exeter, seeing your aunt and
uncle so much gratified, and participating so fully in it yourself. It is
delightful to all to behold such a halo thrown over the declining years
of a good and useful man. The honor shown to such a man as Dr.
Abbot has a powerful moral influence, and is calculated to make a val-
uable impression on the present rising generation. TVe must always
consider that it belongs to our free agency to have a portion of our
destiny under our own control; and though we cannot resist that por-
tion which the Almighty keeps in his own hands, such as sickness and
death, nor change His established laws, yet by studying them and con-
forming to them, we can procure much good and much happiness for

382

ourselves and others. This has been remarkably illustrated in the life
of Dr. Abbot, who has persevered in an undeviating course of honorable
labor; and has arrived at all the results of such a course, in his ad-
vanced life.

I always urged it upon Joseph to make teaching his profession, if he
felt unwilling to wait for encouragement in the law. But he thought
the defects of his constitution, more than disinclination, must oppose an
obstacle to it. I feel sorry that his occupation lay at such a distance
from us, but I do not doubt that he is in a position of great usefulness,
and that he will set a good example in a new place, where example is
of so much consequence.

My good niece, Susan Hillard, is with me, as you know; and I think
the new channel into which her thoughts are likely to be turned by
things around her here will be favorable to her health and the state of
her mind. She seems very well, and is enjoying herself as well as
could be expected under her great loss.

While Mr. Lyman was absent, I had our good Hannah Stearns to
stay with me. She is about the best person in the world,- — the most
unvitiated and stainless; with the most cultivation, high principle, and
sweet temper. There is no way 1 could obtain so much satisfaction, if
I could afford it, as to give her a handsome salary, and always have
her to direct the improvement of my children. She is as good as an
angel, and her conversation and example furnish a better means of
instruction than the best of schools. I should have appropriated her
the coming year ; but she was engaged when she left Baltimore to
Miss G. and Miss W., who have the sense to understand her value.
She is to direct their literary improvement for a year to come. Han-
nah's constitution was so entirely changed by ten months' residence in
Cuba, and her health so perfectly restored, that I cannot help wishing
that my sister C. and your M. could do the same thing. I think it
would set them up for life. Tell M. if she will go out to Brunswick
with C, I will get J. to hurry and finish his cottage, and they might

383

go and keep house for him one year. I would make tliem a visil in
the meantime, to give them some variety ; and insure them to come
back well, handsome, and happy. Is it not a good plan ? . . .
Your affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, December 5, 1s;;s.

My dear Edward, —

I am very glad to find, by the letter I got from you last night, that
yon had perfect confidence in your own strength and ability to answer
to all the requisitions that could be made of you in your new capacity.
And I am glad you have. That is an unbecoming diffidence which leads
people to distrust the faculties they have cultivated and exercised with
success, as many years as you have your mercantile capacity. But there
are no people in the world placed under such strong temptation to do
wrong in every respect as travellers are, or who set so loose upon the re-
strictions of society and its institutions, conventional forms, and general
standards of rectitude. Being removed as they are from the circle of
observing and interested friends, to whom they feel responsible, it is
not strange they should more readily yield to every passing impulse,
knowing they are not critically observed upon, and have no one to
please but themselves. This, then, calls for the exercise of all your
power over moral and religious sentiments ; and your real enjoyment
will be in proportion to the ascendency they have in determining your
course of conduct, for it is to those sources you must look for aid to
sustain the true dignity of man. No one can be contented or happy
without self-respect. Whatever honors or flattery he may receive
from the world, — in them he will find no substitute for the want of it ;
and. possessed of it, he will have a fountain of inward satisfaction

384

which will make any of them appear mean and worthless in the
comparison.

I must feel sorry that this tour did not occur one year later, for you
know you and I were really to go to Niagara next summer, ami Canada ;
and then you could have carried in your imagination an idea of the
greatest natural curiosity in the world, as, surely, that mighty cataract
may be considered. There is much information about this country,
that, when you are absent from it,and comparing another country and
its various institutions and customs with it, you will feel the want of.
But you must remember life has just begun with you, and that your
seed time is not over ; and, in proportion as you feel the want of knowl-
edge, you will be assiduous to learn. I am very sorry I had not De
Tocqueville to give you, to read on the passage, and Dr. Humphrey's
" Tour." De Tocqueville is a key with which to unlock a vast deal of
information relative to America; and Humphrey's " Tour " a key to
much intelligent observation upon whatever part of Great Britain you
may be in.

If you will go and see our Cousin Forbes, in New York, they will
carry you to Cousin George W. Murray's, with whom I passed nearly
a year just before 1 was married ; and. if you wished, he would furnish
you with letters to the Murray family in England, in case you were in
London, or the neighborhood where they live. ....

You will have my constant remembrance and prayers during your
absence, to say nothing of unremitted affection. You must keep some
small, ruled books in your pocket, that you may fill them with a jour-
nal during your absence ; not forgetting to mention the history of all
interesting people, and all interesting conversations and opinions. Be
friendly and accessible to worthy people, and you will find them so

to you.

Your affectionate

Mother.

385

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Christmas, 1838.

Mrs. Cochran gave a cotillon party, which was very pleasant, and
is to be followed once a fortnight, until April, by the other young
ladies, who have joined it ; so you see there is still some animation left
amongst us. It is true, I cannot feel much of it myself, but I can
rejoice to contemplate it in others. I should like to know how and
where you passed Christmas. I should be glad to recognize the day
in a manner to bring together all the sacred associations which so
truly belong to it. But I could not do that alone ; and with me it
only speaks (in reference to the past) of the bitterest sorrow I ever
was called to suffer ; and this impression must ever interpose a cloud
to overshadow the best enjoyments allotted to me on this side the
grave. Every occurrence now comes to me connected with the idea, —
" How would this have pleased or displeased my dear Anne ? " And
when I am necessarily so much separated from the children I have left
on earth, I can but cling to the idea of how much more importance
my own life was, while she was living, than it now is.

Your father keeps himself a good deal shut up this winter, for it has
been very cold ever since you left ; and since Sunday we have had
good sleighing, and I presume shall have for the coming ten or twelve
weeks.

I was glad you got the letters and books before you left. I think
they must have been an entertainment on the passage. I had another
book I have just finished, that 1 wish I had given you, — " Stevens's
Travels in Egypt and Arabia Petraea and the Holy Land ; " which has
been very interesting to me, from the fact that it mentions every
place spoken of in the Old and New Testaments, with quotations of the
various predictions of their destiny, by the prophets of old. I have
thought it was a pity you could not have taken (but perhaps you did)

3H6

some letters to the remnants of your grandmother's old Murray family,
especially Mr. Charles Murray, who has been a distinguished lawyer in
London.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Noktuampton, January 20, 1839.
. . . S. has gone to where property is of no value, but where the
great and good of all climes and all ages, the friends, benefactors, de-
liverers, ornaments of their race, — the patriarch, prophet, apostle, and
martyr, the true heroes of public and still more of private life, — have
gone ; illustrating, though unrecorded by man, " the true beauty of
holiness,"' and all self-sacrificing virtue. How often must I visit in
imagination that unknown country wdiere I have been called to offer up
a bright ornament, one whose countenance shed light upon our dwell-
ing, and peace and strength through our hearts!

Mr. Brewer has heard of the death of his brother William, which is
an unspeakably great affliction to his mother, Elizabeth, and more
particularly his wife and infant child. He was a very good young man.
and was successfully engaged in business, but has left nothing. When
we hear of such deaths, we can only say. " there they arc gathered
together, safe from every storm, triumphant over evil," while we remain
to do our Father's work on earth ; and let us do it. Such events
should lie our admonition, to keep our hearts with all diligence, to live
in a state of preparation for what may take place early in life, and at
all events must in the course of time.

I never asked you when here, to take a Bible in your trunk, but I
hope you did ; for, on board a vessel, there must be comfort in having
one.

Elizabeth Brewer is engaged, but I cannot say to whom, for Mr. B.
could not tell me. . . .

Susan has been in the best of health this winter, and done a great
deal of visiting, for her. Mr. Barnard is new-furnishing his house, and

387

is to be married on the 6th of next month. All things in connection
with this affair look bright and unclouded. Marriage may be ac-
counted amongst the softening influences of our destiny, — where no
principle is outraged and where there is harmony in the characters of
the individuals concerned. It seems to have been the plan of Divine
Wisdom to supply aliment to our best impulses by this connection, at
the same time that it provides for our happiness. How dark would be
the gloom of this valley of tears, were it not brightened by the sympa-
thies of kindred feeling, as well as kindred ties !

Your affectionate

Moth eh.

Mrs. Lijmnii to her son Edward.

Northampton', February 12, 1839.

I am thinking this is your birthday, and I would fain have eaten a
plum pudding with you on the occasion, for it is the day of all others
in which I may rejoice ; for you have been a continued cause of joy to
me, and not of sorrow, unless when you were sick, and I was fearful
your end was near.

I have now been watching the newspapers for a fortnight that I
might see the news of your arrival out, but as yet no such intelligence
was to be found. . . .

I think I mentioned in my last letter that Marshall Spring was
almost gone with a fever. He was not living at that moment. Your
uncle suffered much through his protracted illness, which was nearly
six weeks ; he is dreadfully disappointed and afflicted in his death.
But I feel that Marshall is now safe from the storms that await our
earthly abode ; that he has gone where there is much mercy and care
for childhood and youth, and where there is every provision for the
improvement of the young, far better than any we can enjoy here ; and
at the same time they are removed from all temptation. . . .

Flattery is an incense to which all are vulnerable, of whatever sex or

388

age ; and where there is an excess of it, it operates like a slow poison,
drying up the fountain of all disinterested affections. . . .

Your father is now making a visit in Boston, which, as he has little
or nothing to do at home, is very good for him ; and so is it very good
for me to stay quietly at home with Catherine, whom I should not like
to have left alone.

If. I had seen Mr. Savage, of Montreal, who was through here on his
way to England, a week since, I should have given him some gold
pieces I have, for you to lay out for Susan and Catherine. . . .

I have just been reading Mr. Clay's powerful speech against aboli-
tion, and hope it will reach and be read in England. It contains a
great deal of information that they want and are destitute of.

Mr. Stearns is soon to leave us, and I do not think we shall be likely
to fill his place. I believe we are to have Dr. Follen. . . .

Mr. Barnard is married, and is very happy.

In the last letter, my mother speaks with praise of " Mr. Clay's power-
ful speech against abolition." She was not an abolitionist. In all mat-
ters of reform, and especially in that, my Aunt Howe was far ahead of
her. But she never had any other thought than that slavery was wrong ;
her only question was about the method of getting rid of it. Her
association with Southerners had been with that higher class, whose
characters and manners were after her own heart, — gentle and
humane people, who were really beloved by their servants. She had
wept with Hannah Drayton and Mary Wayne over the execution of a
noble man, one of their favorite servants, who had led an insurrection
in North Carolina; but, had she lived in the full vigor of her fine
powers a few years later, she must have seen that the good slaveholder
whom she so much admired was the worst enemy to the extinction of
the accursed system. Her heart was large enough to feel for both
oppressor and oppressed ; and, could she have known that the sorrows
of both were ended, how deeply would she have rejoiced ! She never

389

seemed to know any thing about prejudice towards color. In her
childhood, Betsey Wallace, the last descendant of a slave family in
Massachusetts, had been a faithful and attached domestic on Milton
Hill, and she always spoke with warm emotion, of the delight she hail
in creeping into Betsey's bed, and being hugged to her faithful bosom.
Later, when Betsey married John Drew, another character in Milton,
she delighted to visit them, and talk over the annals of Milton Hill,
and hear their old stories.

I recall a time in Northampton, when, after a long, hot summer had
come and gone, with many visitors and abundant cares,- — the stage-
coach stopped, and an ancient colored woman, very large and of no
comely appearance, alighted at our door. " Perhaps," she said, as she
advanced to the door, " you've heerd tell of Billah ? If not, Judge
Lyman will know who I am." My father was absent ; but my mother
had " heerd tell of Billah," and made her heartily welcome. In the
old slave-days in Massachusetts, Billah, as a little girl, had been given
to my Grandmother Lyman. But the days of emancipation for all had
come before she grew up ; and she, being well fitted for a nurse, had
lived a long and useful life, greatly esteemed and respected in her pro-
fession. She was now past seventy years ; had thought she should like
to see what sort of man the Joseph of her childhood had become, and
so she came. My father came home next day, and they had great
pleasure in talking over their early days. She remained three days,
having one of the best chambers for her resting-place, and the seat of
honor, next my mother, at the table. When she had gone, some one
remarked, that, though they thought Billah was excellent company,
they should think it would have done very well to put her in the kitchen
at meal-time. My mother's answer was, as usual, simple and conclu-
sive, " If you were a very old woman, and had taken a long journey to
see the friends of your childhood in whom you felt an interest, how
would you like it, when meal-time came, to be put into another room
to eat, with people whom you did not come to see, and in whom you
felt no interest ? "

390

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, February 27, 1839.

We have just received your third letter, addressed to your father,
and truly happy does it make us to hear from you. There is something
in a perfect state of satisfaction, if it mice takes possession of us (and
it must be transient), that excludes every thing else, every other feeling
and every other interest ; indeed, it is as exclusive and as engrossing
as the most profound grief. And, for the first few days after I heard
from you, I was given up to this most joyous sentiment, this gladness
of the heart ; and ] asked for no diversion from it. I felt liberated from
a hard master, like one who had boon in bondage and is released. My
oppressors were Fear and Anxiety; for there had been much said of
the disasters on the English coast, — those which occurred before your
arrival. And when I think of those which have occurred since, 1
tremble to think what a narrow escape you have had. Your first letter
was received by the "Great Western," instead of the unfortunate
" Pennsylvania," three days subsequent to the second. This is the
fifth letter I have written you, and I feel sorry that they had not come
to hand before the " Liverpool " left. But such poor letters never get
lost. 'Tis only such letters as Charles Sumner writes which get lost.
By the way, he writes that he has had an interview with you. This I
was pleased to hear. It must make you proud of your countrymen to
encounter such men, and feel yourself identified with them in some
measure. You might have told us who the two Bostonians were.
Your letters were all directed as you desired, and sent to William C.
Langley. In future, I shall number my letters so that you will know
if you lose any.

I believe my second letter told you of the death of Mrs. S. L. Hinck-
ley, and my fourth of the death of Marshall Spring, and the birth of
Mrs. Cleveland's daughter, and Mr. Barnard's marriage. The latter
seems to have been the means of a great increase of happiness in Air.
Barnard's house ; and I hear in various ways that there is great cheer-

391

fulness and hilarity throughout the household since the coming of the
Lady Eleanor.

I had a letter from Joseph yesterday, in which he says he has given
up having any thing to do with the railroad, and has arranged his
affairs so that he can come here and pass next summer, which I shall
enjoy very much ; for I have felt very much cut off from enjoying the
presence of my children ever since I parted with my constant compan-
ion, my dear Anne Jean. But when I am entirely solitary, she is the
constant companion of my imagination ; and it daily moistens my eyes
with tears when I think what she would say to the various things hap-
pening around us.

Susan has written to you before now, I presume, and told you of all
the dissipation she has been engaged in during the winter.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, July 15, 1839.

My pear Abbt, — I received your kind letter soon after I returned
from Niagara, and should have answered it immediately, according to
the promptings of my warmest wishes for you and yours. Three
weeks since I was informed, as doubtless you were, of the birth of
Charlotte's daughter ; within a day or two, Mr. Silsbee wrote to me to
say that C. and the baby were doing well, and were coming here, and
wanted me to get them a girl to take care of the baby.

The reason I could not extend my journey to Cincinnati (which I most
fervently desired) was, that my good Mrs. Carly was obliged to leave
me before I could return, in order to accompany her children to a dis-
tance. And I knew the difficulty the family would be involved in if 1
did not return to their relief. I left Miss Stearns staying with Mr.
Lyman and Catherine, and had engaged her to stay the ensuing year and
direct the literary improvement of my girls. But her sister, at Wor-

392

cester, was taken sick and required her assistance ; and my plan, that
I was enjoying so much, was entirely frustrated ; for, she was exer-
cising an admirable influence on Catherine's mind, which is a very
good one, but one of late development. She really requires a new posi-
tion to give a new impulse to her mind ; hut her father thinks her want
of vigorous health is an objection to her leaving home, and there is no
more to be said about it. S. and J. returned to us a month since.
They were well, though a little delicate in appearance ; and S. is now

absent with the Misses , and their father, on an excursion of

pleasure. Mr. Harding's youngest daughter has been staying with us
since Susan's return, — they were at school together in Boston, — and
Margaret is a very remarkable girl for the maturity of her character,
and is particularly congenial to S. They are both bent on self-im-
provement. Mr. Harding is contemplating moving to Cincinnati, or
somewhere West, if lie can sell his place in Springfield advantageously.
He has got a pretty set ol girls. The two youngest are the finest ;
but Miss C. is altogether the most attractive in company, and to stran-
gers. I am charmed to hear of Mr. Perkins's success as a preacher ;
and I am likewise glad you are so much satisfied with your own min-
ister : and 1 hope you will like his wife as well.

Mrs. Channing, senior, and her daughter are treasures in society any-
where, and I hope they may remain in Cincinnati. Remember me to
them very affectionately.

. . . Perhaps you would like to know the plan of our tour. When
we set out we were accompanied by Mr. Fisher, who was one of the
best travelling companions I ever saw, for he is perfectly well ac-
quainted with all the localities in the West, together with the history
of the progress of the country, having lived west more than twenty
years. We went immediately to Oswego from Albany, stopping how-
ever in the beautiful town of Utica a day and a half, in order to visit
Trenton Falls, which well rewarded us for our pains. We passed most
of three days at Oswego very pleasantly, and then sailed up Lake Onta-

393

rio, which took us twenty-four hours, to Lcwiston ; stopping however
on the way at Rochester a couple of hours to see the falls on the Gen-
esee River, and the beautiful surrounding country, and found our-
selves at Niagara with no fatigue or disappointment, the day-week we
left home, which was Tuesday. We remained there until Saturday
afternoon, when we took the railroad to Buffalo ; for we wished to pass
a few days with our friend Mrs. Allen (Sally Lyman that was), and
our young friends Dr. Flint and his wife, who are pleasantly estab-
lished in that beautiful town. We left there the day-fortnight that we
had left home, being determined to linger on the way, as we passed
Rochester, Canandaigua, Geneva, Auburn, Syracuse, and Salina.
When we got to Albany (the following Saturday), we thought it right
to go immediately to Catskill Mountain, and there pass Sunday and
Monday ; which we did, and were all day Tuesday and Wednesday in
returning to Northampton, after an absence of three weeks and one
day. Thus I have given you the outline of our journey without the
least hint of description ; for I presume you have seen and observed
all the places for yourself. Nor have I given you the smallest idea of
the multiplied emotions of joy and sorrow which alternately occupied
me. For how could it be otherwise while passing over scenes so con-
stantly connected in my mind with the descriptions given of them by
my beloved child, now an inhabitant of celestial regions.

If you have a letter from Anne Jean, giving you any account of her
journey from Cincinnati five years since, do me the favor to have it
copied and send it to me. She wrote me a very fine account of Niag-
ara, and the whole of her journey as far as Utica, where they stopped ;
but the letter was sent to my mother, and got lost, which I have much
deplored.

Give my love to your sisters, husband, and Catherine.
Your very affectionate aunt,

A. J. Lyman.

394

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Forbes.

Northampton, November 24, 1839.

My dear Emma, — You will readily believe I have been very busy
since your departure, as our principal domestic left the next day, and
her substitute was not quite ready to fill her place ; so that S. and I
have had our talents fully exercised ever since. But while we have
labored we have employed a very good seamstress to ply the needle for
us ; and I think I shall not be more indebted to time than usual when
Thanksgiving Day arrives, — which is the day when all the family assem-
ble here, and others that like to come in the evening. This is a sad
anniversary to me, notwithstanding all this pressure of business and
apparent satisfaction. It brings to mind not only the entire separation
from one who seemed indispensable to my happiness, but makes me
melancholy in the conviction that I can rarely expect to be with my
sons ; and that, if they are not always wanderers, they rarely will be
with me.

I often felt the desire to speak of my dear absent child to you, but I
knew it was wrong to inflict upon you the sensations which overwhelm
me whenever I indulge myself to any extent in that way ; for I can
never cease to think that I am under a severe punishment in having
such a blessing withdrawn. I fully believe in the justice of such a dis-
cipline, and in the Hand that has administered it. But the suffering is
not the less acute for that conviction. My lot is a happy one, inasmuch
as it constantly enforces the imperious claims of those around me for
care and attention, which necessarily diverts my mind by keeping all
my faculties in use, and generally under high pressure. And this
is really all the submission I ever could practise, — the submission of
inexorable necessity, to whose immutable decree there can be no oppo-
sition and no antidote. I have every thing to remind me, and that
constantly, of the existence that has been suspended here ; for every
thing around me bears marks of that existence, and every thing and

395

everybody here was in some way connected with the idea of my loved
child. Time never can destroy these associations, though it diminishes
their influence.

Give my love to John ; tell him I think of making a visit exclusively
to the twins and their parents, but I shall wait until they can enter-
tain me with a little more talk than I can get from them at present.

Dr. Jennison has been here, and made a visit ; he is a nice, sensible
man, and quite improved in his ten years' absence. He thinks of
establishing himself; and, I suspect, near Boston. He has been to
Lenox. 1 hear Miss M. A. is engaged to the son of Sir James Mackin-
tosh.

Mrs. Rogers came down to see you the afternoon you left. Her
children all continue quite sick with the cough, more particularly the
youngest boy ; but it does not prevent her meeting her friends with her
usual smile.

Since you left, Susan has read aloud to me the first volume of
Sparks's " Life of Washington," " Undine," — what nonsense ! — and
stories connected with the times of Charles II., which are nearly as
absurd as " Undine." In the intervals, Mr. Lyman pegs away upon
Dwight's " Life of Thomas Jefferson," which, however, I am quite
interested in, as it shows the history and origin of the Democratic
party.

Susan is now writing to Aunt K., though you would not think we
were either of us in a very convenient position to collect our thoughts.
But we do not wait for inspiration, — only for an opportunity, which
we have just heard would leave early in the morning.

Give my love to your mother and the girls.

Yours very affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

396

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, February 10, 1840.
My dear Edward, — How can I help sitting down to converse with
you upon the recurrence of a day so eventful to my happiness as that
of your birth ! We can look but a very little way into the destiny of
man ; and yet there are some immutable truths connected with it
which never fail, and which 1 have perfect faith in. I am sure that
rectitude always gives power, and that that power consolidates and
helps to maintain virtue, and that tin' uniform reward of active virtue
is happiness, contentment, self-approbation. These are results from
causes which I do feel sure of; they are within our own control.
They may not protect us from sickness, misfortune, or death, hut will
leave us exempted from self-reproach, and preserve within us that
peace of mind which outward circumstances cannot impair.

We have had an extremely cold winter, hut it is now mild and com-
fortable. We have had two feet of snow on a level for the last eight
weeks. But our house < thai part which we use) has been warm, and
we have had nothing to complain of. Your father remains undisturbed
and perfectly tranquil by the lire-side for the most part of the time.
Susan divides the time between •• hooks and work and healthful play."
Miss Bangs is now making her a visit, — a young lady whom she went
to school with at Mr. Emerson's. She lives in Springfield ; and,
though not at all handsome, is agreeable and intelligent, and we all
like her much. Catherine is doing very well with Miss Stearns, and
we have reason to think, from what Miss S. writes, that she is rapidly
improving. I intend that sin; shall remain with Miss Stearns as long
as she goes to any school ; for she is fond of Miss S. and her sister,
and seems very happy with them.

Before this time, you have received newspapers giving the dreadful
account of the loss of the steamer " Lexington," with many valuable

397

lives; amongst others Dr. Follen. This lias affected the universal
sympathies of the community.

Your affectionate

Mother.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 10, 1810.

My dear Abbt, —

We have this day had a letter from Edward, written the day follow-
ing that in which he says his minority is at an end, and hereafter he is
the only responsible person for his own debts, as well as actions. He
says his birthday was distinguished as the wedding-day of Queen Vic-
toria, and the pageantry attending the occasion was very amusing and
agreeable to all in the neighborhood of it. I do not know what the
poor youth is to do with himself, now that he is become his own mas-
ter, for there never could be a worse time to commence business. But
he does not take desponding views of life, and we ought not to.

Joseph never got our letters, after he left Cincinnati, until he reached
New Orleans, where he found a number- waiting his arrival, as well as
friends glad to greet him.

The H s and s I was sorry you could not have seen. She

is decidedly superior to her sisters, though Mrs. is called a very

fine character, and her influence in her own home was very remarkable.
She is calculated to set a fine example where she lives, and make a

charming wife for Mr. . I am always glad when I hear of a good

young man that has a truly good wife. I should be delighted if J

would unite himself to so fine a character, in regard to all practical
qualities, — I mean ''when he has tired his wing/' and become
stationary, — though I really believe his "locomotive" propensities
have greatly contributed to confirm his health and make his constitu-
tion what it is ; for, when he first grew up, he was of a most miserable
structure, and there was no appearance that he ever would be a vigor-

398

ous, manly fellow. He writes in fine spirits, and seems to have enjoyed
his tour greatly; and, I have no doubt, has laid up a good stock of
information in relation to the places be lias seen that will be advan-
tageous to him in future.

You say in your last that I said nothing about Charlotte's visit. If
you had been here during the autumn, and seen the confusion that
characterized every thing around me, you would not have wondered at
any defects in my letters. We certainly had a very agreeable visit
from Charlotte and Mr. Silsbee, and found them much improved by a
year's experience in each other's society. I think Mr. S. improves on
acquaintance very much. We should have been pleased to have had
our people give Mr. S. a call to preach for us a year at least ; but
they made no motion of that sort. We never have listened to any
better preaching since we parted with Mr. Stearns, who was remark-
able ; ami his wile, too, had proved herself a person of uncommon
excellence. ... I forgot to tell yon that Charlotte has a nice little
Silsbee-looking child : and she is a very devoted mother, and he is a
most devoted father, as well as husband. I should like much to know
how they got along while in Savannah, and if they mean to return this
season. 1 presume you have heard.

My Catherine is the happiest creature with Miss Stearns that ever
was. and appears to be improving fast. I felt that change was essen-
tial to her. She always has lived under such a sameness of circum-
stances that there did not appear to be enough variety to operate
on her nature, and develop what powers she possessed ; and I always
have observed that change of position and change of teachers create
a new impetus in the minds of young people ; at her age this is
peculiarly desirable. She never lias paid much attention to music, for
we have thought it might prove prejudicial to her health, as she has
never been very vigorous. But she has a decided desire that way,
and I think will, of her own accord, become a proficient to a limited
extent.

399

Perhaps you have seen in the Boston papers that we have given Mr.
J. S. Dwight, of Boston, a call to settle over our religious society. He
is quite a good preacher, but under the censure of Transcendentalism,
which, as I cannot find out exactly what it means, does not disturb me
very much ; and Mr. Stearns said I was a good deal transcendental
myself. That may account for my adaptation to him, or rather his
to me. If people make the Scriptures their standard, as I understand
it, and explain it accordingly, I shall not quarrel about the shades of
difference that are only perceptible to critics.

I believe is as much in the suds with his people as ever.

Give my love to Mr. Greene and Katy and your sisters.

Very affectionately yours.

P. S. Your uncle is well. Both himself and S send a great

deal of love.

CHAPTER XVII.

What is so excellent as strict relations of amity, when they spring from this deep root?
The sufficient reply to the sceptic, who doubts the power ami the furniture of man, is in the
possibility of that joyful intercourse with persons, which makes the faith and practice of
all reasonable men. I know nothing which life has to offer so satisfying as the profound
good understanding which can subsist, after much exchange of good offices, between two
Tirtuous persons, each of whom is sure of himself and sure of his friend. — EmehsOn's
Essay on " Ch. tract, i ."

NOTHING could be more marked in my mother's character than
the heartiness of her relations to all around her. As she moved
about her house engaged in domestic avocations, or sat near the win-
dow or front door with her work-basket, she made many sudden rushes
to catch the eye or ear of some friend passing. The day did not have
its fill for her, if she had not had her crack with Judge Huntington,
her croon with Mrs. Whitmarsh, her hailing of Dr. Flint to inquire
after some patient, or David Lee Child, to get some light on history or
politics. Then she would subside into an absent day-dream, like her
dear father before her ; smiles flitted over her fine face ; half-formed
words rose to her lips; nods of welcome or recognition, in imagination,
as she plied her needle busily, unconscious of any but invisible pres-
ences. I never had known till I received the letter from my cousin,
Bstes Howe, at the beginning of this volume, that our grandfather had
this same trick of absent-mindedness, and always wondered where my
mother and Aunt Howe got it. It was a very marked trait in both of
them, but as different in its manifestations as their characters were
different.

401

My mother had a special delight in the society of Martha Cochran,
one of those rare souls who impress a whole village with a sense of
something heroic and unusual, both in the mind and character, — and

yet

" A creature not too bright or good,
For human nature's daily food."

One morning Martha passed the parlor window, and paused as usual
for the neighborly chat. Great was her surprise and amusement to
find that it was impossible to attract Mrs. Lyman's attention ; as,
though she was sweeping as usual at that hour in the morning, her
mind was far distant, and the illumination of her features and move-
ment of her lips proved that she was in animated conversation with
somebody. " It seems to me," said Martha, coming close to the win-
dow, "that we are having very fine times with some one." " Oh. Mar-
tha, is that you ? " said my mother, waking with a start from her
day-dream. " Well, my dear, I went to Springfield yesterday, and
passed the day with Betsey Howard ; and I do assure you, it is worth a
guinea a minute to see Betsey." Judging from the recollections, of
Mrs. Howard's daughters, the conversation of the friends was full of
the heartiest pleasure ; although, as Sophia writes me, to try and re-
port it, is like uncorking a second time the bottle of champagne, the
day after the festival.

At Deerfield lived old Dr. Willard, the blind clergyman, and his wife ;
life-time friends of my mother, who had known them in Hingham in
her youth. The fact that Dr. Willard was one of the few clergymen
of the liberal faith who lived within twenty miles of Northampton, for
many years before our Unitarian society was formed, often attracted
my father and mother to Deerfield in the early days of their married
life. Dr. Willard was a saintly man, who bore his life of privation and
blindness with angelic patience, and he was always an honored guest
at our house as long as he lived. At one time when he came to pass
a week, my mother thought to add to the circle of his enjoyments by
51

402

going with him to Springfield to attend a Unitarian convention, and
pass two days with their common friend, Mrs. Howard. The visit was
a charming one ; all combined to fill the heart of the blind man with
pleasure. Especially the fresh voices of the little Howards charmed
his ear, and brought visions of happy, affectionate childhood to his
mental vision. Dr. Willard was slow in his movements, and when, the
evening before his departure, he announced that he must start at an
early hour next morning, in order to officiate al a christening in Deer-
field, where he had promised to be present, the whole family felt that
they must aid in speeding the parting guest. When the early break-
fast was over, and his companion and the stage waiting, Dr. "Willard,
moving very slowly, expressed in quaint and measured terms his grat-
itude for the hospitality that had been shown him ; and then said to
Mrs. Howard, "The tenure of life is short; before I go, I should like
to kiss every one of your sweet girls." The girls all hung back, and
looked as if about to take flight. Mrs. Howard was in despair, not
wishing to check the old man's wishes in any way. But my mother
was equal to the occasion ; seizing a hand of each reluctant child, she
placed it in Dr. Willard's, then inserted her own cheek between him
and the child, bobbing back and forth, ami saying eacli time, " This is
Lucinda, Dr. Willard : this is Sophia : this is Elizabeth : this is Mary ;
this is Sarah; and this is little Emily. Now you've kissed all the sweet
girls, Dr. Willard : good-by." And she hustled him off, and returned
to the house to find the whole family exploding witli laughter.

My mother and Mrs. Howard were both second wives; and Sophia
recalls a conversation between them, that amused her very much on this
account. Mrs. Howard was relating to my mother the fact that some
friend was about to marry his third wife, which she considered a great
enormity. " Why, Betsey," said my mother soothingly, "if a man's
house burns down, should he not build it up again ? It isn't in the
nature of things for a man to live without a home." " Well, Mrs. Ly-
man," said Mrs. Howard, " when a man's house has burned dow7n

403

twice, I should say it was an indication of Providence that he had
better give up, and go to board."

Sophia Howard writes : " It would be impossible for any one to re-
port the brilliant sparkling of the conversation of those two women.
Young as we children were, we enjoyed listening to it beyond any
thing, and could appreciate the wit and humor of it. Few ever felt
your mother's tenderness and sympathy, as my mother and her chil-
dren did. 1 well remember when I was but a little child, only nine
years old, the interest she took in my having my eye operated on for
strabismus. She told me in confidence, that, if I would have it done,
I should make a visit to her, in Northampton. I think that first led
me to be a thorn in my mother's side, till the operation was performed.
I never shall forget that visit. I never enjoyed any thing so much in
my life. C. was six or seven years older than I, which at that time
seemed an immense difference, so that I was almost crazy with delight
to be treated as a companion to her. I went to a sewing society, and
I could not possibly have as much pleasure or pride now in being pre-
sented at the Court of St. James, as I had then. One Sunday, just as
we were getting ready for church, the fire-bells rang, and C. hinted to
me privately that we would slip off to the fire, which we did instead of
attending the sanctuary. Mr. Child was at your house to dinner, and I
remember how crushed I was, when your mother satirically introduced
us to him as the ' fire worshippers.' I had no idea that the stigma
would not cling to me for life. That was the only reproof we received
for what was then considered a most improper thing. Even in those
days a good deal of the puritanical observance of Sunday was preserved :
and, at that time, Mr. Rufus Ellis was preaching as a candidate at N.,
and it was thought even the youngest ought to rejoice in such preach-
ing."

I remember one fine, clear, winter day, when I had been out with
my mother to make some visits. Many of our neighbors had flitted to
Boston for a few weeks to enjoy lectures and concerts and other city

404

diversions. Among these, Martha Cochran had been absent some
weeks, and was not expected home for another month, we had been
told. Returning from our outing, on opening the parlor-door a sin-
gular sight met our astonished eyes. Every article of furniture had
been transformed by some new and grotesque combination, and the
hearth brush, arrayed in Mrs. Lyman's best cap and shawl, was seated
in a rocking-chair on top of the piano, assiduously darning a stocking.
One glance round the room was enough for my mother, and then she
fell all in a heap into a chair, unable to speak for some moments for
laughing. " Martha Cochran," she gasped at last, swaying to and fro ;
" do n't tell me she hasn't gut borne from Boston, for I know better.
This is her card." And. sure enough, this was the case.

She was a great believer in the sewing circle, which met from house
to house, to sew for the pour, ami which accomplished a great deal in
the winter time. Our sewing circle had been gathered and inspired by
our dear Mrs. Hall, our first minister's wife, whose name and memory
were especially dear to our church, long after she had left us. Twenty
years after she had gone, during a period of discouragement there was
talk of disbanding the sewing society, when my mother rose in the
meeting, and with a voice full of tenderness, and eyes that shone
through tears, she said only, " My friends, this sewing society was
formed by Mrs. Hall ! " It was enough ; nobody thought of giving it
up after that.

" Do n't tell me any thing about gossip," she would say, when people
complained of sewing circles, as the places for it. " Scandal is a
dreadful thing, but gossip is as necessary as the air we breathe ; the
world could not get on without it a minute. I went to the sewing
society the other day. There sat in the corner Mrs. S. and Mrs. C.
It did not seem to me they said a great deal ; it all amounted to noth-
ing. But Mrs. S. told Mrs. C. what a dreadful smoky chimney she
had, and how her eyes were almost out of her head in consequence,
and she could not work any button-holes. Mrs. W., overhearing the

405

conversation, here came in with a recipe for the smoking chimney, and
also took home the button-holes to finish. Mrs. B. told Mrs. A., that
she expected friends from Boston next week, and Sally Ann, her niaid-
of-all-works, too feeble for any thing, and she all tired out herself.
Mrs. A. crosses the room and repeats it all to Mrs. L. Mrs. L. at once
proposes that her Betsey should go to Mrs. B.'s for the month she will
be absent at Saratoga ; and so that difficulty was cleared up. And,"
said my mother, " that is what half the gossip at the sewing circle
amounts to ; and I think it amounts to bringing about as many good
results as some other things." When she herself appeared, a bevy of
young girls were excited to mirthfulness. There was one old lady, of
very quaint manners and speech, whom the young people liked to have
drawn out, and nobody could do it but Mrs. Lyman. " Oh, there
she comes," they would say ; " do let us get her into that corner,
where Mrs. A. sits, and then won't there be fun? " And fun there was !
No one who heard, will ever forget those talks.

The amount of plain speaking that people will bear from one whose
good will is perfect is always an amazement to those accustomed to
circumlocution. I recall the things I have heard my mother say to
others, which at the time astonished me from their directness, and yet
I know they rarely gave offence ; for the persons thus addressed refer
to them now with an amount of pleasure and gratitude, that is unmis-
takable. " I came to her one day," said a friend, " with a list of
troubles and grievances, for which I wanted her sympathy. She heard
me very patiently, but when I was all through, she only said, with in-
tensity, ' Oh, Mrs. P., gild your lot with contentment ! ' I saw that was
all she had to say, so I went home ; but you may depend, I did not for-
get it." " M. can you tell me what is the reason," she said one day to
a young girl, " that when your family are in a peek of trouble, that
always appears to be the signal for you to abdicate ? Oh, don't do it,
child, pray do n't ! The next time the family coach gets into a rut, you
take right hold, and see if you can't move it, if it's only an inch."

406

"Abdication " had a peculiar meaning on her lips, and was one of her
seven deadly sins, as " nerves " were another. She had little patience
with people who backed down in emergencies, and considered it her
bounden duty to bear her testimony, and stiffen them up a little. She
never had to go far to find an illustration " to point her moral and adorn
her tale.'' Some good neighbor's example would instantly come to mind.
" Look over the way at my neighbor Hunt's front yard,'" she would say ;
" sec that splendid hydrangea, that elegant smoke-bush, that buckthorn
hedge, all in the most perfect order, and all kept so by her own hands.
Always she has sickness, sorrow, death : at every turn, something sad
and unexpected. But who ever dreamed of Mrs. Hunt's abdicating .'
She could n't do it.''

She went to see a young and worrying mother one day, whose
health was delicate. " Oh, A., now you really think, my dear, that
you've got to the ' swellings of Jordan ; ' but you are greatly mistaken.
Mrs. Cephas Clapp got there years ago, but she wouldn't stay.
Never's had a well day these twenty years and more ; but has just kept
round and done what she could, and kept her family a-going. Never
once thought of abdicating, though I can't see why she didn't. Now
tell me, is there really any way you can spend your youth and middle
life, that pays half so well as bearing and rearing children

And yet, though she would sometimes give strength, where sympathy
was wanted, — it was only where her clear moral insight told her that
this was best, and not from any lack of sympathy. No need for her to
sing as she did every Sunday night,

" Oh. give me tears for other's woes,"
for her eyes were always rivers of tears, when the real sorrow of any
one was called to her notice: and at the same time that she could
exhort a young mother not to believe that she had reached " the swell-
ings of Jordan," she would send her carriage to take her out for an
afternoon's drive, and bring home the children to entertain while she
had gone.

407

A case of seduction occurred in our village, and though the parties
were afterwards married, and led an irreproachable life together, yet
the wife always seemed under a cloud, — a patient, but very sad woman.
My mother visited her frequently, and often took me, with a basket of
flowers or fruit, when she went. I used to wonder how any one who
had such a pretty baby could be so sad. I recall my mother's taking
the child on her lap, and saying, "Why, Z., what a splendid head this
child has'." and then she enumerated his phrenological develop-
ments, and prophesied his future. No smile on the face of baby's
mother ! " See here. Z." said she, " this child may grow up to be an
honor and a blessing to the community ; but not unless you do your
whole duty by him ; and you can't do your whole duty, if you keep in
this low-spirited frame of mind." The beautiful boy died at four years ;
and by the coffin, with the poor mother's hand in hers, no one wept
more bitterly than she did.

She was called in by a young friend one day, to look at her elegant
wedding trousseau. When all had been shown, she turned to B. and
said, " Well, B., whatever else you do, don't turn into a clothes-horse,
my dear. Don't you know, if it was to purchase your salvation, you
could not wear more than one of those gowns at a time ? "

To another, she said, "Oh, I see what you are after. Creature com-
forts ! those are what engage your attention. Oh, how you do hate to
eat ' humble pie ; ' but it's good for you, — you'll tell me so some day."

" C.,you think it does not comport with your dignity, to take such a
step ! Well, your dignity is n't worth two pins, if you have got to spend
your life taking care of it, and nursing it up. If it can't take care of
itself, it may as well die a natural death."

She was a woman of convictions, and this made her act with a deci-
sion and certainty that could not be expected always to fall in with
the equally cherished views of others. One day she had had a little
breeze with Judge Huntington. She had been warm and unreasona-
ble, and that had perhaps made him cold and hard. Next day she was

408

sitting by the door sewing, while I read aloud to her, — when Judge H.'s
little boy came up the step and handed her a small basket covered with
green leaves. On opening it, we found it contained several small green
melons with rough rinds"; and underneath was an envelope containing
a beautiful little poem. 1 have looked in vain among her papers for
the verses, which she kept long and carefully ; but they have disap-
peared. If 1 remember rightly, in the first verse he described the little
melon, so hard and green and rough outside, so luscious within. Then
he begged his old friend to take the trouble to pierce that hard outside,
and find the imprisoned sweetness. And. in his hist verse, be asked
her to take tin; same pains to get at a heart that had nothing in if but
grateful affection for her, however appearances might seem to the eon.
trary. Her eves filled with tears as she read the verses, but she said
nothing. She slowly took out the In lie melons and laid them in a dish,
then went to the closi t and brought fruit-knives and plates for me and
for herself. "The melon, are g 1."' she said, reflectively, as she fin-
ished eating them; "but the man's heart who sent these melons is
good as gold I "

She had a whole world of pathos and tenderness in her composition,
which the casual visitor knew nothing of. Usually strong, brave,
cheerful, and full of life, one could hardly imagine, who did not know
her well, how gentle and tender became the tones of her voice when
deeply moved. And. oh. the warmth of those enfolding arms, the cor-
diality of her welcome to any friend from whom she had been parted !
And. if in conversation with others she heard any discussion of char-
acter that dwelt on externals, and did not enter into the heights and
depths of the being, she became either indignant or pathetic in her
defence of the absent one. and sometimes both. I recall a time when
a knot of young girls were talking of an unfashionable bonnet, worn
by a woman of genius. My mother had a great love and admiration
for the friend in question; she knew also that a rigid economy, grow-
ing out of the highest philanthropy, and no want of taste, was the

409

cause of the objectionable bonnet ; and she was sorely tried by the
playful, but not ill-natured, raillery. Corning near to the group of
young people, with a book in her hand and with tears filling her eyes,
she read, with much emotion, a fine passage from " Philothea." Every
face was turned to hers with sympathetic emotion. " Girls," she said,
when she had finished, " never again speak of what that woman wears
on the outside of her head ; think only of what she carries in the
insiSe."

I think nothing was quite unbearable to her in character but the
spirit of the cynic. To that she gave no quarter. It seemed to her
to cover the earth with a pall, and shut out heaven ; it was a real
pestilence, and must be avoided as such ; and, in selecting homes and
resting-places and influences for her children, or the young people
under her charge, she was more careful to avoid that evil than she was
to guard them against any other mischance.

She was a genuine optimist in regard to all children. A firm
believer in the effects of race, blood, and family inheritance, no modern
reader of Darwin or Wallace had a stronger faith in reproduction of
types and alternate generation than she had ; and a large charity, grow-
ing out of her generous philosophy of life, surrounded all the young
with whom she came in contact, with hopes rather than fears. " I am
sure those children will grow up good," she said one day of some very
troublesome little folks, " because their father and mother are the very
salt of the earth, their grandparents are excellent, and all their uncles
and aunts were superior." " Well, but, Mrs. Lyman," said her hearer,

" you were just as sure the children would turn out well, and

they did not have good parents or good grandparents." " Oh, well,
my dear, when you've lived as long as, I have, you will see that bad
parents and grandparents are very apt to serve as a warning to children.
And, then, who knows but they take after some good ancestor farther
back ? For, it is simply impossible that any family should be without
good ancestors as well as bad ones, if they can only go back far

410

enough.'" And when it was reported to her that one of these families,
of whom she 1 ad expected the best things, had actually grown up very
dull people, she said : " Now, if you had known the folks they came
from, you would never he discouraged. Those are people of very late
development. None of them ever come to any thing till they are
past thirty ; and then they loom up splendidly, and carry all before
them."

And was there no offset to her life of hospitality, her generous giving,
her devotion to large and universal interests? Yes, there was; and
we shall all be apt to judge (if it according to each one's natural tempera-
ment and proclivity. It is scarcely possible to be both large and small
at the same time: to give one's mind to details at the same time that
one compasses principles. In a few well-ordered and harmonious lives,
nothing seems loo great, nothing seems too small, for doing earnestly
ami well. And in all family life, a certain attention to detail is impor-
tant, to insure that perfect working of the whole machinery that makes
it move with ease and grace. My mother's life seemed made up of
emergency and opportunity, and her immense physical strength en-
abled her to meet both, and to be equal to them ; to carry by main force
what woidd have been better accomplished by system and order.
But she never considered herself a tine housekeeper, and for the most
exquisite housekeeping she had no respect, considering that too much
was sacrificed to it. She had, however, a thorough appreciation for a
style of housekeeping greatly superior to her own ; but not being able
to accomplish it, along with the other purposes of her existence, she
did not allow herself to be made unhappy by it. It would not be well
for all families to live the life of free and unrestricted hospitality that
ours did ; but. if there were one such family life in every village, any
dereliction in the details of that life might well be forgiven, for the
large-hearted influence it must necessarily exert.

My mother was frequently behind-hand in her household arrange-
ments ; and it recalls to me now the simplicity of forty years ago, that

411

her mistakes were so frequently rectified by kind neighbors and friends.
Now, when guests arrive suddenly and unexpectedly, — if they ever do
such things now-a-days, — the family, larder can easily be replenished
from provision-stores and restaurants; but in her day that was no1
possible. If a person had neglected to take a large amount of provision
from the butcher's cart in his morning rounds, or to make up a large
oven full of various breads and cakes and pies, there was no way later
in the day to supply the deficiency. — money could not lo it, but love
could and did, very often. That state of society brought about a very
frequent interchange of kindly offices in a neighborhood, such as are no
longer needed, when a family have only to telegraph to Boston to have
their evening's material entertainment sent up in four hours.

One clay, my father brought home Judge Shaw at twelve o'clock,
with some ladies, to dine ; our dinner hour being one o'clock. My
mother hastened out of the parlor after cordially receiving her guests,
to see what addition could be made to her every-day dinner. A half
hour later, my brother Sam's little boy came bearing a large, covered
kettle of mock-turtle soup, which his mother had sent, having heard
accidentally of the unexpected company. Now, our sister Almira
was one of the most beautiful of housekeepers ; one of those persons
who bring about wonderful results without the least fuss or noise, who
was always ready for every occasion, whose recipes always came out
well, and who, to use my mother's expression, " knew every rope in
the ship." So that the sight of a kettle of sister A.'s soup raised her
enthusiasm to the highest pitch on this occasion, when she felt her own
delinquencies severely. " Don't tell me," said she, as she ladled up
the thick and steaming liquid, with the golden balls floating in it, into
a large tureen , " do n't tell me that the Chief Justice ever ate any
such soup as this in Boston. Because I know better ! There's nobody
but your sister Almira that can make it ! *' In the same manner, she
was one day relieved of another dilemma. There were, certainly, the
kindest people in Northampton, then, that ever lived ! It had been one

412

of the hottest of summer days, and a tea-party of distinguished stran-
gers was expected in the evening, but there was such a succession of
transient calls of various importance on every member of the family, that
the evening drew on, and our preparations for the supper were most in-
complete. The dear woman encouraged us all, that we should see that
every thing would come out right, if we had only faith as a grain of
mustard seed ; and she had hardly said the word, when, looking from
the window, one friend after another walked in. " Did n't I tell you,
girls ? " called out my mother triumphantly. " Now, see here ; here is
Mrs. Whitmarsh has sent me an elegant basket of fruit and flowers;
and Mrs. Dikeman such rusk as nobody can make but she ; and, as
true as you live, if there is n't Mrs. Hunt bringing over a great basket
of Seckel pears! Now, don't tell me that they ever have any better
things at the Boston parties ! " She frequently informed us that she
did not think the Chief Justice or Judge Wilde ever tasted any such
dinners or had such suppers at Mr. David Sears's house, or Harrison
Gray Otis's ; and we were not to tell her they had. This we considered
a pleasing fiction, — only another way of expressing her pleasure at our
efforts, and the kindness of neighbors. It was a part of that healthy
delight she took in every thing. On the occasion in question, she
called out jovially, " And now, girls, let us all go to i?«7-fordshire
[that meant we were all to lie down and rest], for we shall sail before
the wind." And, suiting the action to the word, she disappeared within
the library door with the motion of a ship with all sails set.

One clay, a friend came in, who had just come from a visit to Mrs.

, who was one of the " exquisite housekeepers." She began to

tell my mother about the perfect condition of that house from garret
to cellar, and rang the changes on the brightness of the brasses, the
admirable shine of the glass and silver, the entire absence of dust on
every carpet. My mother stood it just as long as she could, though
fidgeting uneasily in her chair. Then she exclaimed, " I think Mrs.
is the dirtiest person I ever saw in my life ! " " Oh, Mrs. Lyman,

413

what can you mean ? ' said the friend. " What I say is true," said
my mother, bringing down her hand with much force on the table.
" From the rising of the sun, to the going down of the same, that
woman's mind is on dirt ! She thinks dirt, sees dirt, is fighting dirt,
the livelong day. Now I would much rather see more of it on her
carpet, and less of it on her mind."

I recall as one of the special social enjoyments of my father and
mother, the coming of Baron Rceiine" (the Prussian Minister of Foreign
affairs) to Northampton, who passed the greater part of two years
there, from 1838 to 1840. He was a person of most genial temper
and charming conversational powers, and was warmly attached to my
father. In a letter of his that lies beside me, written three years later
to my father, he says : " My dear Judge, there will be no more war ! "
His hope must have given him that certainty, and added to my father's
hopes.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbing.

Northampton, July 20, 1840.

MY dear Catherine, — . . . Only think how dreadful it is !
We attended the funeral of Mrs. James Fowler last Saturday ;
a more touching grief 1 never witnessed than her husband and children
manifested. She had had two attacks before the last, and seemed to
be expecting that a third would take her off. Her husband had just
got for her a beautiful easy carriage and fine pair of horses ; and the
day before the attack rode forty miles with her ; and she said she felt
so well that day, that she was encouraged to believe she should recover.
She was holding a most animated discussion with Samuel in the even-
ing, just after tea, on a metaphysical subject, which had interested his
mind deeply ; and her part in it he is able to write down, together with
many excellent opinions she entertained on various subjects which he
was in the habit of conversing with her upon. She was speechless
from the time of the attack ; but when asked if she heard them, and
realized what was going on, she moved her head in assent, to signify
that she did ; and lived in that state five days. The two young chil-
dren are beautiful specimens of a fine education. They are unlike S.
in being graceful and handsome. A poor little dwarf of Dr. Atwater's,
whom she had taken great interest in always, and supported entirely,
she had taken home the last year of her life ; and, whenever she was
more unwell than common, she commended him to the watchful care

415

and tenderness of the different members of the family, though at
times she never mentioned her own children. She had never
to reflect that lie was no decoration to their beautiful establishment,
but was always saying how good he was, and how useful his example
was to her children. There certainly is something in this character
which transcends all written accounts of human nature. An nit ire
subjugation of self, and of all pride and ambition, to the interests of
the unfortunate. What a triumph over the world, its allurements and
temptations, was here exhibited ! Hers was a piety acted out, and
talked but little about. Her husband seemed to consider her as his
privy counsellor, whose judgment he could not live without, as well as
the best object of his affections. There certainly is none other on
earth to fill her place to him. Mr. Lyman says I said the same about
Mrs. Hall. My life consists of contrasts, you know.

Yesterday morning, Mr. Lyman informed me that he had invited
Judge Betts and wife and daughters to pass the evening, together with
Judge Dewey and family and the necessary appendages, and the Henry
Rice family, and the Redwood Fisher family ; they made a party of
over fifty, that were entertained here last evening. All but me ap-
peared to have a very entertaining and agreeable time ; and I was
tired to death before they came. Mrs. Watson and her cousins, Judge
Mellen's daughters, were of the party. Mrs. Watson is very much
liked here, and likes living here better than in Cambridge, as do her
children.

I was sorry I could not write to Mrs. Revere by Mr. Lincoln and
D — — ; but Mrs. E. Williams was making me a visit with Mrs.
Brinley's niece, — Miss E. Sumner, — and in the morning I had a
good deal to do to get away and get all my company off. Catherine L.
is decidedly in a train of improvement, and her father is realizing that
he has got his money's worth.

416

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, December 12, 1840.

My dear Edward, — As it is now nearly time for another packet to
sail, I shall put myself in readiness to answer your requisitions. You
cannot conceive with what pleasure we received your letter, in five
weeks from the time you sailed. I shall never cease to think it the
occasion of the greatest gratitude whenever a dear friend has achieved
sailing across the Atlantic in safety ; but my last letter told you all
about that.

We got through Thanksgiving as usual, — after a great struggle on my
part, — with fifteen at table, who seemed to enjoy themselves highly, —
if I did not. I am sure, however, that I have much to rejoice in. My
children are all good and doing well, and I have an unusual portion of
health, as well as your father, and an unusual exemption from im-
mediate sorrow. But the reflections connected with the past must
always make these annual festivals, to people who are as far advanced
as I am, to lie days of sad retrospection. They are way-marks in the
journey of life, and are calculated to make deep impressions, as well
as to renew old ones. Though the seat of the much-loved be vacant,
and this world contain them no longer, — when the family-circle are
gathered, is not the place in our hearts filled? — is not the image
there, distinct, clear, undimmed by time? — do we not recall the spirit
in all its purity, with the excellence of their characters, the beauty of
their example, with all the gladness we had in their presence ? If
it serve no other end than this, we ought to rejoice ; it connects
us more closely to the good who are endued with Christian faith and
Christian hope. And we must not repine that it calls up the shadows
of the past, if at the same time it speaks to us of other and brighter
days. If the heart yearns for its departed treasures, let it rejoice that
it was rich in offerings to a Heavenly Father.

Since Thanksgiving was over, we have had a large party at Mrs.

417

Hunt's, a sewing-society meeting at Mr. Church's, and another party in
the Meadow, at Mr. Harrison Apthorp's. All of them delightful occa-
sions, with much merriment and innocent hilarity. . . .

We have heard of Bonnet's leaving India for home, but he has not
arrived yet. Your father has been reading the trial of the D'Hauteville
case all clay to me. The child is awarded to the mother for safe-
keeping ; and, though I do not deem it just, I cannot but be glad of it :
it would make the poor mother so unhappy to part with it. But it is,
on the whole, a miserable commentary on the morals and manners of
well-educated people in this country. The reason why Mrs. D'Haute-
ville could not live with her husband was the same reason why she
ought not to have married him ; which was, that he was a Swiss
gentleman who had nothing in common with her, not even a common
vehicle of thought ; for he could speak her language no better than she
could his. They had no common standard of morality, manners, or
religion ; which left an impassable gulf between them. This, however,
does not invalidate the vows pledged at the altar, when, by holy cove-
nant, she takes him " for better or for worse, for sickness or for health."
Young people ought to be enough acquainted to know if they can
harmonize before the knot is tied ; and before it is tied, it is never too
late to dissolve the connection. But afterwards she should consider
herself as having taken the veil, and that there is no resisting the
destiny which follows, — particularly where they have a common prop-
erty in a child. In separating herself from him this lady consigns
him to perpetual celibacy ; for, as there cannot be a divorce, he cannot
marry again, any more than she can. The child, too, is rendered
fatherless ; the father at the same time being despoiled of the best of
earthly treasures — a son.

I suppose Susan has written to you an account of the rejoicing at
Thanksgiving time they had at Aunt Revere's. Catherine went down
from Worcester and joined them. Your Aunt Eliza has engaged in
her usual pursuits in New York, and is in her usual health.

Your affectionate Mother.

418

Mrs. Lyman to 3Jiss C. Robbins.

Northampton, December 13, 1840.

My dear Sister, — Soon after you left, I devoted myself to assisting
Sarah to give the house an autumnal cleaning preparatory to winter,
and moved into the stove parlor.- That was no sooner done than the
preparations for Thanksgiving commenced, and there was no more
peace for me until that was over. I have a fellow-feeling for Mary ;
not that I think it as much for her to have thirty as it is for me to have
fifteen, with no one to do a thing except as I move them and teach
them ; nobody to make a single pie, pudding, custard, or blanc-mange,
a gravy or cranberry sauce, but myself. Every time I do it I think
shall be the last, unless I can have somebody that knows something,
for help. I ought to mention, however, that Sarah has proved an angel
in the absence of Nancy, — does all her work ten times better than
she ever did it, and with the greatest cheerfulness. But I do suffer for
Nancy when there is any company to be waited on. I expect a girl in
from Cummington, fifteen years old, as soon as her mother recovers
from a fever which has delayed her the last fortnight. She is a girl of
very respectable connections, and character, and education.

Mr. Lyman has interested himself to read the whole of the D'Haute-
ville trial aloud to me, I cannot say entirely to my amusement. For I
cannot help feeling a good deal of indignation and sorrow, that such a
commentary upon the morals and manners of our best-educated people
in this country should be published to the world, and made known to
European countries, as well as this. The same reason why Miss S.
should not live with M. D'H. is the reason why she should not have
pledged her vows at the altar; and why her parents in her sickly state
of feeling should not have allowed her to. And it is to their everlast-
ing disgrace that they did it, under the circumstances disclosed in that
trial.

Mr. Church says the Swiss carry on the affairs of marriage as Menzel

419

describes the Germans to have done ; with a sort of religious sentimen-
tality, " a business with a demure aspect, or even as a religious affair,
with pious devotion." And according to the custom of his country, it
was right for him to teach his wife her duty from the Scriptures, as
the 's complain that he did. If he and his parents were so tyran-
nical as not to allow her to ride away from home with her mother, the
first days after marriage, it was because there are forms to be observed
by the nobility of the country, which cannot be dispensed with ; such
as the necessity of the bride remaining at home to receive the friends
of the family during the first few weeks. Mr. Church says that the
family are amongst the first nobility of the country, and the reason they
have not a title is that when Switzerland became a republic all the
nobility laid down their titles, or went into Germany to retain them ;
that though there are no titles, there are still all the forms of nobility
left. I consider him good authority, because he lived in the neighbor-
hood of these people twenty years, and has passed some weeks in the

chateau , and is personally acquainted with all their affairs ; and he

represents them as the most stiff and puritanical religionists, — although
good people of their kind, — such as none of us would care to unite our

interests with. And the S s were senseless creatures to have any

thing to do with them ; they deserve all the punishment they will have
for their folly, without much sympathy.

Now, instead of talking about this nonsense, I ought to tell you that
since Thanksgiving we have had a good deal of dissipation. Mr.
Rogers has not got home, but Mrs. Rogers has been out to several par-
ties, looking beautiful, and everybody feels sorry to part with such an
exquisite ornament to our circle. I can truly say I am, for one ; and
she seems very much saddened by the prospect. There are, she says,
no schools for the children short of two miles, and they will not be in
circumstances to have a private teacher. I do not wonder she feels
these disadvantages.

Our New York paper informed us as soon as Bennet's vessel hove in

420

sight. I felt it to be a great relief after that dreadful storm on our
coast. C. T. represents that he has made mints of money, and 1 hope
it is true. The scatterers of money do a great deal of good somewhere ;
I am sure I should if I had any to scatter.

In this year Mr. John S. Dwight came to Northampton to preach,
and he remained there eighteen months. A short ministry, but one
that sowed good seed that has sprung up in many hearts, and borne
fruit, even to this day. My mother thought the church was not his
place, and she was right. She would not have had him settled, but
she was much distressed at the unsettling of one for whom she had a
profound regard. We cannot expect the old or the middle-aged to
enjoy seeing their portrait of Christ in any other frame than the one
they have always seen it in. The power of association is strong, and
cannot but hold a sway over us. To the young, Mr. Dwight's ministry
was of incalculable benefit. He unsealed their eyes to behold and
realize the beauties of Nature all around them, — a vast possession for
every soul, of which they now felt they had before been strangely igno-
rant. He opened to them the whole world of music, a nameless treas-
ure. He brought us books of a new type, and revealed to us, that not
Sunday only, but every day, was " a day of the Lord ; " no duty so
mean, no lot so poor and tame and commonplace, that it might not be
glorified by obedience and love.

How my mother enjoyed the books he brought, and what a treat it
was to read aloud to her", De Wette's "Ethics," " Theodore," Jouffroi
and Benjamin Constant! I can see her now as she would lean forward
and say, " Oh, read that again ; " and her delight at certain passages
in Fichte's " Nature of the Scholar " have impressed them on my mind
forever.

421

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, December 29, 1810.
My dear Edward, — I am afraid you will be tired of hearing from
us, and that I shall have a letter, saying, " Do not write, except by
every alternate packet." I was truly glad to get your letter by the
" Acadia." If I had known that Mr. Nevins was going, I should have
sent some pictures of American scenery to you by him, as well as let-
ters ; but it was kept a profound secret from me. It is very grateful
to me to hear that you are well, and particularly to know that you are
out of mischief, which, of course, I am very much afraid of. I do not
feel so badly to hear of you crowded with business as some might ; for
you know it is my doctrine that occupation is the true secret of human
happiness. The grand problem of life with every one is " how to be rec-
onciled to the restlessness of our nature, or how to get rid of it." We
must not divest ourselves of it, but employ it. " In the sweat of thy
brow thou shalt eat bread " was the decree which went forth from our
Heavenly Father at the commencement of the existence of man. It
is a common idea, I know, that leisure and repose bring pleasure. A
very little experience shows how untrue is the fact. We all require an
object, a motive, something to exercise continually the restless activity
within us ; and I believe those the happiest on earth who are under a
pressure of business, who have a definite duty to perform. He who
has nothing to do is under a leaden load of idleness. When was a
man of leisure ever happy, until he had coined all his leisure into good
works ? " Rest ! there is no such thing as rest. One may throw away
care, and fold his arms. But time will not rest ; the earth will not
rest ; the Almighty will not rest. If all things around us are in mo-
tion, what boots it for us to keep still ? It were truer rest for us to
move in harmony with all that surrounds us." The last seven lines
was what I can remember from a sermon preached by Mr. Dwight this
morning. I am afraid you are not so privileged with preaching in

422

England, and that those golden intervals of time, the Sabbath, so
precious and so profitable, both for rest and holy meditation, are not so
well appropriated as with us.

Your letter said not a word about an heiress to the throne. The
newspapers, however, are prolific on that subject.

I suppose my last told you of various parties we have had. Last night
we had a small one here, for a runaway couple from New Haven, and
President Allen's family ; and for a new family of Robinsons from New
Haven, who are related to your father, — and they appear to be good
and interesting people, from the little I have seen of them. President
Allen's eldest daughter — a very uncommonly interesting and accom-
plished and well-looking girl — has her lover, Mr. Smith, visiting her
from Maine. He was the distinguishing ornament of our party. He
has just returned from a two years' sojourn in Germany, and is now
professor at Bowdoin College, Maine, and the acting-president of the
institution. He reminded me so much of Charles Emerson that I
wanted to hear him talk all the time, and thought I would have given
any thing to have had Joseph by to enjoy him as I did. This evening
we are to have a party at Mr. Charles P. Huntington's ; after that at
Mr. Clark's and Mrs. Cochran's. Last week we were at Miss Pome-
roy's. So you see we continue our social habits.

Mrs. Lyman to 3Iiss C. Bobbins.

Northampton, February 27, 1841.
My dear Catherine, — Mr. G. C. has furnished me with an op-
portunity for writing to Cambridge, which I was not expecting, but am
very glad to have.

I have passed a very tranquil winter ; have found sufficient opportu-
nities for society, as well as sufficient time for reflection and some read-
ing, and plenty of occupation of a domestic kind.

Catherine's visit, with Fanny Lyman's, broke in very agreeably upon

423

the monotony of existence, and rather hurried me, while she was here,
in the preparations for her return. I see by her letters that she is
rather disturbed by an invitation to the 4th of March ball, which she
will not be permitted to accept, and it is altogether best she should not.
I have hardly had sight of Mr. Dwight since his return. Last Sun-
day afternoon he requested the Sunday-school teachers to remain after
meeting ; and I, being one, stopped with the others, when he took occa-
sion to speak of the importance of having a class of teachers taught
by some one, and I proposed that he should teach that class himself.
He said that he would try to ; but that " he had never paid much atten-
tion to the study of theology." Now, what do you think of such a
declaration as that from your minister ? He never preached better (I
mean more practically) in his life than he had done all day, from the
text, " If thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light ; "
and no one could better set forth the beauty of perfect simplicity than
he did, or the deformity of the reverse. But when he said this, I
wanted to shake him. Now, I believe the shepherd is a religious man,
but I want the acknowledged sanction of revelation for all religious
opinions. I can never substitute intuition for the Word of God or the
teachings of our Saviour ; neither can I substitute feeling for doctrine,
nor sentiment for worship. Nature-worship is as far below my idea of
the adoration due to God as man-worship or child-worship, or that of
any of God's works instead of Himself personally. In me it would
be idolatry, as much as worshipping the golden calf was, or any of the
idols of the heathen nations. Their idols represented things in their
view sacred. Now, I consider all the works of the Almighty as mani-
festations of His love to man, and that they should be reflected upon
with pleasure and gratitude, as our children and other privileges are,
but they should never be considered as objects of worship. Now, you
perceive the utter impossibility of making a transcendentalist of me.
Nevertheless, I can enjoy all that is good and practical in their faith,
and have not a particle of ill-will towards them or their writings.

424

All that I could understand in the last " Dial," I took great pleasure
in, particularly the piece on " Woman," by Mrs. Ripley. I do n't
know how we are to have an immutable law of right and wrong,
except by the revealed will of God. We are told that the Gentiles,
not having the law, were a law unto themselves ; and from this we
argue that all have a guardian angel within, in the form of conscience.
But the proof is wanting to the perfection of our decisions, " except
the Holy Spirit bcareth witness to our spirit," by means of revelation.

Now, I like Mr. Dwight's morality and spirituality ; but to me his
faith is a problem not yet solved, and I am tired of trying to discover
what it is. At the same time, if I knew, it would probably have but
little weight on mine ; for, if he does not know any thing about
theology, why, then we are on a level.

Give my love to all friends, Mrs. H.'s family in particular ; and
believe me

Your very affectionate

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, August 16, 1S41.
My dear Abby, — When I received a letter from you, dated July,
I thought I should answer it without delay ; but I have been prevented
in various ways till to-day. I do not feel satisfied with the idea that
you go to Ibwa, and mean to have faith to believe that something will
occur to overrule Mr. Greene's design. When young S. Higginson
returned with his family from Michigan, where they remained two
years from the time they went, they both agreed that if people would
restrict their wants, and lay aside their pride here, and make a tenth part
of the sacrifices which were necessary to be made in those new places,
they could be much more comfortable here than by any possibility they
can be there. The coming autumn you are forty years old, and in deli-

425

cate health ; Mr. Greene is some three or four years older, and 1 think
you are too far advanced to make such an experiment. If it were your
daughter, newly married, I should say it was very well ; with the
enthusiasm and pliability of youth, people can educate themselves to
almost any thing from which they have hopes of success ; but it re-
quires all those advantages. And, another thing, — it would not be for
the happiness of C, as she now is ; and I hope you will not go. Mrs.
II. told me how hard life was in a new country. She had been highly
cultivated, and at the same time bred to accomplishments ; could draw
exquisitely, and perform well on the piano. She had never been
used to hardships of any kind, or any species of labor. The domestics
she carried out with her, soon made other provision for themselves, and
left her alone ; so that until her return she did all the cooking for six, —
herself, husband, and four children ; all the sewing, and all the wash-
ing, ironing, and house-cleaning. At the end of two years, after she
had improved her character by this severe discipline, her friends sent
to her to return ; after remaining here some time, she has gone to live

in Cambridge near Mr. "s friends. I am glad to hear that Sally is

well. Mr. Silsbce is making an exchange of several weeks. He and
Charlotte are much liked in Walpole. We are entirely aground about
preaching. . . .

They have sent to Mr. Bulfinch, whom all our people like very
much ; but he cannot leave Washington for such a poor salary as we
can afford to give, — six hundred a year. We have had a very quiet
and composed summer ; I wish you could have been with us.

A. J. Lyman.

To Abby she writes again : —

January 4, 1842.

You asked me concerning Mr. John S. Dwight's separation from
our society. There never was any good reason for our settling him ;
it was done by a few arbitrary members assuming all the influence, —
and done in great haste. In one year those very people took it upon

426

themselves, without the shadow of a reason, to drive him out ; which
they did by making the people who were neutral about the settlement,

positive in unsettling him. And and were the leaders in

this unholy work ; 1 always feel ashamed when I am called on to
tell the truth on this subject. Mr. Dwight announced his views, which
were transcendental, before he was settled. Now, there were really
none amongst us entertaining those views. But his preaching was
always fine, because he always selected those topics on which all Chris-
tians agree, and never brought up disputed points. I could have lis-
tened to him forever, without doing violence to my faith ; for his sense
of right and wrong, and his Christian morals, and mine were the same.
But his views of Christ were essentially unlike mine. His views of
man's responsibility were as elevated as Dr. Channing's were. But it
was very wrong in us to settle him under the circumstances, and wicked
in us to thrust him out as we did. And S.'s and my name are on the
records of our church, to prove that we opposed it, among others.
And now I have told you all that is to be told. Nobody could allege
any thing against Mr. Dwigbt, with truth, except that he was a tran-
scendentalism And that they knew when they ordained him.

In the month of August, 1842, occurred one of those sudden trials,
for which we were all utterly unprepared, and which affected no one
more deeply than my mother, outside the little circle of nearest rela-
tives. Our brother, Stephen Brewer, in the full vigor of manhood, in per-
fect health, with every prospect of long life and usefulness, was drowned
in the Connecticut River, on the first afternoon he had taken for plea-
sure, for many years.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Howe. '

Northampton, August 19, 1812.
My dear Sister, — I know you will wish to hear from us in our
deep affliction ; it was overwhelming, both from its suddenness and its

427

magnitude. Mr. Brewer seemed to be tlie person we could lean upon
in whatever trouble might assail us; he was our tower of strength, our
help in time of need. He was, above all oilier considerations, the
kindest and best of husbands; and poor Jane, helpless as sin- is herself,
has now three children to take care of, without the care and kindness
of this best of friends. And then he was in himself a perpetual sun-
shine to the multitudes around him, as well as a fountain of love and
mercy to those who wanted it. The moment he appeared at our door
I could see our girls begin to smile, if they were in sight, and make a
rush for the first shake of his hand ; and this affectionate, cordial in-
tercourse had subsisted without interruption for more than nine years.
Anil when the sound came to us without any premonition that he was
no more, I had a sense that we were lost, and, for some hours, God-
forsaken.

Mr. Lyman is miserable ; he is extremely weak and thin ; I found
him so when I returned. 1 can do nothing while he lives, except what
seems for his comfort.

I will trust that all may yet come right, and that Jane may be pro-
vided for. We are often called to realize that the current of human
events is too rapid and too strong for us to contend with ; but this
seemed to be a crisis in calamity so unlooked for, so threatening to the
peace and happiness of all connected with him, that it looked like
annihilation, for a time. I can never feel more crushed than I have
been made to feel by this sad event.

Mr. Lyman's indisposition and stationary infirmity have made Mr.
Brewer's kindness very valuable to us, and Mr. L. had a confidence in his
judgment, which he had in very few. But I will not enlarge upon the
importance of his existence. Nearly a thousand people, if not quite,
attended his funeral, and I never saw such manifestations of deep
grief. Mr. Smith had never attended a funeral before to administer
the service himself, yet nothing could be better done. Mr. Smith and

428

James Coolidge will administer the two services on Sunday. Catherine
is with Jane for a few days.

August 20. Jane seems more calm to-day. I cannot tell you the
thraldom in which sorrow still holds my mind ; it keeps a weight upon
me, and I feel unable to move. Two days before this dreadful event
occurred, I felt a heavy cloud lowering over my destiny. With much

effort and persuasion, I had induced S to go to Nahant. Then the

trouble took possession of me : for. though it was indefinite, I would
sometimes embody it in the firm of an injury and sudden death of

S , and then of C , who had left me the same morning With a

wedding-party for Springfield. I got up all kinds of visions, until
James appeared with her, at eight o'clock in the evening, safe. A
sleepless night ensued, — a premonition of some great calamity still
bound my spirit. At ten o'clock, Mr. and Mrs. Fowler came to pass
the day. I rejoiced that I must do something besides think of myself,
and made a business of entertaining them. After they left and tea was
over, I began to write a letter to Susan ; but had not written a page
before I heard confusion in the street, and went fearfully to the win-
dow ; heard reiterated the sound of Mr. Brewer's name and a mighty
rushing. 1 went into the street, and found the dreadful truth. Hun-
dreds of people rushed to the river, and worked in the middle of it
more than four hours before the body was obtained. I sat up until
twelve. Imping to receive the material part of the beloved object,
when a solemn procession passed, and carried it to Sam's house. His
wife spent the night with Jane. This was the explosion of that dread-
ful cloud. My letter must go now. James, you know, is at Saratoga
with the wedding-party. Love to all friends.

Your afflicted

Sister.

429

Mrs. Lyman to Alius H. Stearns.

Northampton, August 25, 1842.
My dear Hannah, — Before I met with an overwhelming affliction,

I had determined to write to you the first time I took my pen. I was,.
one week since, arrested in every design I had contemplated, by the
sudden and awful death of our dear Stephen Brewer, an account of
which you must have seen in the papers. 0 Hannah, I can never tell
you the anguish of .our hearts ! It seemed more, in our weakened hold
upon earth, than we could possibly bear ; but Heaven has permitted it,
and we must submit. I can truly say, I feel prostrated in the presence
of my Heavenly Father, and humbled in the sense of my dependence
on earthly props. But it is so ; and, instead of repining, we ought
cheerfully to say, " Thy will be done." Instead of having his strong
arm and strong judgment to repose on in seasons of weakness and
trouble, we must soon learn to do without earthly support from friends,
and think only of Heavenly aid. And this is probably the discipline
we require, or it would not be sent.

Catherine has been intending to write to your sister, from whom she
was much gratified to receive a letter ; but she is brokenhearted and
sick.

The day before this dreadful event, Susan went with Dr. Robbins to
Nahant. The warm weather had the effect to debilitate her extremely,
and we could see no other way of restoration.

This, my dear Hannah, is the era of a revolution in my destiny.
My husband may live some time, — perhaps years, — but we can no
longer depend on him to make efforts for us. And I always have
known that Mr. Brewer, who has always aided me in small difficulties,
would also do the same in great ones. I never connected him with the
idea of death. His whole life has been a tissue of good deeds. I
ought not to think of myself or family, when I remember what a help-
less wife and three young children he has left. But he has left the

430

means of a support for them, and for that we should be grateful.
Still, they are unhomcd, and bowed down with sorrow. He was fol-
lowed to the grave by hundreds who depended on him and wept for
him.

Give my love to your sister, and believe me

Ever your affectionate friend,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. I have sent you a newspaper, and you can send it to your
brother, if you like.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, August 30, 1S42.

My dear Son, — We all have a yearning for sympathy, or we
should not be so eager to communicate sorrow. How I wish I could
withhold from you the deep, the heartfelt grief that harrows my soul !
But before this reaches you, I presume you will have seen in the New
York papers the sudden and dreadful death of our dear and good
Brother Brewer. I need not tell you how heart-rending and over-
whelming this event was ; of that you are certain. No family ever
felt stronger love and confidence for another than we have felt for this
excellent man. He was one of the most whole-souled, true-hearted,
practically wise men I ever knew, — the best husband, father, son, and
friend; and when we see one of our best friends, one so loved and so
trusted, in the full vigor of manhood, destroyed by one sudden blow,
Nature revolts : and, before reflection or discretion can take her place
in our minds, we feel crushed and overwhelmed. This has literally
been our case.

Mr. Brewer I looked upon as my tower of strength, my city of
refuge, my shield of defence for worldly purposes, knowing as I did
that I must live separated from my sons ; and I had to feel, that, in

431

the probable event of a separation from your father by death, that I
should need this dear friend to lean upon in time of trouble. He
loved my children, and they reciprocated that love with all their heart.
But I need not say that he loved and was kind to us. His heart was
an inexhaustible fountain of love and mercy. To diffuse it, seemed to
be bis errand on earth, and most faithfully was it performed, It is,
indeed, a new era in my destiny, marked by trouble.

James went, together with Harriet, to Saratoga, with the bride and
groom, and bad a good time, without hearing of our calamity until
just before they got home.

Mr. Brewer was drowned near the Hockanum Ferry, the day after

they left.

Your affectionate

Mother.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, March 7, 1843.
Catherine returned to us about Christmas, in fine health and a large
fund of happy spirits. She and Susan devote the whole of the after-
noon to reading and walking. The mornings are occupied by some
music and a great deal of domestic employment, sewing, &c. They
have enjoyed reading Bancroft's " History," Prescott's " Ferdinand
and Isabella," Degerando on " Self-education," and some poetry ; to-
gether with Madame de StaeTs " Germany," in French ; with a good
deal of casual reading, such as Mr. W. Ware's " Julian," Jouffroy's
" Philosophical Essays," " The History of the Pilgrim Fathers," &c.
You must know I bave wound up the winter with being sick the last fort-
night with a sort of lung-fever, which confined me to my room, and much
of the time to my bed. I am now recovering, and went to meeting
yesterday, for the first time in three weeks. We have a very amiable,
good young man preaching for us, and a man of respectable talents ;
though there is not much poetry in him. I think, however, he will

432

wear well. His time with us is almost at an end. This young man —
Mr. Rufus Ellis — is thinking of making a tour to the western country ;
and it' he goes to Cincinnati, I shall write to you by him.

I don't know but Mis. S. thought it strange I did not take more
pains to see her while I was in Boston ; but the fact was, the last week
of my being there — which was the only one of my knowing of her
being in the city — it rained everyday but one; and the week had
commenced with the most dreadful gale that was ever experienced on
our coast; and it commenced the very day my Edward sailed, so that
there was scarcely a hope that the steamer he was in could ride out
the gale. And the anxiety of my mind was such that I could do
nothing about making calls, though I made an effort to go out two
evenings on purpose to meet herself and Mrs. . . . .

J. was prevented from going to the Dickens dinner by S.'s indis-
position, together, perhaps, with some indifference to him ; for he was
invited to several private parties to meet him, and did not go. Dickens
says he likes Susan Hillard better than any American lady he has met
with. I think as you do ; there was great want of proper dignity in
those ladies smuggling themselves into situations which did not legiti-
mately belong to them, for the sake of seeing Dickens. I have no par-
ticular feeling for the man, though I think there is a small portion of his
works which may have a good moral influence on society ; and that they
contain a well-directed satire on many abuses in England, which in no
respect touch this country. But I would not again wade through such
quantities of mud and mire for such small grains of gold-dust as are
interspersed through them, with the exception of "Oliver Twist" and
" Humphrey's Clock " and parts of " Nicholas Nickleby."

I think the enthusiasm tor Dickens here was altogether dispropor-
tionate to the occasion. But our people are given to hero-worship, and
there is no help for it.

I am sure I cannot tell you how much comfort I have had, in having
my two daughters at home this winter ; and so has your uncle.

433

Mrs. Lyman to Mis* II. Stearns.

Northampton, April 9, 1843.

My dear Hannah, — Both S. and myself fully intended to have
written a week since hy Judge Allen ; but the Fates were against us,
and we yielded to imperious necessity when we gave it up.

We were much disappointed when we found we must give up your
intended visit to us in March ; but there never was such bad getting
about as there has been this spring, and now the roads are all but
impassable.

C. went to Boston with her father about three weeks ago. She was
first to make a visit to her cousin, John Forbes, in Milton, who has
been urging, as well as Joseph, to have her come, all winter. But I
felt justified in the selfishness of keeping them with me during that
season ; and we have been enabled to do a good deal of valuable read-
ing. You know the winter is the only uninterrupted season for that
purpose with us. Though I expect to have my girls always distin-
guished, as I believe I have before told you, Mrs. Judge Shaw distin-
guishes them now. Her expression is, " I like Mrs. Lyman's children ;
they do n't know every thing ! " This I consider a great affair, for you
know the world is full of pretension and glorification. And there is
a certain measure of ignorance that is becoming, in this age of self-
conceit and universal information. Catherine was very much elevated
by having the " Learned Blacksmith " inquire after her and call, when
he came to town ; and she gave out that he was paying attention to
her, much to the entertainment of her friends. C. is enjoying herself
highly at Milton now ; though she often goes into town to attend par-
ties, and was at the assembly a fortnight since. Where the mind is so
entirely free from all pre-conceived notions of desert, or from any fan-
cied claims upon the attention of any human being, as hers is, it is not
difficult to believe that the smallest favors are a gratuitous kindness,
for which she must be very grateful.
55

434

What do you and M. think of Miss 's marrying Mr. , and

going to Europe ? There is a sort of poetical justice in this affair that
puzzles me ; it is so rare. But so- it is, and I hope no dark cloud will
arise to obscure their fair prospect.

Mr. Ellis is to be ordained here about the middle of May, perhaps
later ; and until that time we shall have Mr. Edward Hale, who has
been with us the past month. He is an excellent youth, hardly twenty-
one, but very mature. But our people had regaled themselves with
hearing a transcendentalist, Mr. Cranch ; and, of course, found Mr.
Hale tame, — some of them.

Remember me to your mother and sister, and believe me
Yours very affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

3Irs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, June 11, 1843.

My dear Abby, — I believe I wrote you what a pleasant visit I had
from your Aunt Lord last autumn. You know with what readiness
and cordiality she accepted the efforts of her friends to give her pleas-
ure ; which always made it delightful to attend to her. She wrote
as soon as she got to her own home, to say how much she had enjoyed
herself during her stay with us ; and sent little presents, which will
always be looked upon as tokens of her love and kindness.

Your aunt was as well as usual on the 10th of May, and her trunk
packed, and was dressed to take the stage and go to New York, when
she was seized with a fit, which paralyzed her. She lived forty-eight
hours, but was never restored to consciousness, and died without any
apparent suffering. This was just the way she wished to depart. She
seemed to have much more of vitality and recollection than your Uncle
Lyman has had for the last year and a half, and fewer infirmities, and
had passed a comfortable winter. Erastus and his family were very

435

kind to her, and she was very well satisfied with them, and spoke with
great interest and affection of them. . . .

Your Aunt Lord often spoke of you, and always with great affec-
tion. She was much pleased with her granddaughter M.'s matrimonial
connection, and thought she had an excellent husband. They had been
very attentive to her, and made her a number of valuable presents.

's daughter and son, of the younger set, are well married, too,

which seemed to give her great pleasure. . . .

Your sister H. passed six weeks at Joseph's last winter, and did not
appear in perfectly good health. Since that time her health has been
gradually declining ; and her physician thinks she will not recover.
Martha keeps an anxious look-out for her, and will see that all is done
that is necessary ; and it is possible that her disease may take another
turn. . . .

We have at last settled Mr. Rufus Ellis. This occurred last Wednes-
day, June 7th. Mr. Ellis is not considered equal to his brother,
Mr. George Ellis ; but I think the difference is in his favor, though
they are both excellent men. George is several years older, and ap-
pears better initiated into his ministerial duties, perhaps ; but Mr.
Rufus is a man with a great deal of feeling, and a high sense of duty,
and greatly interested in the result of his labors.

We have been favored in having such men as Mr. Edward B. Hall,
and Mr. Stearns, and Mr. Dwight ; though I think others may be
equally good, and do as much good with less talent, if they have the
gift of earnestness in the cause.

I have been sorry to learn that Mr. has joined the Fourier school

of. opinions. I think it will diminish his usefulness greatly. But
there are a great many new things going on in the world. The
great problem of life can only be solved by experience, and possibly
we may never know the decision of unerring Wisdom as to the
result. That is the best religion which does the most good, and leads
with most certainty to practical ends.

436

We have read the Bremer books as they came out, and have been
greatly interested in them. I think " Home " is as good as the " Neigh-
bors." If they arc not great, they are calculated to do much more
good than that class of Tales usually is, for they are attractive with-
out the exaggeration and discrepancies which do so much to create
false tastes and false views of life in the inexperienced,- — the effect of
which is discontent and disappointment in the ordinary occurrences
people must meet with in this world. These books, too, are addressed
to the sympathies of a large class of readers in different stations in life,
for there is nothing in them which we may not connect either with
the highest or the most moderate class of the community in which we
live ; and one would not lie led by them to false inferences or unjust
conclusions in respect to tilings which really exist, and come under
our own observation.

I often esteem myself fortunate that my destiny fell in that walk of
life which prevented isolation and exclusion. Indeed, it has thrown
me in continual contact with all the sorts and kinds of beings which
constitute humanity ; and what most people deprecate I feel that I
may rejoice in, for I never feel out of place either with the highest,
more moderate, or the lowest society. In neither case is my dignity
raised or impaired.

Your very affectionate

Aunt.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Mil ton- Hill, August 15 [1843].
My dear Edward, — I will not allow the steamer of the 10th to
leave without taking some faint record of my existence, as well as of
my love.

Your Aunt Howe and Sarah have been making me a visit ; and, last
Saturday, August 12, we all came down to Boston together, joined by
your sister Catherine, who had a singular errand down, which was no

437

less than to bid a temporary adieu to a lover, who is to sail in the
steamer for England.

After describing Catherine's engagement with Mr. Warren Delano,
and their satisfaction with it, she goes on to say : —

Without distinguished greatness, Catherine is very lovely in her
character and disposition, never out of temper, and always ready to
oblige to any extent that her friends can claim ; always sympathizing
in the joys and sorrows of those around ; divested of every thing like
jealousy, or the shadow of malignity, in any of its forms ; possessed
of a large humanity in its truest sense ; and having that mercy which
is twice blessed, — to him who gives and him who takes.

I suppose you have not much time to read. I hope I shall be able to
send you another of the Bremer books, " Strife and Peace."

I left your father very well, though S. was rather run down by the ex-
tremely warm weather. It did not prevent her taking in a sick person
to take care of, — Margaret Dawes, whom you may have seen at your
Cousin Susan Hillard's. She is almost gone in a consumption. Mar-
garet Harding will stay with her during my absence, to assist in her
arduous duties.

Your affectionate mother,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Milton Hill, August 29, 1843.

Mr dear Edward, — I have written a short letter to Mr. Delano,
which leaves me but little time to write to you.

Yesterday I was about setting out for Northampton, as I had been
here a fortnight and two days, when we received the intelligence of
II. L.'s death, which determined me to remain until after the funeral.
She died with but little suffering, after four months of consumptive
symptoms.

438

Catherine Greene, of Cincinnati, has been at Joseph's with us the
past week, but went back to Providence before the funeral.

You cannot fail to like your future brother-in-law. He is truly one
of Nature's noblemen, carrying truth and goodness in every motion.

Your father has been very well for him. The last has been court-
week, which he has perseveringly attended to the duties of, and
enjoyed.

Your very affectionate

Mother.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, October 13, 1843.

My dear Edward, — It caused us the deepest disappointment that,
through accident, we could not get a letter down to Boston in season
to go by the steamer of the first of this month.

I can hardly express to you my joy that you have found in Mr.
Delano a friend that pleases you so much. We have from the first
been delighted with him. He lias such a composed and dignified air
for a man of business, and such a quiet, sensible mode of expressing
his rational opinions, that his external man has always been extremely
attractive to me ; and then his warm-hearted promptings of every sort
of kindness to every one he comes in contact with, where friendship is
admissible, so necessarily prompts one to a reciprocation of the feeling
he has expressed, that there can lie nothing but pleasure in his society.
And, though he is unlike our dear Stephen Brewer, I feel that I can
most readily appropriate to him that place in my heart which was so
warmly devoted to our lost son-in-law, whose affectionate attentions
and many kindnesses will never be forgotten by me. I believe all our
friends are as much pleased with Mr. Delano as we are, and in addition
to liking him, it is most pleasant to be able to like all his brothers and
sisters. . . .

439

In October of 1843, my mother parted with her youngest child,
Catherine Robbins, who accompanied her husband to China, within a
month after her marriage.

I cannot help recalling here that, within a few weeks after our
return to Northampton, after parting with " the lamb of our flock,"
the first sounds reached us of the coming of the railroad to North-
ampton. Every morning we were wakened at five o'clock with the
sound of the tramping of horses through the Main Street, that carried
the parties of workmen on the road. Vaguely we prophesied the
changes that would come to our village, and talked together when we
met, of the possibilities of the future. I remember a beautiful, moon-
light evening, when we walked in the rural street that is now so
changed, and talked neither wisely nor too well of the future of our
town. Mr. Ellis and Gertrude and Caroline Clapp were of the number.
I forget the others. It never seemed to occur to any of us that we, our
homes, our old trees, our society, — were not eternal fixtures there;
and we spoke of the probable new-comers as forming a society of their
own, while we remained as we were, happy and undisturbed in our old
customs and rural habits.

The homes and trees have disappeared ; and of all that little group
none are dwellers by those mountains ; but, though most of them are
plying " their daily task with busier feet " in the dusty streets of far-
off cities, is not the bond of good-fellowship between them the stronger,
and do they not u a holier strain repeat," for having passed their youth
in sight of those mountains, and in the society of the noble types of char-
acter that lived in those simple times ? Let us not look back and say that
those days were better than these. Let us rather rejoice that, where
hundreds once enjoyed that beautiful valley, it is now a blessing to
tbousands ; and that, though Nature has often been defaced by Art
since that happy time, the mountains still, stand firm, and also the
memories of those high-toned men and women who fixed an early
impress on all around them.

440

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Hannah Stearns.

Northampton, April 28, 1844.

My dear Hannah, — I cannot, by any effort I am capable of, ex-
press to you adequately how much I have felt for you since I have

heard of your great affliction. I had, when M 's marriage occurred,

thought much of the promise you had before you of increased enjoy-
ment. I never dreamed that the interposition of death could oppose
an obstacle to your anticipations. 1 have heard nothing but the fact,
and feel very desirous to know all that relates to it. The death of
your sister is among the deepest mysteries of Divine Providence ; and
were it not for the faith which instructs us that infinite love and in-
finite wisdom overrule the events of our destinies here, we might, in
our short-sightedness, distrust the idea altogether. Let us then rejoice
that all that is not placed within our control is under Heavenly direc-
tion. I am continually asking myself, " How is Mrs. S supported

under this great trial ? "■ And then, " How can my dear Hannah be
reconciled ? for it must have been unexpected."

When you can, do let me hear from you ; and likewise how Mr.

sustains himself. He is the greatest sufferer, with all his newly-formed
and fervent hopes cut off. And I have heard much of his enthusiastic
attachment ; and so wisely as it was bestowed, we must all approve
and admire bis judgment as well as his well-directed sympathies. Let
us be grateful that we are not wholly of dust, but that there is a spirit
within us which can never taste of death ; and that, after such a de-
votedly useful, intellectual, and pure life as was your sister's, we have
the assurance that she will reap an inheritance of glory, honor, and im-
mortality. Her friends can have none but the kindest remembrance of
her. And her good example is a fountain of treasures that will be
stored in the memory of those who have known and loved her, and felt
the infusion of her spirit to be a blessing to them.

Spring has again returned to us, and spread in her way a freshness

441

ami a glory which I feel to be a perpetual ministration of Love to my
heart, — a whispering of joys that never decay, which comes in the song
of birds, in the sweet perfume of flowers, combined with the must per-
fect verdure I ever saw at this season. So that the beauty which sur-
rounds us would be all that we could desire, and all that we could
enjoj . were it not contrasted with the sadness of this life's experience ;
the multiplied sorrows and disappointments Heaven has found necessary
for our discipline. When a mother loses an infant from her arms, we
are all anxious to know how she will bestow the faculties and the time
so tenderly engrossed. But I am, from my own experience of sorrow,
most anxiously engaged in finding a way to appropriate those thoughts
and affections which, in their exercise, did not require our immediate
care, but were combined with all our plans and anticipations. This
void made in my heart by the death of my much-valued child is still
unfilled, and though I am from habit accustomed to it, I am never
insensible to it ; and I am sure she is more constantly in my thoughts
than my living children are who are absent. This is a great source of
pleasure which you will enjoy, and one which proves the value of an
intellectual life such as was your sister's.

Give my love to your mother ; tell her my heart is furnished largely
with sympathy for those who have lost a good daughter.

Your very affectionate and sympathizing friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, August 30, IS 11.
My dear Abby, — We were very glad, some ten days ago, to see
Mary Howe, and with her to get good intelligence of yourself and all
your household, together with all our other friends in Cincinnati. I
have likewise to thank you for your kind remembrance of me in a
purse, which will be of the highest value to me as a proof of love. You

442

may remember. Cowper's lines on a similar occasion, and 1 will give
them here in case you do not: —

'• Gold pays the worth of all tilings here,
But not of love, — that gem 's too dear
For richest rogues to win it.
I therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem your present far above
The best things kept within it."

It is pleasant to know that some of the best things in this life cannot
be purchased with money, and are not diminished by the lack of it.
My thoughts are often turned to your little circle ; which I have the
more pleasure in, now that I know Catherine as grown to maturity.
You have heard of the death of Charlotte's son, who was nine months
old. They have had a great deal of suffering during the last two
months of its life. Little Anne is a very pretty and very lovely child ;
and, as might he expected, is doated upon by her parents. Her father
will take great pains and have great pleasure in her education, she is
so very susceptible. Since they went to Cabotville they have not been
here. 1 have been there once, and mean to go again soon, if some-
thing imperious dues not prevent.

A fortnight since, Mr. Lyman, Susan, and myself went up to Lebanon
Springs for a few days. When we got there we found a large circle of
our Boston acquaintance. Such places are tiresome to your Uncle, and
we stayed but a few days, leaving Susan for a longer time with her
acquaintance. When ] got home, I thought your Uncle was remarkably
well; but a few days since he was affected as if he had had a slight
stroke of the palsy. The whole of one side seemed infirm, as if he
could not move without difficulty either bis arm or leg. He does not
seem sick, but is low-spirited : and, I think, views it as a premonition
of more trouble. 1 know not what to look forward to, or what to wish
for. But we are in God's bands, and whatever He sends will be right.

8. is very much benefited by her tour to the Lebanon Mountains.

443

The air is very bracing, and thai is whal she requires in the course of
one of our hot summers. On our return from Lebanon we passed a
day at Stockbridge, and part of one in West field. I have told you
before, I believe, that Mr. Fowler has a charming wife and a magnifi-
cent new house, with every thing elegant in it. When at Stockbridge,
we saw Fanny Fowler (that was) and .Miss Sedgwick, — who isa lovely
old lady, with her red curly hair, and looking, notwithstanding, as
aged as your antiquated Aunt (for we arc just of an age). (Jive a
great deal of love to Katie ; and -tell her we have heard twice from my
Catherine since her arrival in Macao. She speaks of herself as the
happiest person living, and thinks she has the best of husbands. They
were on their voyage one hundred and four days; had no bad storms,
or threatened disasters, and she likes Macao very much. It is a
beautiful city, situated like Nahant ; but in the winter, to avoid a
separation from her husband, she will have to go to Canton. And
there she can neither ride nor walk out, and consequently isa prisoner.
But they will contrive to get rid of a couple of years, I hope, comfort-
ably. . . . Mr. Delano is a person who takes most watchful care of all
domestic interests, is exceedingly kind and affectionate to his father,
brothers, and sisters, and all connections: and, I have no doubt, will
be a good husband. . .

Give a great deal of love to Mr. Greene, Katie, and your sister
Dana and family ; Susan joins me in all kind remembrances, and feels
much obliged to Katie for her beautiful cushion.

Your affectionate

Aunt.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss Hannah Stearns.

September 23, 1844.

My dear Hannah, —

I knew you would be glad to know that we had heard from Catherine.
She wrote in fine spirits ; had been sick but a very few days : and she

444

and her husband sent us a journal of all that had happened (he month
they had been out, indicating the most perfect state of happiness you
can imagine. Mr. D.had assured C. that Neptune always visited those
who were never there before, when they crossed the equator. And so
an old hand at the husiness ( a sailor) was dressed in the most grotesque
manner, and unexpectedly appeared al her little window, and delivered
three long epistles, which she had no expectation of receiving. One
was IV. 1111 me, written ami given to Mr. D. for the purpose; another
from Susan : and another from a poetical friend, who purported to be
Neptune himself, who furnished several pages of very funny rhyme on
the occasion.

In the dearth of variety belonging to a four months' voyage, we can
easily imagine how all these trifles are magnified, and with how much
consequence their minds would invest them. Almost any thing that
interrupts the monotony of life in such situations becomes important.
If any happiness or any good can lie extracted from a circumstance
that looked so dark to me, I shall he most dad. But I confess that
going so long and perilous a voyage, and then finding one's self at the
end of il planted down amongst a barbarous people, afforded hut little
prospect of improvement, in my mind, to my poor child : for I did not
feel that she had experience or improvement enough to hear the con-
dition to advantage. At the same time, no one appreciates more than
I do the value id' new experiences and new situations to open new
channels of thought and feeling. Si ill. 1 think it requires a considera-
ble strength of stock to engraft upon, and something like the power
-which bees have to extract virtue from all that may happen, and turn
it to account. It is still problematical with me whether this will
prove a favorable passage in the child's life, and improving as it
regards Iter progress in self-education.- Hut whichever way it is.it
was nothing that I could help, and I must look upon it as a sort of
inevitable destiny.

445

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbing.

Northampton, January 12, 1845.

My dear Sister, — 1 have been intending to write to yon ever since
I received your last letter, but have had a good deal to do, and a good
many interruptions, as usual.

Last week the young people were engaged in theatricals, and on
Thursday the " Rivals," by Sheridan, came off with great eclat. Susan
took no part in the play, but helped Mary A. Cochran, as manager and
director, which took up considerable time. Mrs. Tom Whitmarsh lent
them her parlors for the performance, which was the best place, as the
house can be heated all over with a furnace. The two Miss Adams
and their brother, Julia Clarke and Robert and Harrison Apthorp,
George Dickinson and Luther Washburn, James Lyman and Caroline
Whitmarsh were the performers. Mr. Ellis gave out or assigned the
parts before he left, and saw one rehearsal, which he pronounced very
good. There were seventy spectators, and it was pronounced a very
fine performance. I think I never saw any so good at the theatre, tak-
ing out the leading actor.

The following evening, which was Friday, President Hopkins, from
Williamstown, delivered a very fine lyceum lecture to a very crowded
audience. His subject was, " The Voluntary and the Involuntary
Powers of Man," teaching the practical application or improvement of
those powers to the best advantage. He exemplified his subject by a
great many appropriate figures, and the introduction of a great deal of
fine poetry. In short, the hearers were overflowing with admiration
and delight for an hour and a half.

Saturday S. gave to repose, being very much fatigued with the
week's work and its accompanying excitement. And to-day, which is
Catherine's birthday, we have listened to excellent preaching- all day
from Mr. Lippett, who is to supply Mr. Ellis's place during his absence.
He dined with us. and Jane took tea and passed the evening here, — and

446

Mr. Charles Huntington. Jane is much interested in the marriage of
Mr. North to a sister of Dr. Thompson. And now you have had a
general sketch of Northampton life, I believe.

Marriages, births, sickness, and death are everywhere mingled in
human experience; and, if we can find an interval, occasionally, long
enough for a little recreation and exhilaration of our spirits, we should
he grateful for it in this vale of tears.

I am much pleased with the last number of the " Christian Ex-
aminer," particularly Mr. Sedge's review of Mr. Emerson's " Essays,"
and Mr. Thompson's of Mr. Putnam. 1 am glad to hear of John
Parker's bequest to Mr. Putnam. It is very rare that ministers have
any thing left them, and 1 am glad of such an example.

I have seen something about some slaughter committed in one of
R. B. F's vessels ; but nothing that 1 could very well understand, as to
whether the vessel was coming in or going out.

Our hist dates from Macao, you know, are July 28. If any one
has later, I should like to hear.

I shall write next week to Mrs. R., whose letter I got yesterday.

Give my love to all friends, and believe me

Your very affectionate

Sister.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Howe.

Northampton, August 31, 1845.
My deai; SlSTEK, — It gives me great pleasure to learn that you were
well enough, a week since, to return to your own home. I have not
yet heard how you bore the removal, nor how you have found yourself
since you got there ; and hope that Estes, or James, or Mary, or S.,
will write me a lew lines and let me know this week how you get
along. 1 am glad to learn through S. that C. R. is improving. We
had an agreeable visit from Eliza Robbins and Mr. Hillard, the past
week. They did up a great deal of conversation as usual, and Mr.

447

Lyman as well as myself were highly entertained with it. Fanny
Sedgwick and Mrs. Parker stopped here on their way to Erattleboro',

just before Mr. Hillard came. It is often sad to me to see so g 1 a

woman as Jane Sedgwick so hard pressed.

The beginning of last week we had a vague account of Mr. Delano's
lire at Macao, which furnished me with soiue anxiety ; but that gave
place to hearing of a real sorrow a few days since, which has absorbed
my mind almost entirely, and I have been putting off writing on that
account. You have heard of the sudden death of Mrs. Harding?
There has always been something about her that I have felt a great
respect for; a quiet consistency in goodness, a common-sense purpose
that attained its end, a cultivated perception of moral sentiment as
well as the beautiful in Nature. And every thing about her so unpre-
tending and sincere, that one could not know her well and withhold
their respect. Contemplating her character, strengthens my confidence
in the goodness of human nature. It gives me faith in virtue, and
makes me feel that it is a reality ; and .that its infusion into real life
opens to us the best sources of happiness. When such a savor is
taken from the circle which it affected, there is much to deplore; and
I cannot say as many do in such cases, " How soon such things are
overlooked and forgotten ! " for I have faith to believe that all the good
seed sown in this world will be guarded and made fruitful by heavenly
wisdom; that none of it will be lost, but bring forth, some fifty, and
some an hundred fold.

Mrs. Harding left six sons, over whom she had a great influence.
The four youngest can never have that influence made up to them ;
though Margaret will be, as she always has been, all that a sister can
be, for she is one of the wisest and the best young persons I ever
knew ; of C. I know but little, therefore cannot, speak. I have not
informed Susan of this calamity, hoping she would not hear of it until
she got to Springfield; and then I thought she would stop for a day or
two with Margaret, for their mutual satisfaction.

448

We have got to hear preach all day in the absence of our be-
loved Rufus Ellis ; it is a severe dispensation, but he was here and
applied for the chance. Mr. Ellis is published, and will be married
this month, — I mean September.

Give my love to all friends, and believe me

Yours very affectionately,

A. J. Lyman.

P. S. 1 am reading the " Wandering Jew," taking it homceopathi-
cally, in small doses. 1 do n't know as you are well enough to bear
it, for it is very exciting ; but works of imagination never take such a
violent hold of me as they do of some people. It takes reality to dis-
tress me ; I am such a matter-of-fact person, that I cannot invest my
fancy as many can.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, Sunday, September 28, lsl.">.

My dear Edward, —

" All's well, that ends well ; " and there is much good mingled with the
sorrows and trials of this life. And our lot is always better than we
deserve, while we remain in this mutable world, —

•■ Whore nothing can satisfy, nothing 's secure

From change and decay, and disorder and strife ;
No beauty is perfect, no virtue is pure,

And evil and good are companions for life.

' ' Where finding no rest, like the patriarch's dove

Which flew to the ark when the flood was abroad,
O'erwearied we seek, in the mansions above,
The rest that remains for the people of God."

And if we are of that number, we shall finally inherit the rest. And
we that are some way advanced on the journey of life, so that the end

449

seems near at hand, can fully realize the consolations and encourage-
ments accompanying that hope. . . .

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, February 10, 1846.
There is but little, my dear son, to be gathered, either from my
experience or from my contemplations, that will profit you or give you
pleasure; but it is your birthday, and, if I do not consecrate it for a
holy day, I can mark it for a day of increased and uninterrupted satis-
faction for the twenty-seventh time. Now you will not let this make
you vain, but refer what I have said rather to your mother's vanity.
It is not uncommon for parents, when they have nothing else to take
pride in, to inflate it with something they are connected with ; imag-
ining that there is a reflected lustre reaching themselves from these
surrounding causes. James Howe you have probably seen, and he has
given you his reasons for engrafting his happiness on a iiew stock, and
in a new world, — to him, — as it regards both place and circumstances.
I honor him for the sacrifice he proposes to make ; it is worthy of a
good cause, such as he is engaged in, — the coining of his time into
the best good, the highest usefulness ; and all that, consistently with
getting the most money. The sacrifice, of course, consists in leaving
an agreeable social position, in every way suited to his taste and pre-
vious habits. But James has not been long enough a fixture to one
place, to make that place necessary to his happiness, — so that even
blank walls may "touch the springs of memory," and help to recall the
tenderest passages of our existence, which but for them might sleep
forever. I have been so accustomed to seeing James and making use
of him, that I feel inexpressibly sorry to have him at a distance from
us. This is a world of change and progress, sometimes forward, some-
times on the backward course ; but I love James, and am sorry to
part with him. I am glad he has got a good wife, for that will " gild

450

the gloom" of his solitude. A poor one would harass him very
much ; as far as she can, Harriet will lighten his burdens. The
greatest trial will be to Aunt Howe, who is accustomed to having him
near her. But she will be satisfied to have him do what is for the
best. That is all that parents have to reconcile them to a separation
from children, who seem as necessary to their happiness as food is to
their existence. Of that, no one is more sensible than myself. Did I
not part with my sons when they were fourteen or fifteen years of
age, never to live with them again? Heaven only is witness of the
tears it cost me ! Those farthest off now are the greatest trouble to
my spirit. If I could only have Katie safely on this side the water
again, I think I would never weep or croak more ; but one year more
is marked for fears and anxieties ; and the end! — who knoweth ? Your
father is very well, and very contented with having me to read to him
nearly all the time. I have this week been reading Miss Sedgwick's
stories to him. They are of a kind to move the heart gently, and to
superinduce a kindly feeling 'for every thing that is good ; they awaken
a holy interest that makes the heart better, without producing any
injurious shock, or too great excitement of the tender sensibilities.
Love to my friends.

Your very affectionate

Mother.

In March, 1846, while recovering from the fearful and dangerous
disease whose consequences darkened the whole remainder of her life,
she wrote to her son Edward, after hearing of his engagement. After
passing lightly over the six weeks of intense suffering, she goes on : —

" And now let me tell you that I am rejoiced that you have reached
that pi lint in your destiny which is to insure you a pleasant and valu-
able companion I'm' life; ami I trust she is all you think she is, — a
rational and high-principled woman, with warm affections towards
yourself, and such domestic habits as make life smooth ; one who

451

lias been more accustomed to minister than to be ministered unto;
one who feels that household cares are woman's duty, no less than her
privilege ; one who is literally a sharer with her husband in his cares,
instead of leading that useless, empty life that leaves no record bul
vanity to mark its path. I have often troubled myself with the fear lesl
my sons should marry idle, fashionable women. If Heaven has spared
me this sorrow, 1 have much to be grateful for. As a child needs an
instructor, so do grown people need a higher guidance than men' self-
will. They need the light of that polar star, an enlightened eon-
science, — with that holy standard which forever separates right and
wrong. May you both be guided by it, and amidst your greatest trials
you will find consolation."

After a delightful visit from Mrs. Greene, she writes to her after her
own return from New York.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, September 10, 1846.

My dear Abby, — I believe, in the feelings which occupied me at
parting with you and others who left at the same time, I forgot to
urge it upon you to write whenever you could ; and I have never
known exactly how to direct to you, which is the reason I have omitted
to write and say how much (divided as my attention was between a
multitude of objects) I had enjoyed your visit ; and the same is true
of your uncle.

You never told me if you saw Martha or Charlotte, but I hope you
did. I am sure you will be interested to hear about my week's visit to
New York. I had given up all idea of going, and written to that
effect,— when I went out on Saturday, the 22d, and met Mr. Butler, who
waited on me to New York three years ago, and he asked me if I
intended to go to Edward's wedding. I told him I had given it up,
having no one to go with me ; upon which he said he was going that

452

evening, and should be very glad to escort me there, and that we
should arrive early on Sunday morning. Upon the strength of this
proposition, I put a few things in a bandbox and was ready to depart,
having first ascertained that I could have Jane to stay witli her father
during my absence.

On Sunday I enjoyed hearing Dr. Dewey very much. On Monday
I made a call at Brooklyn on the Lows, and dined and passed the
remainder of the day with Mr. and Mrs. Nevins and Edward at the
Astor House. On Tuesday I remained where I was staying, at my
Cousin Josephine Forbes's, 703 Broadway. And on Wednesday morn-
ing, accompanied by Mr. and Mrs. Nevins, I went to the wedding cere-
mony. I was much pleased with all Sarah's family ; they seemed to be
a very happily-united set of brothers and sisters, with excellent parents ;
and one of their neighbors told me they never had disputes or divisions
among themselves. They are, without being wealthy, all prosperous
and apparently unambitious. I could not help being struck with the
fact, that my two last-married children had been united to families that
I never knew, or even heard any thing about, until the period of our
connection. But that is of no consequence you know, if they are good
people. There was quite a large circle at the wedding, who stayed to
a very elegant collation, prepared in the house adjoining, and occupied
by Mrs. Archer, Sarah's eldest sister. Late in the afternoon, Edward
and Sarah went up the river to West Point, and from thence took their
journey to the different Falls, and thence to Canada, and returned here
at the end of a fortnight, pretty tired of the extreme heat and dust.

The Thursday after the wedding, and I went to Hastings to see

the Delano sisters. We had a beautiful sail up the Hudson about
twenty-five or thirty miles to a most beautiful place, and should have
enjoyed the day much, had it not been for the miserable, dying condi-
tion of Dora D . She is still living, though it seemed to us then

that a few days must terminate her existence. Our return late in the
evening was as pleasant as our morning excursion ; and the following

453

day, Friday, we visited the Greenwood Cemetery at Brooklyn, which is
truly beautiful. It is Mount Auburn magnified and multiplied. Do
get some of your friends to ride over with you and see it. I can only
think, while looking at it, of Beattie's description of the beauties of
Nature ; and realize it all there.

" The pomp of groves and garniture of fields,
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even ;
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of Heaven."

Well, the next day my week was out, and I must go home ; so we
departed, S. and myself, at six in the morning, and arrived at
four, p.m., where I found myself perfectly satisfied with all that had
happened ; and particularly to take S. home in much better con-
dition than she had left it, the five weeks previous. I found your Uncle
very well ; Jane had taken the best of care of him ; but was despairing
for fear I should be absent a few days longer, — which I had no thoughts
of. And now I have said enough about myself. Let me tell you I am
delighted to hear that you have seen so many friends, and that you
and dear Katie have enjoyed so much. For the enjoyment of such
pure pleasures is greatly multiplied in the retrospection, as well as
in the first reality. I am only sorry that we could not have met in
New York ; and wish you would write a note to Edward, at 68 Cedar
Street, his place of business, — " Nevins & Co.," — that he and Sarah
may see you before you leave, if only for a call. They are staying for
the present at Brooklyn, at Abbot Low's — Sarah's brother. If you
have time, write me from N.

Your very affectionate

Aunt.

544

.Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Hoioe and 3Iiss C. Robbing.

NoitTiiAMrTON, December 6, 1846.
My dear Sisters, — During the time that Catherine Delano was
with me, with her baby, — which was only ten days, — I was very
much absorbed ; but it all seemed to pass like a pleasant vision, for it
came so suddenly that it hardly seemed like reality ; and since they
left there has been a dreadful void, which is always the case after un-
usual excitement. Not that there has been any lack of employment
for the hands, or of abundance of newspapers,

" But all the air a solemn stillness holds ; "

and that sweet baby is missing. The child never cried while it was
here ; and it grew, and looked much better when it left than when it
came. Now I am absent from them, I cannot help feeling anxious
about the child, lest it should not have sufficiently good care and good
nursing to make it vigorous. So you see how the old grandmother's
thoughts are employed. When they first left, my attention was en-
gaged in setting the house in order, and Mrs. Wendell Davis came
down one morning and passed the day with me. She looks much
better than she did in the spring ; and we enjoyed her visit very
much.

Mr. Lyman was really overcome by the excitement of our affairs,
and was unusually confused by what was going on for several days.
Joseph and Susan B. appeared unusually well, and J. writes that he
has continued so since his return. Mr. L. is now as well as usual ; he
has but little vigor of any kind, and but a small appetite. I read
" Esther " to him last week, and he seemed a good deal interested in
it, as he did in Mr. Webster's Philadelphia dinner-speech; which he
intends to have me read over a second time. Mr. Ellis preached at
Deerfield, and Mr. Moors for us. We liked him very much ; he is

455

staying with us. Sam and his wife, Mr. Baker, and Mr. Hillyer have
passed this evening with us ; and, after all were gone, I thought it
would be a good time for getting up a poor letter.

One fine day, while Catherine and Joseph were staying here, we all
went up to Greenfield, by invitation, in the ears, and had a beautiful
ride.

Mrs. H.'s family have been in a miserable condition for the last
three months, — Mrs. A. unfit to be moved to her own home, and
Martha bound down by the same complaint of which M. died. This is
a heavy trial for Mrs. EL, and one in which there is no hopeful end to
look forward to. In contrast with the cases I have mentioned, we
have good reason to feel ourselves highly favored in an exemption
from trouble. It would be difficult for me to express the amount of
gratitude I have felt for the blessings that have overflowed my cup in
the events of Edward's safe arrival out, and Catherine's safe return
home, with her family in good condition. I did not dare to believe I
should ever realize these blessings.

The day of C.'s return I had a letter from P. D., saying that
they were probably in the H., and that we must be reconciled to de-
ferring our hopes or expectations at least thirty days longer. S. and
I went to Mr. Lewis Strong's in the evening, and there we were asked
about the time of their return, and we told them one month ; that was
all I dared to hope.

I must tell you now what I am about to engage in. Wetherill, our
sexton, is blessed with a pair of twin boys, and I am going to have an
extra meeting of the society to clothe them and their mother ; and, at

the same time, to help the C s and their twins. So you see " there

is mercy in every place ; and mercy encouraging thought," &c. ; and
our society is much engaged in the cause. Hannah Chester is passing
the winter with Mrs. Strong, and Betsey thinks she is gaining from the
use of Hungarian balsam.

We were agreeably surprised to find Mr. Delano appearing in much

456

better health than we have ever seen him, and looking younger than
when he left, in consequence. He took great pains to keep up good
spirits ; and rarely adverted to the death of his sisters, and not at all
to the death of his child, deeply afflicted as he certainly is, — which I
was glad of; for, with all that was sad in their destiny, there was much
to be thankful for. Give my love to your household ; and believe me,
my dear sisters,

Very affectionately yours,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbing.

Northampton, January 28, 1847.

My dear Catherine, — Last evening I got your letter, and was
much pleased to receive it. Just a week since I received a note from
you, and Emerson's poems, for which I feci much indebted. I should
have acknowledged the receipt before this, but I have had letters to
write to Edward and wife and to the children in New York ; and I have
written to Joseph's family in that time; and then I have been to Green-
field a day and a night ; I got home yesterday afternoon. I had
heard from Mrs. Davis, Sen., that she wished me to come up before
she left, and I forthwith departed. But I think it may be another month
before she leaves ; she finds the increased family duty altogether too
burdensome, and she cannot help taking hold with the interest of a
mother, — and thinks in future she will be a visitor among them. But
she has got so much attached to the four little creatures (the eldest
four years and the youngest five weeks old), that I think she will be
drawn back by an attraction she cannot resist. They arc a very pretty
little set ; the youngest but one is still a baby. They have now two
girls.

I was much interested in reading while I was there a large number
(if sheets of Mrs. Bancroft's letters, addressed to her sons. Very easy,
pleasant letters, descriptive of the great places and people that she

457

visits. She passed a week al Sheen; Mr. Bates's Madam Van der
Weyer and the Belgian minister were there; and there were visitors of
theirs during their stay of the same calibre; so that it was a very mag-
nificent occasion. Her friends think she was never so truly in her
element as now. Eer suns are in Greenfield, and seem like two amia-
ble young men, and are quite domesticated al George's and Thornton's.
Mrs. Davis seems much interested in all that concerns Judge Davis's
death, and thinks it was a most desirable ending off: and is much
pleased with the various notices in the newspapers, particularly Mr.
Dillard's. We shall seldom see a life under all the circumstances so
little worldly, and manifesting such integrity of principle, as Judge
Davis's.

I heard all the particulars of the Pomeroy family from .Mrs. Stone,
which I was much interested in : and the same of Mr. Barnard's from
Mrs. Leavitt, whom 1 went to see and found very happy, — the picture
of contentment, and grateful for life. Seeing her furnishes me with a
great lesson from which to learn wisdom. — something transcendental,
but she does not know that. Mrs. George T. Davis had a party
of young people in the evening, but I remained with Mrs. Davis at
Thornton's in preference to going. When I got home I found Mr.
Brinley had been at Northampton, and stayed a part of the day ; and
gave Mr. Lyman and me an invitation to come down and pass a week
with him, promising to come and wait on us there, and wait on us
back. This was very ehivalrie. was not it?

Your affectionate Sister.

P. S. You know we have had lectures this winter, and the last was
in verse, by Park Benjamin; very entertaining indeed, — a satire on
modern times.

It was during this winter that I went to New York, to pass some
weeks with my sister, whose long absence of three years in China bad

45 H

made her return to this country a circumstance full of pleasure to the
whole family circle. While I was there, the novel of " Jane Eyre "
first appeared ; its author unknown, no fame to herald it. The
effect it produced upon the whole reading world was electrical. If
all the anecdotes of the effects of reading "Jane Eyre" could he
collected, they would fill a volume, and would give added evidence,
were any needed, of the rare genius that produced this wonderful hook.
I had just finished it, and was still living in the glow it had caused,
when a letter from my mother announced, " I have read ' Jane Eyre ; '
and, though it is intensely interesting, I advise you not to read it, for I
think it has a most immoral tendency." I believe the character of
Rochester, and what she always designated as " his lie at the altar,"
was what had impressed her. Certainly, he hore no resemblance either
in his character or circumstances to any of her living or dead stand-
ards. But I was much amazed to receive by the very next post a
letter from my friend,* Martha Swan, who was staying with her in my
absence, in which she said, " Your mother has been completely carried
away with 'Jane Eyre.' She went out yesterday and bought herself a
pair of new shoes. After she came home she took up ' Jane,' and read
till tea-time: then she read till bed-time. Then I retired, and she read
till nearly morning, finding, when she went to bed at last, that the toes
of her new shoes were fairly burnt through, over the dying embers."
Whether the loss of her shoes, by means of " a trumpery novel.'" had
any influence on her opinion of Rochester, 1 would not pretend to say.
She became very indignant when she came to that part of the story
where Jane, after leaving Rochester, forgot her little bundle of clothes.
•• So shiftless of her," she exclaimed, impetuously, "to go off without
a change of linen ; I've no patience with her."

In a letter to Abby, dated August 12, 1847, she speaks of her over-
flowing thankfulness in the return of her daughter Catherine from
China, and of her little granddaughter Louise, as a nest engaging and
interesting child. She adds, " Your uncle has shown more pleasure in

459

Katie's return", and in having her with us again, than I had dared to
expect in his present feeble state. He seems to have a vivid sense of
all Mr. Delano's kindness, and lias been taking an interest in having
new fences all over our place, on both sides of the road. Edward came
home six weeks ago, and he with his wife stayed with us a fortnight.
And Joseph and his wife were here with their adopted child at the
same time. 80 I have seen all my children together, which is the first
time since my dear Anne's death ; and I enjoyed it highly."

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, January 21, is Is.

My dear Son, — I received a letter from you yesterday, which dis-
appointed me ; and another to-day, which fulfilled all my hopes and
wishes. I sincerely rejoice with you in the happiness accompanying
the birth of a fine child. It is an event in one's life unlike any other,
opening a new world of hopes and fears, the alternations of which tend
to stimulate and quicken all the affections and all the other faculties of
our nature, and to advance our existence into immeasurable import-
ance, and to increase our responsibility in the same ratio. I hope
to hear again soon how the mother and child advance. Give a great
deal of love to Sarah and her son from grandmother, and tell them
I long to behold them ; as does Aunt Susan.

We hold on in the same even tenor, without much change of any
kind, devoting ourselves to "books and work and healthful play." . . .
My neighbors are very good about coming in " to gild the gloom."
Mr. and Mrs. Joy have been down several times to pass the evening,
and Jane often comes, and Mrs. Allen. Susan has Martha Swan with
her now, and last week she had Mrs. Briggs a few days. . . . We
have enjoyed the " Eclectics " very much.

160

January 22. Yesterday was a sacred day in my calendar, for a
reason which you will remember, for it separated us for ever, in this
world, from our beloved Anne Jean ; but no one lives a half century
and more, without many such anniversaries, perhaps more than 1 have.
But I mean my heart shall dwell on the blessings which have been
showered on my path, and not on the sorrows. The best wish I can
entertain for you is, that you may be blessed in your sons as I have
been in mine.

Tell Catherine, with my love, if we did not drink a dass of wine to
her health, we did not forget her birthday, and shall not forget our

Susan has been invited, this line day, to go down to Springfield, and
stay till four o'clock ; and I am glad to have her go, — it does her so
much good to take a little excursion, — and she has never left home
the last six weeks, or been anywhere, of course. . . .

Mrs. Lyman to Miss C. Robbins.

Northampton, January 28, 1848.

My dear Catherine, — It is but a poor consolation to you to know
that my conscience is perfectly seared as with a hotiron. I have been
intending to write for the last fortnight : but pride, in endeavoring to
keep up appearances with those I am under the least obligation to, has
induced me to write to many m ire distant correspondents fust, so that
von are last served.

Tell Mrs. Howe I am much obliged to her for sending the - Christian
World," and not to do it if she finds the slightesl inconvenience in it.
Mr. Delano sends me the - Christian Inquirer," which supplies all my
wants, as I have access to a " Daily Tribune" whenever Iwish to sec
it. We think the last numher of " Dombey and Son " is far thebesl since
the death of Paul, and highly interesting.

461

We have had two, indeed three, very interesting lectures since you
left, from Mr. Greeley, Dr. Hopkins, and President Wheeler; which is
about all the variety we have had. But I have got enough to think of
and enough to do without any additional exciting causes : and am rery
contented with the repose accompanying our warm and comfortable
winter.

Susan is enjoying her old resource, — society, friendship, and love,
— in Springfield, with Margaret and Lucretia ; and I am calculating
that it will promote a degree of self-forgetfulness favorable to her
neuralgic affection. She writes that she has been well since she left,
and I expect her home to-morrow. During her absence, Martha Swan
and 1 have read a very agreeable book, by the author of " Undine."
Of course there is no probability in the story, for that is no part of the
design of a German novelist; still there is much information and
entertainment. Perhaps you have read it ; " Theodolf, or the Ice-
lander." is the title.

Mr. George Ellis came to see me yesterday, and will preach for us
to-day. We were much pleased to hear Mr. Simmons last Sunday;
and. as he was here during his leisure that day, we got a good deal
acquainted with him, and found him a very genial, pleasant man. He
told me what I did not know, that he had been living in Milton. I
think he has but a faint idea of what Springfield is ; but he seems to
like it very much, so imperfectly as it is known to him.

January 30. I went this morning to hear one of Mr. George Ellis's
best discourses. His text was from the sixth chapter of Hebrews and
fifth verse: "The powers of the world to come." His subject was,
the influence those powers exert on human character, according to
their different states of mind and education. I think the house will be
crowded this afternoon : it was very full this morning. Many people
went expecting to hear a sermon appropriate to the occasion of Mrs.
H. S.'s death, that I think will come again and bring more.

462

It is a great blessing to me to have Martha Swan with me, she being
fond of the kind of reading I like.

Remember me to all friends in your house with much love, and like-
wise to A. P.

1 was glad to hear J. U.'s wedding went off so pleasantly.

Your affeetionate

Sister.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, March 8, 1818.

. . . My hands and my mind are employed, though there is con-
siderable monotony in my existence.

Since I read " Jane Evre," I have read the " Life of John Jay."
which interested me very much, though I have read it before, some
twelve years ago ; but I always have thought of him as one of the
saints of the earth, and, like Washington, that we should never see his
like again.

Now, with your leave, I shall use the remainder of the paper for the
benefit of your wife.

My dear Sarah, — 1 have had it in my heart a long time to write
to you, not that I thought I could give you much pleasure, but for my
own satisfaction.

Now, of course you don't know how deeply I have sympathized with
you in this last momentous event in your history. Married people have
a great many mountains to go over, and each one safely passed is a
subject of congratulation, where the gain has been greater than the
cosl and trouble. Now, I hold my only grandson to be a mighty
treasure. I feel much richer for him myself, and if I am so much
benefited, what must be your ease ? Why, he is a mine of wealth !
an income of daily comfort ! — just what his father has always been to
me ; and now 1 feel that the treasure is doubled in his having a good

463

wife, and, I trust, an excellent child. You arc sure now of having
something to do that will add greatly to the importance and value of
life ; and I don't know of any thing more satisfactory than bringing
up children. They arc nearly all that gives any interest to old age, if
we are permitted to attain to it. I often wish I was going to live my
life over again, for my children's sake ; for, with my present experience
and discipline, 1 should be much better fitted to bring up a family of
children than I was in time past. But the same is the case with
others ; and, in observing upon mankind, we see that every thing done
is an experiment made without any knowledge of the result. Some of
the experiments turn out well, and some ill. But having the destiny of
our children in our hands is such a fearful, anxious task, that it inspires
some profound reflections in those who never had any before ; and there
are many strengthening influences accompanying all our domestic duties,
which have a very salutary bearing on the character, and, together with
love, help us along, and prevent many with but little instruction, from
making shipwreck of their children and their domestic happiness. I
am calculating that Edward and yourself will have a pattern family,
which, if I live to see it, will add much to the pleasures of my advanced
life.

I am going to send a box to Susan by Mr. Edward Butler. He will
deliver it to your husband, because he is nearer to where Mr. B. stays
than Lafayette Place.

Kiss the baby for me a great many times, and believe me
Very affectionately yours,

A. J. Lyman.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Northampton, March 16, 1848.
My dear Son, — I was glad to learn from your own pen thai your
wife and my grandson are doing well. I know that Sarah will take
time for recovery. As Mrs. Butler is going to-morrow, and I can send

464

a package as well as not, I will send you the porringer to my little
grandson, which his father was always led from when a youngster ; and
I hope and pray he may be as easy to get along with as was his father.

Mr. Delano must be thanked for John Quincy Adams's picture.
The last time I ever saw him, to converse with him, lie looked like that
picture ; but when I saw him in the street, last autumn he was much
thinner. I am pleased to have it. The time I speak of conversing
with him, he kissed my hand when we parted. That ceremony was a
part of his European manners. Your father thought it was prophetic
that we should never meet again. . . .

Willi regard to Theodore Parker's eulogy of Mr. Adams, if a man
acts through life from a high principle of honor, justice, truth, and
humanity, but sometimes commits errors of judgment and opinion,
those blemishes should not be made the most prominent when pretend-
ing to write bis " eulogy." Eben Hunt could lend you this production,
I dare say. 1 wish you would give Eben one of Mr. Ellis's discourses
on your father's death, and ask him to take an early opportunity to
send it to Baron Roenne ; unless you would rather do it yourself.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Northampton, April 25, 1818.
My DEAR Ar.KY, — In the course of each day a good many people
call, and you know our practice is always to lie disengaged. This I
could not do in a city ; but having begun so, the time never came for
discontinuing the practice. And I am now very well satisfied that a
great many valuable friendships and strong attachments, and even the
ties of kindred, have been broken by the self-indulgence by which peo-
ple turn their friends and acquaintances from the door, from unwilling-
ness to make a reasonable sacrifice to the intercourse of friendship.
It is so heart-chilling, that it does much to freeze the affections which
would readily expand into a kind regard or a generous friendship, to

•465

be told at the door for a succession of years, t; not at home," or
"engaged." In my own case it tends directly to a non-intercourse,
and makes city -life and habits intolerable to me ; combining, as it too
generally does, heartlessness and senselessness.

I suppose you would like to know how we have lived this winter.
In the first place, after your uncle's death, I dismissed my oldest,
domestic, wishing to teach the youngest habits of responsibility and
care, such as she could not attain while there was a responsible person
over her; besides wishing to diminish the expense of two hundred dollars
a year, which was the least I could estimate her board and wages at.

My real estate is rated so high that it, with a ministerial tax of sev-
enty dollars, will not be less than a hundred annually. This, with an
income not over eight hundred dollars, makes the nicest calculations
necessary in regard to economy. And I do not think it tends any
more to narrow the mind to study a rigid economy, than it does to keep
one's self frivolously used up in contrivances for spending money lav-
ishly, and studying trifling points of etiquette ; instead of studying the
higher philosophy of good principle, and seeking in religion and moral
rectitude how to lead a good life in the sphere God has appointed us
here. Therefore, I shall not waste feeling and thought on the uneasi-
ness of not being rich, but think how, under existing circumstances, I
can widen the sphere of my usefulness without money. This will lie
harder for S. than for her mother ; but she has good principles, and
too much strength of character, not to do as well as she can in what-
ever position she is placed, and that without discontent or murmuring.
We must all remember that our lot is better than we deserve, and that
the cultivation of contentment and gratitude are the great antidotes to
the evils of this life.

In the beginning of the winter, I had Miss Swan come to pass the

winter with me, for I knew my Susan must be much of it with in

New York.

Your verv affectionate Auxt.

466

P. S. I shall enjoy you and yours in your home, were it in the
greatest possible simplicity, more than 1 can possibly enjoy visiting
where there is a ureal effort at style and fashion ; for in one I can find
warmth of the heart, and in the other much of the ice which clings to
gold, the touch of which freezes the soul.

I am much pleased with Mr. T. Walker's discourse on Mr. Adams.
Please to say to him that 1 am greatly obliged to him for sending it
to me.

' Mrs. Lyman to William S. Thayer, at Harvard College.

Northampton, November 26, 1848.

My dear William, — 1 have been intending to give you a l\'\v
lines ever since 1 answered your Brother James's letter. I was
very glad to hear that you had been so fortunate as to gel a school at
('anion. I hope it may prove all that you desire : and 1 dare say
your anticipations do no1 e\a--eraie the ]. leisures of such an employ-
ment; on the contrary, you are probably expecting a -real deal of
trouble, much thai is distasteful and difficult to endure. But von must
learn to consider thai all these things are necessary to exercise, as well
as test, your judgment ; and I have no doubt that it will prove a valu-
able discipline of all your faculties, and end in that best of satisfac-
tions, — the sense of doing good, not only to yourself, hut to your fel-
low creatures.

It is the saying of a good man, thai. " for every good deed of ours,
the world will be the better always." There is a great lesson of wisdom
to lie gained from teaching others; and that is. the value of reverence.
I mean reverence in ils highest signification, — first for the Author of
our being, and then for his works; hut to come down to your own
particular case, — a just reaped l'><\- those whose superiority has placed
them over us as instructors and rulers. No youth employed as a
teacher for the first time, I believe, ever had so true a sense as this

467

occupation gives Mm of the necessity of thai most valuable quality,
so rare in these days of "democracy," " liberty," and " equality, "
and, 1 may add, " fraternity." Bu< a teacher has constantly before
him the practical illustration of its necessity and its value ; and the

want of it is the greatest obstacle to improvement in the young, for it
brings in its train of evils the lack of humility.

Now, when you contemplate all the difficulties of college govern-
ment, as well as the lower institutions, common schools, &c, you al
once perceive that they are all owing to a want of respect for author-
ity : in other words, reverence. When the young people in college gel
together, they do not discuss the various trials and virtues of the pres-
ident and professors, but always their faults and imagined det'eets. with
the mosi unmitigated severity.

I have no doubt that, at the end of your time of school-teaching, you
will find you take a very different view of the relation between the
teacher and the taught from what you did before you commenced, and
thai you have gained much of wisdom by your experience. " Revere
the wise, and yours will be the state of mind into which wisdom
Hows most freely,'" is a sentiment which wc cannot apply too often to
ourselves, or to those we are teaching.

I am glad to hear that James Lyman and Chauncey Wright are
coming home to Thanksgiving, and wish you all could do the same.
Give my love to James, and tell him 1 should like to hear from him
whenever he can find it in his heart to write ; and I hope, when you
get fixed in your new position, you will give me some account of
yourself and your hopes.

Ami believe me your very interested friend,

Anne Jean Lyman.

468

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

August 2, 1349.
S. has two sons. They have talents to he agreeable, but their
faculties are somewhat paralyzed by knowing that they have a fortune to
fall back upon, and that there is nothing tor them to do hut enjoy it.
"The healthful stimulus of prospective want" is highly desirable to
the young people of our country: and it is astonishing how many
amongst us are ruined by the want of it. You may have seen the
death of Mr. Theodore Lyman announced in the Boston newspapers.
He was a rare exception to the rule 1 have adverted to. lie left no
widow, but left a. son and a daughter. He provided amply for them,
and disposed of one hundred thousand dollars to different charities.
This 1 consider an exemplary act.

Mrs. Lyman to Mrs. Greene.

Koi;tiiampton, November 4, 1849.

I have just returned from church, where I have all day heard our good
Mr. Ellis. I think he is about tin.' best minister any people ever bail :
for his good life furnishes a valuable sermon every day. He is all the
time at work for the good of society, and I think his loss would be
felt almost as much among the other societies as in ours. He examines
one school and its teachers once a week, taking the different ones in
the order ; so that he stimulates both the teachers and the taught to do
their best. And it has superinduced a degree of vigilance that we
have never experienced before, with a corresponding degree of ex-
cellence.

Mrs. Lyman to her son Edward.

Tuesday, December 21, \S'j2.

My dear Edward, — It tilled my heart with joy and gratitude to get
the intelligence I received yesterday at three o'clock, through . Joseph.

469

What I had heard the day before was the cause of a good deal of
solicitude, and 1 was looking with great anxiety for farther intelligence,
when Joseph came over. I hope there will be no obstacles to prevent

Sarah from a speedy recovery. You must begin to feel very rich, as
well as proud of your possessions, with two boys to look after; and I
hope you will be as lucky as / have been. I sec you laughing in your
sleeve at the poor old lady's vain- glory, and I wish you may have as
much cause for glorification at my age. I must tell you one thing: /
did something to earn all the satisfaction I shall have ; but it will take
a number of years to get to the " swellings of Jordan." There will he
care for the hands a good while before you get to the cares of the heart.
But parents have every encouragement, and great promise of reward
in all they do for their children. It yields a great interest for the
capital. . . .

Your very affectionate

MOTHER.

CHAPTER XIX.

With gradual gleam the day was dawning,
Some lingering stars were een,

When swung the garden-gate behind us, —
lie fifty, 1 fifteen.

The high top] ,.,] < ■ ; i .■ i i - < • and old graj' pony

Stood waiting in the lane :
Idly my father swnj i I the whip-lash,

Lightly he held the rein.

Tin.' stars went softly hack to heaven,

The night-fog., r< >L I. • 1 a«.i\ ,
And rims of gold ami crowns of crimson

Along the hill-tops lay.

That morn, the fields, they surely never

So fair an aspeet wore :
And never from the purple clover

Such perfume rose before.

<>"cr hills and low romantic valleys,
Ami flowery by-roads through,

1 satm in \ simplest songs, familiar,
That he might sing them too.

Our souls lay open to all pleasure,

No shadow came between ;
Two children, busj with their leisure, —

He fifty, J fifteen.

As on my conch in languor, lonely.

1 weave beguiling rhyme.
Comes back with strangely sweet remembrance

That far-removed time.

The slow-paced years have brought sad changes

That morn and this bel ween ;
And now, on earth, my years are fifty,

And his, in heaven, fifteen.

" Atlantic Montiii.

471

MEMORY takes me back with grateful thoughts to a period behind
the letters in the last chapter, — to the years 1839 and 1840,
when I returned from Mr. Emerson's school in Boston, to find my dear
father still vigorous and unimpaired, though seventy-three years of age.
The exquisite little poem that heads this chapter has always brought
this time so vividly before me, so much more vividly than any words of
mine can do, that I could not help inserting them; although in our
case it would have come nearer the truth to say, " He seventy, I
seventeen," — at least, for all but the last two verses.

He rose very early, in the summer time, — seldom later than four
o'clock,- — and it was his custom to take a long walk, rarely returning
home before six. I often rose and took these walks with him : and
they have left a sweet remembrance that is like a treasure laid np in
heaven. He delighted in the natural beauties of our village ; liked to
take me to Round Hill, and, it' possible, to reach there before the sun-
rise. The mists in the valleys below, the mountain-tops above, were a
pure delight to him. His memory was stored with old-fashioned
poetry, which he often repeated as we walked through the quiet streets,
when the closed houses still held their sleeping inmates. Sometimes
he told me old tales of the dwellers in those homes, or of their fore-
fathers, whom he had known as a child : sometimes he repeated to me
long passages of Pope's "Essay on Man," or Gray's "Elegy in a
Country Church-yard."

In the long summer afternoons, he took me in the chaise all round
the outskirts of the village. He had a quaint, old-fashioned set of
terms with which he addressed his horse, which I have never heard
any one else use. But the horse seemed to understand and like them.
Sometimes we drove through Hadley and Hatfield; crossed the river by
the beautiful wire ferry : came home under the mountain in the ravish-
ing light fit' those valley sunsets. Sometimes we drove to the Factory,
to see sister Jane, and took tea there, returning home in the full moon-
light. How glad was every one to see him, wherever we might go !

472

Truly, " when the eye saw him it blessed him, and when the ear heard
him it took knowledge of him." At home, Ids presence made every
room he entered " the chamber called Peace."

And here, my dear girls, let me endeavor to call up from memory
a picture of one day of my mother's life at this period. One im-
pression pervades all my thoughts of her at that time ; it is one of
breeziness, overflowing life and good-cheer for all who came within the
circle of her influence ; an immense healthfulness of soul and body,
that somehow made others feel well and cheerful also, as if upborne
by her own strong spirit.

It is the gray dawn of a summer's day, and she is already up and
doing, though the rest of her large family — all but my father — are
in their deepest sleep. Not for worlds would she rouse them : this is
her hour, — her opportunity. After the clear, cold bath in which she
revels (it was always fine to hear her discourse eloquently on the
magnetic effect of fresh water), she drosses in a short skirt and white
sacque ; and, with broom and duster, goes to her parlors and dining-
room, which are in plentiful disorder from last evening's gatherings.
She opens the windows wide in all the rooms, to let in the sweet morn-
ing air. Listening, as usual, to the song of the robins that frequent
the elm trees all around, her fine car catches a new note, long-drawn,
sweet and various. Instantly, broom and duster arc dropped, and she
hastens out into the side-yard, ami looks up into the acacia trees to
discover her new favorite. " I have found him," she cries ; " the
most beautiful creature in the whole world, and the most exquisite
singer. I shall write to Mr. Peabody this very day, and find out who
he is." She returns to her work. The two parlors, dining-room,
entry, and staircase are all carefully and thoroughly swept before six
o'clock. She then calls up her two domestics, if they are not already
up. " How light and airy are all her movements ! how strange that so
large a woman should have so elastic a tread!" we used to say. She
now returns to hor room, and puts on the clean calico morning-dress

473

and white cap and collar, which is her usual garb until late in the day.
There arc still some moments before the large family assemble for
breakfast, and no one ever saw her waste that time. Her large basket
of darning always stood in a corner of the room, ready to be attacked
when other work tailed : and she darned the stockings of the whole
family, — the servants' and the hired man's, as well as those of her
husband, children, and nieces. " For," she said, " it is the one way to
save them time, trouble, and expense. I like to do it, and they never
do it well.'' We had one girl named Maria, who had lived with us
some years, and was about to leave us to accompany her family to
another town. On the morning of her departure, she appeared at the
parlor-door, holding up the foot of an old black-silk stocking, so darned
that the original fabric was hardly discoverable. "Mrs. Lyman, may 1
take this with me ? " she said ; " I found it in the rag-bag." " Why,
certainly, Maria; but what can you want that old stocking for?"
" Why, I want to show the folks where I go Mrs. Judge Lyman's em-
broidery" said Maria ; and, choking down a tender emotion, she added,
"and I'll tell 'em she mended ours just as good as all the ladies'."

Perhaps she darned stockings till the breakfast-bell rang, or else she
took the book that always lay in the basket, underneath her stockings,
— some good history, or book of ethics, or the last " North American."
Or, if there were time, she wrote to Mr. Peabody and described her bird ;
and got for answer, by next day's mail, that it was " the rose-breasted
grossbeak." How its long name delighted her heart ! it was worthy
the beauty of her singer.

Breakfast comes. How often in summer-time it assembled fifteen or
twenty happy souls around that hospitable board ! When my dear father
came, his presence brought benediction, peace, and love, as much as hers
gave warmth and cheer. The breakfast was always simple, but abun-
dant, — tea and coffee, broiled fish or steak, bread, and some kind of
pudding for the children, to be eaten with milk or cream. After break-
fast, a chapter in the Bible and prayers were read. Then my mother

474

bad water brought, and with many aids among children, grandchil-
dren, and nieces the dishes were washed, silver cleaned, and tabic
cleared in an incredibly short space of time. After tins, she was very
apt to take her seat near the front door, partly because of her social
spirit, which made her love to greet the passers-by, or send messages
to her neighbors ; and partly because father liked to sit there, and for
the same reasons. She had always the basket of darning beside her,
and the book, and my father bad the newspapers which he read aloud
to her, or she to him ; and they discussed in a truly amusing way the
events or the politics of the day, — for he had a rare and sweet humor,
and she had keen wit, and peals of merry laughter were often heard
from the stairs, or the two parlors, whose doors into the entry always
stood open, and where groups of children and visitors collected. At
this time, my mother always had the peas brought her to shell for din-
ner, or the beans to string. And I have seen her go on with these
occupations unmoved and without apology, while Baron Rcenne", or the
.fudges of (be Supreme Court, or Henry Clay and Daniel Webster, came
and went, — she conversing all the time with each and all, in the most
brilliant way. A touch of the bell scarce interrupting the flow of her
ideas, she would hand her pails and pans of vegetables, nicely pre-
pared, to the little maid who came at her call, and go on with her
inevitable darning. — It was seldom that the large family sat down
to meals without additional guests. Any one that dropped in was in-
vited to remain ; any one passing the front door who looked weary was

asked to stop. " Another plate for Mr. or Mrs. ■ ," called my mother

cheerily to her little maid, without a thought of trouble ; as, indeed,
there was none.

Although she darned beautifully, she was not an exquisite seamstress,
and sometimes tried the patience of her children and young friends by
want of nicety. So in derision we called her sewing " the Goblin
Tapestry." But in truth she had too many garments to make and
mend, to give much thought to any thing but the strength and durabil-

475

ity of her work : and in .some particulars she was wanting in taste.
I recall a young girl sitting near her one day with some exquisite
embroidery in her hand. " Now, Mrs. Lyman, is not this lovely ? "
she said. " Well, I dare say it is, my dear," was the quick reply,
'• but life lias never been long enough for me to embroider a flannel
petticoat."

And yet with seeming inconsistency she took great pains to have
one temporary inmate of the family taught to embroider ; and, when
a friend remarked upon it, and said, - Why, Mrs. Lyman, I always
thought you believed in having young people cultivate their minds
before all things?'' she lowered her voice, but said in an emphatic
whisper, " My dear, that girl wouldn't read, — not if you were to
set her down in the Bodleian Library for the rest of her life. You
can't put a quart into a pint cup.''

At one o'clock came dinner ; always a large joint, roast or boiled,
with plenty of vegetables and few condiments, — for she thought
them unwholesome, — good bread and butter, and a plain pudding
or pie. I think her idea about food as well as clothing was, that
there was but one object in it, — - to support and sustain the body in
the one case, to cover and keep it warm in the other. And so she
never discussed or encouraged discussion of any thing belonging to
them. To have interrupted the fine conversation at that dinner-table,
by any reference to the flavor or quality of the viands set before any
of lis, would have appeared to both my father and mother as the heighl
of vulgarity; and I have never been able to get used to it at other
tables. The same feeling led them always to avoid any conversation
about their domestic concerns or troubles, and this from the highest
motives. One whose name is a household word in many lands
once said, after a two weeks' visit at their house, " Oh, I liked
to stay with Mrs. Lyman, for she had no kitchen ! *' I remember
well her sitting in apparent abstraction and silence for a good half-
hour, while two neighbors discussed the enormities of their servants.

476

At last, anxious for her sympathy, they appealed to her. She rose
from her seat, sighed wearily as she gathered up her work to de-
part, and said emphatically, " I see no perfection in the parlor,
1 don't know why 1 should expect it in the kitchen."

In the afternoon, my dear mother allowed herself a long siesta,
and came from her room about four, or a half-hour later, with re-
newed brightness and cheerfulness. Then the windows of the west
parlor attracted her, and there the young members of the family
delighted to join her. Her pleasure in the society of the young was
unbounded, and her entire sympathy with them led her to draw out
the best in them at all times. Especially, if she found any young
person with a strung desire for acquiring knowledge, she never lost
sight of the intellectual stimulus to be applied, and never rested till
she had found means to supply the want. How many admirable
books we read aloud to her in those long summer afternoons, she
often stopping us to impress some deeper application of the author's
thought upon our minds, or taking the book from our hands to read
over again, in her own impressive way, something that we had made
poor and tame by our rendering! And with that large hospitality that
often made it impossible for her to enjoy any great thought alone, or
with her own family alone, she would note the passers-by as we
read: and many a good neighbor, or young, intellectual starveling has
been beckoned in, "just to hear this rich passage we are reading,
it won't take long."

Ah ! can we ever restore the flavor of her evening parties, where
young and old, high and low, met on the fine footing that her perfect
disinterestedness and full animal spirits alone made possible? No!
not alone ; for the saintly spirit that moved beside her, invited this
large hospitality even more than she : and what her greater impetuosity
sometimes failed to do, his unfailing gentleness and dignity combined
made possible, and the result of all the household entertainments was
as perfect as heart could desire. We had parties two or three evenings

477

in the week in summer-time : indeed, the neighbors thought we had
parties all the time. But, for the most part, they were informal
gatherings. In the old stage-coach days, my father always saw every
friend or stranger of distinction that arrived at the taverns ; and, if he
reported directly to my mother, she scarcely waited till morning to call
in her friends and neighbors for the next evening, and to make ready
her parlors for guests the next forenoon. If it was to be a tea-party,
she had only to order an abundant supply of tea and coffee, with thin
slices of bread and butter doubled, sponge-cake made by the daughters
before breakfast, and thin slices of cold tongue or ham; if an evening
party, the lemonade and cake and wine in summer, and the nuts and
raisins and fine apples in winter, furnished the simple but sufficient en-
tertainment. I recall the zest and avidity with which she planned these
evenings in which one thought rose above all others, — to give pleasure,
not to get it for herself. How she remembered every one, especially
the young and the shy and the restricted, whose opportunities for
society were small, and who would, therefore, be most benefited !

" Go tell M. and C. and A.,'" she would say to one of us,

" that Mr. and Mrs. and Judge , from Boston, will be here

this evening, and I want them all to come ; they will hear good talk
ing." And, though she impressed on us all the duty of doing our part
towards the entertainment of guests, she also taught us that a part of
the value of society to the young consisted in being good listeners. In
short, her one idea was to bring together the good and wise, who would
be sure to enjoy conversation, and then collect a troop of young people
about them, who must be benefited by contact with superior minds.

" No one ever declines going to Mrs. Lyman's parties," was the com-
mon remark ; " indeed, she has always more than she asks, for every-
body knows they can take their friends there.''''

Occasionally, we had a party a little more stately than the rest. Such
was the annual court-week party, when all the judges of the Supreme
Court, and their wives and daughters, with the younger lawyers, and

478

friends from all parts, filled the house. At such times, all the daugh-
ters of the house were engaged for two or three days in the prepara-
tions, and the results seemed to us magnificent.

My mother so often alludes to " court-week " in her letters, that I
cannot but recall what a delightful time it was to my sister and myself.
As little children, we had been allowed to sit up to the seven-o'clock
tea, which was handed round, and we did not go to bed till eight.
What a week was that ! How, in the morning, we all ran to the win-
dow, when the rapid ringing of the court-bell announced the coming of
the judges ! My father always went to the hotel, to escort them into
court, and the procession had to pass our house. Father and the chief
justice came first, my father bearing his high-sheriff's staff of office ;
then Judge Wilde and Judge Putnam, Judge Metcalf and Judge Wil-
liams, Mr. Octavius Pickering and a troop of lawyers, two and two,
with green bags. They always dined with us once or twice during the
week, and some or all of them took tea every evening; besides our
having one large party for them, taking in half the town. I always,
as a child, had a feeling about Chief-Justice Shaw, as if he were the
Great Mogul, or the Grand Panjandrum, or something of that sort : and
the tone of absolute reverence with which my father spoke of him
increased the effect. He was often very silent, and was subject to
•• hay fever " when he went on the circuit, and was probably tired also
in the evening, for he sat with his head lowered, which gave him the
appearance of having his eyes closed. Once I crept up behind my
father's chair, and whispered: —

" Father, is the chief justice asleep ? "

" Oh, no, my little pigeon," was the reply ; " far from it ! Why. he
is thinking the profoundest th<>u;/Jt/s that ever pass through the mind of
wan."

This made a deep impression on my mind, and I crept back into my
corner, longing to know what those " profoundest thoughts " might lie.

And when we had grown to womanhood, and left the dream-land of

479

childhood far behind, court-week still remained invested with the early
halo; and the coming of the judges, with their excellent and intelli-
gent families and friends, while it brought us abundant work, gave us
the constant reward of delightful society.

I recall those days now, when my mother had worked from early
morning till late of a hot summer's day, till even her strong frame
showed signs of exhaustion ; then, retiring to her room for one hour of
rest, and appearing in the evening, dressed in the " good gown,'' with
heart-warmth and smiles and brilliant talk for every one. Was any
young girl shy or ill at case at her parties? — she did not then push her
forward, or insist on her doing a task for which she was not fitted, and
so make the evening a penance to her. No ! she kindly placed her
near some group of elder people, where the conversation was earnest
and the themes high ; and she knew the dear and unobtrusive soul
would feel herself in Paradise. Perhaps she would not talk that
night ; but her mind and heart would be warmed and fed, and that
would surely make her talk better at some future day.

A friend, who once passed a few weeks at the house, gives me this
instance of her entire friendliness and sympathy with the young. She
was preparing for one of her evening parties, and had got as far as
arranging her flower-pots, which were fearful to behold, for she had
never any taste in floral decorations. Chancing to pass the window,
she espied a young girl whom she loved much, for she had many tal-
ents and a warm heart ; but, through restricted circumstances and
somewhat careless habits, was not always ready for enjoyment.

" Oh, >S." she cried, " I am going to have a party this evening : and
all the judges are to be here, and all the court-ladies, and I want you
to come. Do come, my dear ! "

" Oh, Mrs. Lyman ! " said the poor girl, looking tearfully down at
her feet, " how I wish I could come ! But I can't, for my shoes are
all out at the toes, and this is my only pair."

A pause of a few minutes, when the good lady's face brightened ; —

480

" Well, S.," she said, " at least, you'll help rue get ready for my
party ? "

" Oh, yes ! " said the young girl, with alacrity; and she came in,
and in a few hours had effected a wonderful transformation in the
rooms, willi her tasteful hands and willing feet. Mrs. Lyman accom-
panied her home when the work was done, beguiling the way with
cheerful talk. Somehow, she hardly knew how, they were in the best
shoe-store of the village ; a pair of beautiful bronze shoes was pur-
chased, and she had parted from her friend, and ran gayly home to
dress for the party.

The early restrictions of her comparatively isolated life at Brush
Hill, during her youth, always gave her a peculiar sympathy for all
young people she knew, who lived in a similar isolation. And so when
winter came on, her thoughts would turn naturally to the two families
of Huntington and Phelps, whose beautiful homes near Hadley were
her delight in her summer drives, but whose young inmates she felt
were sadly cut off from social privileges in the long winters. " You can
never know," said Mrs. Bulfinch to me once, " the thrill of pleasure
that would conic to us when we saw the double sleigh, with Mrs. Lyman
in it, drive into our yard, — when snow-drifts were deep, and we had
scarcely seen any one for weeks. Which of us would she ask to go
home with her in the sleigh for a long visit, for we were sure she would
take some of us? Ami when we went, what a welcome we had, and
what a new life ! Your dear father, and the guests he always collected ;
the newest books, of which we had not heard, all lying on the table;
the bright homeish parlor! — it seemed like being transferred to an en-
chanted land ! "

Lorn to be leaders in society, the presence of both my father and
mother in that lovely village was felt to lie a peculiar blessing, because
their counsels always prevailed to bring about the best sort of demo-
cratic feeling. They were prominent and active in the support of
lyceum lectures, in the getting up of Shakspeare clubs, and the forma-

481

tion of literary societies. It' the lecturers were to be poorly paid, they
invited them to stay at their house, ami made up to them in kindness
and hospitality what they lacked in fees. I recall one of our Shaks-
peare clubs, where there were four or live admirable readers, but a few
resident students from neighboring towns whose reading was incredibly
bad. When my mother took the part of Portia, and Mr. Frederic D.
Huntington (then a youth, but now Bishop of the Central Diocese of
New York) that of Bassanio, in the " Merchant of Venice," every one
that could, came to listen. But it must be confessed that our club was
sometimes enlivened by bad reading ; and on one occasion, during the
play of " Hamlet," a young man taking the part of player to the king
uttered himself in this remarkable way, " What's he to Hee-h u-by
(Hecuba), or Hee-keu-by to him?" Of course, except for the kind
and considerate manners of that little community, the whole group of
listeners would have been convulsed with laughter. My mother was
as grave and solemn as possible, till all had left the house, and then
she laughed till she hurt herself. Next day came a discussion in her
presence as to whether such readers should not be excluded from the
club. '■ By no means," she exclaimed, emphatically ; " we can all read-
Shakspeare when and as we please ; we can now and then go to Bos-
ton or New York, and hear Fanny Kemble or Charles Kean read, but
to these young people it is their only opportunity. Let them come and
read badly one winter ; it won't hurt us. Then, next winter, give them
new parts, and let them hear how the best readers render those they
have read. That will benefit them without hurting their feelings."
And she carried the day.

Indeed, it seemed a curious fact to all who knew her warm temper
and passionate nature, that she rarely hurt the feelings of any one ; and,
when she did, her wounds left no sting behind. With a vast power of
indignation against wrong-doers, a positive hatred of any thing mean
or small or insincere, and a somewhat undisciplined and impetuous
mode of expression on occasions where her temper was roused, — she
61

4S2

was surely as free from every taint of resentment or jealousy or suspi-
cion, as, any human being I have ever seen. I remember reading aloud
in one of Mrs. Stowe's stories, where she describes her heroine as not
being " economical of her wrath, but using it so unsparingly, that it
was all gone before the time for action came." " That's your moth r"
said my dear father, with a sly smile ; and though she pretended not
to hear, we knew she did. She neve]' apologized, that I remember ;
she was too busy; life was too full for her, to keep taking the back
track and wiping out old scores. But the rare tenderness of her man-
ner to those she knew she had wounded, the warm-hearted sympathy,
so ready to begin a new day in a new way, if they were as willing to
forget as she was, was better far than a host of excuses. In short, she
never enjoyed the discussion of inevitable things. She could give a
person a good "setting down " when excited, in a few strong, terse,
inimitable words. But then it was done and over, and she never
wanted it revived. And if others were hesitating about any course of
action, or quarelling over a decision, she was sure to settle the ques-
tion in a very positive and often sudden way, though with no disregard
to the best rights of others. In Miss Bremer's novel of the "Neigh-
bors," there was much in the character of" Ma Chere Mere" that re-
minded me of my mother. Especially that little scene where, calling
in the heaven-chariot to take one of her daughters-in-law to drive, she
found them both dressed and ready, and bickering' about which should
have precedence ; and so she whipped up her horse, and went without
either.

I do not think that you, dear girls, who cannot remember- her tones
of voice, her impressive manner, and expressive gestures, will ever be
able to form an adequate idea of her wit, from my poor showing. A
lady, now in middle life, tells me this tale of her youth ; she was a
bright and talented girl, and a great favorite with my mother, who was
always deeply interested in all that concerned her, both her education
and her pleasures. She frequently spent whole days with my mother;

483

read aloud to her, and joined in all the family occupations and diver-
sions. But she belonged to an Orthodox family : and once, when a
revival of religion went through the village, S. " came under convic-
tion," as it is called ; and, being much interested and occupied with it,
she naturally discontinued her visits to her friend for a time. "One
day," she said, " when I had not seen Mrs. Lyman for three months, I
was walking up Shop Row, and saw her coming down on the other side
of the street. I thought I would not look that way, and perhaps she
wejuld not see me. But she darted across the street, and taking me by
both hands said, ' S. my child, you need not be afraid to come and see
me, because you've " got religion ! " do n't you know you can't be too
religious ? Get all the religion you can !' I thought she had gone, but
in another moment she had turned back, looked me full in the face,
and said, impressively, ' Be a good child, 8., and go home ami brush
your teeth.'' "

Walking by the " Edwards Church " one evening, as the bells rang for
a third service, she remarked solemnly to her companion, — a stranger
in the place, " Those are the people who are a shade better than we
are ! " Coming from our own church one day, after the clergyman, a
stranger, had been preaching a sermon upon a personal devil, our
neighbor, Mrs. Whitmarsh, met her and said, " Why Mrs. Lyman, you
do n't believe in a personal devil, do you ? " " Of course I do ! I
couldn't keep house a day without him ! " was the emphatic answer.

It was not always what she said, that caused the laugh that so often
followed her lightest remarks. It was the tone of voice, the inimitable
gesture, the lifting of her eyebrows, the waving of her hand, the mock
solemnity, — that carried away her hearers with an irresistible flood of
merriment. And these tones and gestures were so wholly her own,
such a simple and unconscious possession, that it is impossible to
describe them. At a sewing circle one night, before the days of gas,
the hostess was worrying over the poor light from her astral lamp.
She tried various expedients, but all to no purpose, and she grew more

484

and more worried. A hand was laid on her arm, and the audible
whisper sent a smile all round the room: "The law of the lamp lias
been violated," said Mrs. Lyman ; " that's all the matter."

One morning a gentleman, a stranger, walked into Warner's tavern,
and accosted "mine host," — at the same time laughing heartily. " I
was walking past a house just above here," he said, " when an elderly
lady without any bonnet, and carrying a large feather fan, with which
she fanned herself vigorously, passed me. I saw that some portions of
the fence had been broken, and I stooped down and laid the pieces
carefully together. I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and a voice
said, ' Sir, you're a Christian feller cretur ! ' I looked up. and it was
the same pleasant-looking lady I had seen walking up and down."
"Oh," said Mr. Warner, "it's easy to tell you who that was!
Nobody in our village talks that way but Mrs. Judge Lyman."

Her views on the education of children were strong and character-
istic. She loved young children with enthusiastic devotion, enjoyed in
the heartiest way every beauty or attraction they possessed, and fairly
revelled in the presence of a baby. I never saw but two persons who
delighted in a baby as she did. (hie was our minister's wife, -Mrs.
Hall ; and the other, our cousin, Emma Forbes. Whenever a new baby
appeared at the Halls', my mother would come home in a state of
rapture. Mrs. Hall would say to her, " Now, you see, Mrs. Lyman, this
is I'eally the best and sweetest baby I have had yet ; he is so pretty, 1
really feel as if I ought to give him away ; he is too good for me to
keep." And this hearty gratitude for the new gift met with the fullest
response in her good neighbor's heart.

She noted the peculiar traits of her children, rejoiced in their indi-
vidualities, delighted in their original remarks ; but she " kept all these
things in her heart, and pondered them." No one ever heard her call
attention to them, or repeat any thing they had said, in their presence.
In fact, she was so fearful that others might be less careful than her-
self, that she did not often speak of them to her friends, and it has

485

been an amazement to ns to find so many references to us in her let-
ters. A child's simplicity and unconsciousness were more sacred to
her than to any one I have ever known, and she guarded them with
a jealous care I have never seen surpassed. Always ready to sympa-
thize with and approve them, she yet never allowed herself or others
to express admiration of children in their presence, — either of their
beauty or their attractive ways, or their efforts to please. 1 can
remember the indignation she once expressed when some neighbors
stopped at the front door, and showed undisguised admiration for the
unconscious little beauty who sat there eating her bread and milk.
Afterwards, in reading what our Lord said, in MatthewT xviii. 0 ,
'• Whoso shall offend one of these little ones," &c, she exclaimed
forcibly, " They do it all the time, — the people that flatter simple and
innocent children, and destroy their natural unconsciousness and
humility." She had always great faith in keeping children in a
rather humble and subordinate position ; but entirely on their own
account, and from strong conviction that it would be a help to them all
through the journey of life. So she dressed them in the plainest,
clothes, taught them always to be ready to give up personal ease or
pleasure for the sake of older people, and wished them to show defer-
ence at all times to superiors. I think in the matter of dress she
sometimes erred, — partly from her own lack of taste. But the principle
with her was a fine one. It arose from her great dislike to give
prominence to the' external in any thing. It may be questioned, how-
ever, if a fair amount of time and thought bestowed on dress does not
confer pleasure of a high order on others ; and almost all children have
such delight in pretty clothes, that it is possible to produce more
thought about them in a child's mind who is denied the exercise of
taste, than would exist where a certain amount of care was bestowed
on it. But her view was on the whole a noble one, — in her who
valued the soul so much more highly than the body, and who wanted

486

to make a purse, that would have sufficed to dress her own children
handsomely, help to supply the necessities of life to many others.

I well remember a certain indigo-blue print, covered with white stars,
very much worn by children in orphan asylums, and by working people.
It was our detestation, and so my mother dubbed the material, " morti-
fication.'" I had never heard any other name for it, and did not suppose
it had any other. We had our fresh white dresses and blue ribbons for
Sundays or for company, but on working days, " let all children cat hum-
ble pie," was my mother's maxim ; and in many respects it was a good
one. And so, one day when I was eight years old, I was sent to the
store to buy six yards of the hated fabric to make an every-day dress.
" 1'lcasc sir," said I, sadly, to the clerk who made his appearance, " have
you any blue mortification ? " " No ! I never heard of it," was the
quick reply. My spirits rose, and I was about to leave the store, when
I almost stumbled over a pile of the very goods. Conscience was too
strong for me. " This is it," I said timidly. I heard a suppressed
giggle behind the counter ; and as the clerk measured off six yards of
" mortification," one of the partners said in an audible whisper, " Of
course it aint the name, but Mrs. Lyman always gives her own names
to every thing, and the child do n't know any better."

I do not think that my mother ever had more than three dresses at
any one time ; she called them " gowns." Her best dress was always
a very handsome black silk, worn with simple, but fine, cap and laces.
A mousseline-de-laine — black or gray — she called her "every-day
gown ; " and a dark calico for mornings and work-days, she wore in
summer, and exchanged for a heavier material in winter. The best
dress she always called her " good gown ;" and a shabbier dress, which
she kept to save the best, she called her " vessel of dishonor." It took
one day then to cut, fit, and finish off one of her gowns; she sitting
with the dressmaker, and sewing the whole day. So that three days
in the early summer, and three days in winter sufficed to construct her

487

modest wardrobe. And, oh ! how handsome she was in every dress, —
even when she had not on the " good gown,'' that belonged to state
occasions.

I thought her manners then, and I think them now, after a lung re-
view, the finest I have ever seen, exeept my father's, which were even
finer, having in them the trace of a life filled with the beatitudes. My
mother had a noble presence, and what would have been called statelj
manners, had they not been so gracious, so full of friendliness and
sympathy, and sincere cordiality. And 1 cannot remember that either
she or my father ever enjoined fine 'manners on the many young people
they educated ; or ever talked about them. With them it was always
the principle to work from within outward, and not the reverse. They
believed that if one could make a child perfectly truthful, disinterested,
and considerate towards all God's creatures, fine manners would be the
inevitable and unconscious result. Both of them despised'eonvention-
alities, and often taught us, both by precept and example, that appear-
ances were naught, except as types of an interior reality.

To my mother's large view, the fine perspective of life was always
kept ; she could not sacrifice the greater to the less at any time. I
remember once, when a sleighing party of young people, hurrying to
be in time for the railroad-train, — which then did not come nearer to
Northampton than Palmer, — drove up to the friendly door for aid,
because they had broken some part of their harness. Sitting near the
window, she saw the dilemma, and hastened out. Being told that
they had not a moment to lose, and that there were reasons of special
importance why they should make the train, she despatched one child
in haste to the barn for the man, and another to the house for strong
cords. But no sooner had they gone to obey her orders, than a quicker
expedient suggested itself to her fertile fancy. She raised her dress
quietly, and rapidly whisked off her strong, knit, cotton garters, united
the broken harness with a firm weaver's knot, and waved off the little
party with the air of a queen. I recall now their three cheers for " the

488

good lady and her garters," as they drove down the hill ; and she,
standing in the snow, with noble presence and outline, and grave un-
consciousness of any thing save satisfaction that she could help them.
My friend, Caroline Clapp, came in on the instant. " Do n't tell me,
Caroline, any thing about elastics" she said; " a good, strong, generous
cotton garter is worth the whole of them in an emergency."

" Oh, Mrs. Lyman can say or do any thing she pleases," was the
common remark. And so she could, because the motives were always
simple, and single, and transparent to view. The worst as well as the
best was all to be seen ; nothing hidden, or complicated, or incompre-
hensible. .1 have said that her temper was quick and warm, and her
passions violent. A friend has told me this characteristic story, one
of many that could be told, to prove how wholly without resentment
her nature was. When my mother first came to Northampton, a
handsome ami attractive person, full of animation, she had been
received with the utmost warmth, both for the sake of her good hus-
band, so well beloved, and because her own cordiality spoke volumes
in her favor. " I thought Northampton a little paradise," she said
afterwards to this same young friend, " and that everybody loved me
as I loved them." And in the long run this was true, but it was
impossible for so ardent and impulsive a nature not to offend some-
times the prepossessions or prejudices of a community where she was
always the central figure. "And after a time," she said, "one person
whom I had always loved, would come and repeat to me the ill remarks
of neighbors and friends. Then I said, 'Get thee behind me, for
I cannot afford to have my mind and heart poisoned towards those I
live among.'" One day, when a young girl she loved was reading
aloud to her, this treacherous friend came in. " Go, my dear,"' said
Mrs. Lyman, " and sit with your book, by the window, in the next
room." "I went," said the young girl, "but I could not help overhear-
ing the conversation, in which Miss repeated an opinion of her held

by a family she had loved very much, and who, she thought, loved her,

48!)

which was so derogatory and untrue, it could not but have been deeply
trying to her warm and sensitive heart. I could not help hearing
the whole," said S., " and I thought how angry Mrs. Lyman must
be. But, no! She was just as calm, and quiet, and dignified as possi-
ble, though she looked grieved. She heard Miss B. all through, then
she said slowly and with subdued emotion, ' I am sorry my neighbors
think so ill of me, but I can't help it. I shall never feel any differ-
ently towards them.' Then, her voice rising, but still quite calm, she
added, ' But you, B., can't be my friend, to want to tell me such
things, and I don't care if you never enter my doors again.' Miss

B. took her leave hastily; Mrs. Lyman called to me, 'Come S ,

read right on, and let us forget all about this rubbish, just as fast as
we can.' Her eyes were tearful, but in five minutes she was making
cheerful comments on the book, and I never heard her allude to the
incident again. But an event occurred soon after, which fixed the
whole scene more forcibly still in my memory. Only a week later, a
malignant epidemic seized the family in question, and two of the chil-
dren were sick unto death. I was sent by my mother to inquire how
they were, but by no means to enter the house, as the disease was so
contagious. But as I hovered near the open doors and windows, to
my surprise I saw Mrs. Lyman entirely absorbed in the care of the
sick children, though she did not see me. Then I thought of the talk
in her parlor, so short a time before, and I said in my heart, ' What-
ever her religion is, she is a good and noble woman ! ' "

Late in her life, she wrote a most tender and loving letter to her
daughter Catherine, in China, on the subject of her little grand-
children and their education, and I cannot but copy from it this
striking sentence : —

'• I can well remember the first time my Aunt Forbes (who was also

my godmother) made me repeat after her the sentence, ' I must bear

no malice or hatred in my heart,' — together with a number of similar

sentences which are familiar to you ; I say I can well remember

490

thinking that it would be impossible for me to entertain either of those
sentiments ; but I am now sure that the impression she then made has
been the means of preventing the excess of them, for she led me to
feel that they were as unworthy of one of God's creatures as either
lying or theft. And I cannot doubt from practical experience that it is
more natural for unperverted children to receive good impressions than
bad ones, and feel no doubt in my own mind that they often imbibe
when very young the truest and most refined moral sentiments, which
take root and grow with their growth, and strengthen with their
strength."

As another illustration of her inability to hold on to wrath, my
friend, Lucretia Hale, recalls to me an instance to which we were both
witness once, when she was on a visit at our house. My mother always
had a small servant in the house, who acted in the capacity of runner
to the whole family. She was usually taken at the age of ten years,
and kept till fifteen or thereabout ; was not only clothed comfortably
and treated with much kindness, but was trained carefully for higher
service, and daily instructed for an hour or two. either by her mistress
or some of the daughters, in reading, writing, arithmetic, and geogra-
phy. My mother bad a rare gift for teaching, and enjoyed it thor-
oughly. What a succession of these little girls she taught to read
beautifully and understand ingly ; and in spite of an occasional bout
with obstinacy and stupidity, in which however she always came oft'
conqueror, what an excellent relation subsisted between them ! It was
delightful to overhear some of these hours of instruction, — the timid
child slowly picking her way through an involved sentence in a per-
fectly dry, jerky, sing-song tone ; my mother correcting with great
patience, but after a time seizing the book with impetuosity, and read-
ing so exactly like her young scholar, and yet performing the imitation
so good-naturedly, that the child, diffident and respectful as she always
was, could not help laughing heartily. " Now consider," she would
say, " if you were relating this fact to me you have just been reading,

491

would you do it so? " " No! " " Well, read it again to me exactly as
if you were speaking." In this way, and by never allowing one word
to he passed over that was not perfectly understood, both as to meaning
and derivation, she made a large number of excellent readers. It was
an inestimable service to these poor children, and in after-life they
duly appreciated it.

The last child my mother took in this capacity was Letitia, who,
bearing a striking resemblance to a familiar character in Dickens,
commonly went by the name of the Marchioness. Now, the Mar-
chioness was as good as gold and faithful to all requirements, but
like many another child of ten years, when work was done, she
liked a little mischief. One afternoon in the late autumn, my mother
sauntered out to see some of her neighbors, wearing her large calash
and cape that always hung on the tree in the front entry, to be in
readiness for such impromptu expeditions. When she had gone, the
Marchioness, unwisely calculating that the expedition would last some
hours, decided on a round of visits among her own acquaintance,
although it was a day on which the cook was absent. Moreover, hav-
ing a taste for elegance, she went to her mistress's closet, took out her
best black-silk bonnet and nice Cashmere shawl, and arrayed herself
in them. Nothing could be more absurd than the grotesque little
figure, dressed in the elderly lady's best, that my friend and I saw
hurrying off through the side-yard at twilight, — too late to stop her
proceedings. So we resolved together to say nothing. The fates
decreed that my mother should find most of her neighbors absent that
afternoon, so she returned home very soon after the Marchioness had
disappeared, and soon became absorbed in a book she was reading.
Presently my father came in, and desired her to go with him to call on
some strangers of distinction at the Mansion House. She went to her
closet to get her best bonnet and shawl ; they were gone. Of course,
her discomfiture and annoyance were extreme. We could no longer
conceal from her the facts of the case, and evidently she must give up

492

paying her visit. She was in a towering passion, and who could
wonder? " She would punish that child within an inch of her life, the
minute she could get hold of her ! The Marchioness would come home
cold, and there should he no kitchen fire for her," — and she vigorously
administered three or four pitchers of water, and put out the fire.
" She would he hungry ; she should go supperless to lied, and shame
and disgrace should follow her downsitting and uprising ! " So. having
removed certain goodies that she habitually kept for any member of
her own family into the parlor closet, she proceeded to lock up the
kitchen and store closets.

Late in the evening, the stealthy tread of the culprit, hoping to creep
in and restore the borrowed lustre to its proper place without detection,
was heard. My mother pounced upon her vehemently.

" How did you dare ! " she began, — hut one glance at the shivering,
trembling child was too much for that warm heart. Possibly, too, the
whole absurdity of the situation struck her, although she never once
smiled. " Letitia," she said, gravely, hut in a tone whose depth and gen-
tleness sounds even now in my cars, through the distant years, " Letitia,"
— no longer " Marchioness." — " I suppose you are very cold ': "
" Yes, marm."

" Well, Letitia, the kitchen fire is all out, and it won't do for you to
go to bed shaking in that way ; so you'd hotter sit down here by my
fire, and get perfectly warm."

" Yes, marm ! " in most abject tones from the poor Marchioness.
A pause, — my mother working away as if her life depended on it;
then. ■■ Letitia, I suppose you have not had any supper, and must he
very hungry'.' Well, you won't find any thing in the kitchen : hut
when you have got your feet warm, you can go there," — pointing to
the parlor-closet, — " and take what you want."

When my friend Lucretia and I were fairly in our own room, and
had closed the door, we could not tell whether to laugh or cry, the
whole scene had been such a mixture of humor and pathos. Really,

4:93

we had not expected fco see sucli a lizzie as this, after such great prep-
arations for protracted warfare.

It is needless to say that the Marchioness never wore her mis-
tress's best things again, or performed any similar prank, although her
mischief did not end there. " A great deal of the white horse in that,
child," my mother would say, — it was a favorite expression of hers, —
" hut she's a treasure in the long run."

My dear friend, Martha Swan, who often stayed with her during my
frequent absences from home, says that one day, when she was prepar-
ing to receive some friends in the evening, a young lady came in, whose
purpose evidently was to receive an invitation to meet these guests.
As soon as she was gone, my mother remarked : —

" Now, mark my words, Martha ! I will not have that piece of pre-
tension and affectation here to-night, to spoil all our pleasure."

Martha thought she was perfectly right, and supposed the matter
dropped. About dark, what was her amazement to see my mother
creeping stealthily out the side-door, and, after a time, returning, tow-
ing along " that piece of pretension and affectation," to take tea and
pass the evening. She really could not have enjoyed a moment, think-
ing that any young girl was sitting at home, wanting to come ; although
there was no reason why she should have asked her, as it was not a
general party, but only a gathering of three or four persons. But she
had certainly great impatience with all affectation ; and no wonder, for
nothing could be more foreign to her own nature. I find in one of her
letters this sentence : —

" I went yesterday to see , and, to my great sorrow, found her

translated into an affected piece of city trumpery. But such people as
she is, should not engross much space, even in a letter. They arc like
the short-lived, gaudy butterfly, — entertain us with their fine colors,
but never soar to any thing higher than this poor earth. 'Tis about as
foolish to talk about them as it would be to envy them. I could toler-

494

ate affectation, if it were not that I see those who fall into it have first
to part with all their integrity of character, and give themselves up to
the exhibition of false colors; in other words, they live upon untruth.
Their whole conduct is a practical lie. But they only have the com-
mendation of such as themselves ; for others will do themselves the
justice to bear their testimony against this lie, lest they should be con-
sidered as involved in the same folly, not to say vice.'"

I cannot help here recalling how possible it was for her to appear
like quite a poor, depressed, commonplace woman, when some acci-
dent would place her in the society of persons whose life was in exter-
nals. The neighbors in our village, who appreciated her so fully,
would never have known her for the same person. Silent, abstracted,
she was either absorbed in some homely work, or her mind had trav-
elled to some distant space. I remember a young lady of fashion wak-
ing her suddenly from one of these dreams by saying: —

" Mrs. Lyman, you were at 's yesterday. Did you hear B.

express any enthusiasm about Z.'s carpets and curtains ? "

She looked half-dazed ; but, when the question was fairly understood,
said, slowly : —

" Carpets ! curtains ! enthusiasm ! Well, well ! I've heard of en-
thusiasm for line natural scenery ; for grand music ; for a noble
poem ; but I never in all my life heard of it for those things ! "
And she relapsed into her solemn silence.

Never was there any one, who, both by precept and example, placed
a lower value on things. I find, in a letter to my sister Catherine,
written to her during her residence in China, the following description
of a young friend : —

" Prom the tone of her letters, I think L. is becoming more reconciled
to her new home than when she first went there. I should think it
was a place where she might make herself contented, and where her
accomplishments would be appreciated. But I suspect discontent is a

495

very prominent element in her character, though there is a greal deal
that is interesting mingled with it. But she has been too much
indulged, to be happy, and has too exaggerated notions of the requisites
to happiness ; in short, she has not discovered that the real sources of
happiness are only to be found in one's own breast. She has affixed
too deep a significance to chairs and tables, and all external things of
that kind, and has failed to throw around common things and common
duties that drapery of fitness, simplicity, and grace, which nothing but
a well-directed imagination and mental insight into the great ends of
existence supplies. It is the common and familiar things belonging to
our existence, which must furnish the materials of our happiness. We
must invest them with the beauty and the radiance and the loveliness
of gifts from our Heavenly Father, who knows what is best for us. If
our lot is not what we prefer, and is what we cannot overrule, we must
remember it has been assigned to us by Heavenly Wisdom, in love and
mercy. Will not such reflections secure contentment? "

How can I pass by the period of my youth without recording the
high value she placed on the friendships of the young, and the efforts
she was always making to foster and enlarge them? To her mind
friendship was a great educator, one of the noblest of stimulants to
virtue ; and in our bouse was never a barrier or limit placed on the
intercourse of young people of both sexes, by perpetual harping on pro-
prieties. How the names of all our friends seemed to have an added
lustre as she pronounced them, and how her ever fresh sympathy was
constantly increasing our own enthusiasm !

And in the social life of our village, how steadily she ignored any
differences among her neighbors ! I recall a most characteristic inci-
dent as happening during my youth. My mother's neighbors were
mostly like herself, early risers, and half the work and half the errands
in their busy life were done before breakfast in the summer-time, and in

496

the cool of the morning. She so often repeated with glowing counte-
nance those lines from Gray's " Elegy,"

" The breezy call ••!' iiKvnse-lireatliing mum,"

that I think she had a living experience of the beauty in them. One
morning, with windows all open, she was vigorously sweeping her
parlors, when an old friend passed, with a basket of eggs, and stopped
as usual for a morning chat. " Mrs. Lyman," she called out, "I hear

you have invited the s and the s to your party to-night !

Didn't you know they don't speak; and won't it he a little awk-
ward '.' " '• I do n't know any thing about people that do n't speak ! "
was the quick reply, and she went on with her work. A few moments
passed, and another friend looked in at the window ; " Good morning,
Mrs. Lyman," she said ; " I heard, yesterday, that you had invited the

s and the s to your party to-night, and I thought, as I was going

down town this morning, I would try to see you, and let you know that
those two families do n't speak to one another, and have n't these six
months." " The Lord only knows when they will," said my mother,
sweeping yet more vigorously, " if no one ever gives them a chance ! "
And the second friend passed on. A few moments later, the sweet,
cheery voice of a young girl was heard, on her way to catch the
early mail at the post-office : —

" Mrs. Lyman ! Mrs. Lyman ! " she called out, as she caught sight
of the retreating figure with the broom : " are you going to have a

party to-night '( And is it true that you 've invited the s ami the

s ? Did you know they do n't speak ? " My mother was now quite

roused. Leaving every thing, she went to the door, and laid a heavy
and impressive hand on the young girl's shoulder, — a touch that all
remember who ever felt it. " See here, l'.." site said, " you are young,
very young indeed" (if ever youth was made to sound like a crime, it
did then ) ; " did you ever hear that, when two countries are at war, a

497

third country or territory is always selected, which they call neutral
ground? Now, I am perfectly willing to have my parlors stand for
neutral ground ; but you need not tell any one that 1 said so." The
young girl passed on ; hut my mother called her back. " C," she said,
" I want to tell you, that when you've lived as long as I have, you'll
find it's a capital thing to go through life deaf, and dumb, and blind!"

I cannot remember whether the contending families came to our
party, but I do know that those dear parlors proved neutral ground
more than once to neighbors long parted, their differences melting
away in a house where differences were never recognized.

Indeed, nothing impressed one more than the warmth and glow her
presence spread wherever she came ; and in her own parlors she was
surely queen. But, wherever she moved, light followed her. How per-
fect were her relations to the near neighbors ! How she had secrets with
the family at Warner's tavern, and lived for years on the best of terms
with those two excellent women, Mrs. Warner and Mrs. Vinton, and
would often be seen stealing in at their back-door, through the hole in
the fence that parted our premises, to borrow a pie, or to give advice
as to the naming of the children who were born there, or something
equally important ; then to the apothecary's store between us, to have
her evening chat with Mr. Isaac Clark, whom she justly regarded as
" one of the salt of the earth " ! Trifles, light as air they all seem to
tell of; but the racy words she uttered to all these friends have been
remembered ever since.

And yet how can any one, who did not hear her, take in the infinite
satire she conveyed, when she spoke of one of her children, as fearing
she had gone over to " those loose enders" meaning the transcendental-
ists : and of another, that she had " got beyond ordinances," because
she did not wish to go to church two or three times on Sunday ?

We shall have to leave many of her best sayings unrecorded, for we
cannot transfer the tone and manner that made them forcible.

CHAPTER XX.

Ye sigh not, when the sun, his course fulfilled,
His glorious course, rejoicing earth and sky,

In the soft evening, when the winds are stilled,
Sinks where his islands of refreshment lie ;

And leaves the smile of his departure spread

O'er the warm-colored heaven and ruddy mountain-head.

Why weep ye, then, for him who, having won

The bound of man's appointed years, at last,
Life's blessings all enjoyed, life's labors done,

Serenely to his final rest has passed ;
While the soft memory of his virtues yet
Lingers like twilight hues, when the bright sun is set.

Bryast.

IT was during the summer of 1841, that my father experienced his
first shock of paralysis, followed at intervals with other attacks,
more or less severe, until his death, on December 11, 1847. During
these years, he suffered much from the consciousness of the change
that had passed over him, from failing sight and memory, and all the
wearisome attendants of paralysis. Nor was the care and alleviation
of the disease as well understood as now, when modern science has
taught us the methods of staying its progress and lessening its effects.
Always patient and long-suffering, his Christian submission did not
forsake him, and he bore the long years of his downward progress,
rather, I should say, his upward progress, with that unrepining spirit
which in health had been a cheerful and peaceful one. But the days
were full of heaviness to him, though often lighted up by the warmth
of his affections, and that spirit of courtesy (the last attainment of

499

the refined Christian) which never forsook him, even when mind and
memory were gone.

And now, if I were to pass over in silence my dear mother's course
during these trying years, that integrity which formed so striking a
portion of her character would rise up to reproach me.

Disparity of years is no disadvantage in the early period of marriage.
In fact, to a high-toned young woman, the mixture of reverence she
cannot but feel for her elder companion greatly enhances many of her
enjoyments. Middle age still retains the noblest characteristics of
youth ; and if it has lost something of aspiration, it has the added
grace of long habit, and the steadiness of long performance. But when
years have passed on, and the wife finds herself in middle life, over-
whelmed with its cares and duties, and still vigorous to meet them, —
her husband now feeble, infirm, tottering on the verge of the grave, no
longer able to be the guide and sustainer of her difficult path, — then is
felt " that awful chasm of twenty-one years in human life," of which
my mother's sister Sally had written, at the time of her betrothal, but
which had never been manifest till now. She omitted no care that
could add to his comfort ; and the impatient word and sudden gesture,
which children and friends might regret, did no justice to the devotion
of weary days and nights, for which she asked no aid and claimed no
sympathy. Self-control and patient endurance had never been her
characteristic virtues, although she practised them far oftener than we
knew ; but at this period many trials came to her, which one must
experience to understand. With the care of a failing invalid always
on her mind, passing hours of every day in reading over and over again
the same newspapers with dimmed eyes, — eyes long dim from weeping
for the lovely Anne Jean, and for other sorrows ; her nights often
broken and disturbed, — she had yet the same duties to a large circle that
she had always had. The habits of the house for half a century could
not at once be changed, and the old hospitalities still went on, with a
diminished purse, and added self-sacrifice on her part. The casual

500

observer is wont to notice the occasions of the irritable word, the im-
patient gesture, and they always seem insufficient for the effect. One
who looks deeper, knows that' the cause lies deeper; that the irritability
coming inevitably from so many sources of fatigue and anxiety must
have a vent somewhere ; and unfortunately for our pour human nature,
the safety-valve will often be the one best loved, most tenderly cher-
ished,— only alas ! because on that perfect love and understanding we
can always fall back.

And indeed, although her vigorous health seemed the same, yet that
" cloud, no bigger than a man's hand," left upon her brain by the
malignant erysipelas of two years before, had already begun its work
of destruction ; although it was not till two years after my father's
death that she experienced those first moments of unconsciousness,
which gave evidence of a disordered brain.

Later in her life, when her own ill-health and failing powers gave
her a better understanding of weak nerves and exhausted strength,
she expressed to me a tender regret that she had not been more patient
witli the infirmities of my father's last years. But it was a regret free
from remorse, for she was unconscious ot any thing save warm affection
and pure intention in respect to him.

Alter my father's death, my mother passed a winter of great quiet-
ness, and the physical rest she experienced was in some respects a
benefit to her. She read a great deal, and her reflections were wise
and thoughtful. It is touching to me to recall how in these days of
lessened cares, diminished means, and a comparatively empty house,
she set herself diligently to work to acquire those habits of system and
order, the want of which bad been a serious drawback to her all her
life. Her youngesf son. whose devotion to her comfort from his youth
upward was the frequent theme of her loving observation, now arranged
all her affairs so as to give her the least trouble and inconvenience
possible ; and she endeavored to aid him as far as she could, by keeping
that strict account of expenditure, which her narrow income especially

501

demanded. It is hard to alter late in life those habits which have been
both hereditary and indulged; yet- my dear mother made that good
progress during this period that must have been crowned with partial
success, had not that mental malady, caused by the illness four years
previous, been steadily though silently advancing. During the summer
after my father's death, she experienced much pleasure in the coming
of a daughter-in-law to pass some weeks, bringing a little grandson, in
whom her affectionate heart lived over again the infancy of her own
children. In the autumn, her last unmarried child became engaged,
and although this circumstance took from her her only companion and
cherished daughter, yet her sympathy in the event, and her unselfish
efforts to promote the best happiness of the young couple, prevented
her from duelling mournfully on the deprivation. She was always
ready to see the sunlight shining through the drifts of clouds, and,
when nothing was cheerful in her own fate, to make the happiness of
another her own.

There is a peaceful pleasure to me in recalling this summer of 1848,
the last that my dear mother and I passed together, when she was in
full possession of all her powers. I read aloud to her a great deal,
and, among other things, the " Memoirs of Dr. Channing." How she
delighted in it, and recalled the years of her acquaintance witli him,
and the first effect of his preaching on her youthful mind !

She had a valued friend and neighbor, Mrs. Thayer, with whom she
had an uncommon share of sympathy. In some strong points of char-
acter they greatly resembled each other, and shared the same views of
an enlarged hospitality and kindness to strangers, because they were
strangers. Mrs. Thayer had two sons, who were making most self-
denying efforts for an education. Refined and intellectual tastes were
hereditary in the family ; and William, the eldest son, had, even as a
boy, a rare talent for writing poetry. From the moment my mother
knew about these boys, her heart was deeply engaged in seconding
their efforts. That she was not in this case without that clear, moral

502

insight into the characters of those on whom she fixed her deepest
interest, Avhich distinguished her beyond most persons I have known,
may be seen from the following note, written to William in 1849, by
the poet Whittier, who was an old friend of his family : —

Amesbuky 24th, 8th month [1849].
My dear Friend, — I was very glad to get a line from thee, and the
poem enclosed pleased me exceedingly. The concluding verse is ad-
mirable and the whole conception good. I have just sent it to the
" Era."

Give my best love to thy mother (and father, if he is at home), and
to Sarah and James, and believe me

Very cordially thy friend,

John G. Whittier.

P. S. Elizabeth and mother send their love to thee and thine. We
are right glad thou hast so good a friend as Mrs. Lyman, and still
more so that Iter kindness is so well deserved on thy part. Prom my
heart, I cannot but thank that woman for what she has done for thee.
God bless her ! W.

When, many years later, I visited, at Alexandria, the grave of Wil-
liam Thayer, our consul-general in Egypt ; when I heard the mourning
for his early death, of Lady Duff Gordon and her daughter, Mrs. Ross,
and their appreciative recollections of his brief career: and when I saw
the sincere grief of his servants, Hassan and Ali, who were with him
to the end, — I rejoiced that my dear mother, who always took the death
of loved ones so hard, was spared this added sorrow. — Tbe other
brother is now a professor in the Law School of Harvard University.
and holds the same chair that was formerly held by my mother's friend,
Hooker Asbmun.

But to return to the summer of 1848. I recall with gratitude how
much her deep interest in these boys, and in Chauncey Wright, helped

503

to carry her through a period when many persons, similarly situated,
would only have been able to think of their privations and trials.
Scarcely ever did Chauncey's father, the deputy-sheriff, drive past her
door that she did not hail him, to impress on his mind, with all the
earnestness and pathos of her nature, that Chauncey must have a col-
legiate education ; and I think, if he did not want her to be a thorn in
his side until this dear wish of her heart was accomplished, he must
have made a circuit to avoid her. But he was a kind-hearted man,
and valued her sympathy and interest ; and she never forgot the day
when he came to tell her that Chauncey should go to Harvard, nor the
sweet smile of the shy youth, who timidly thanked her for using her
influence in his behalf. That day made a high festival for her, and,
to use her own expressive phrase, " was worth a guinea a minute to
her."

She was at this time busily engaged in making shirts for the Thayer
boys, before they should go to college in the autumn. Ah ! I am
afraid a great deal of " goblin tapestry " went into those shirts. But
the good and grateful boys never thought of that ; and could they have
known what a solace this sewing was to her lonely heart, they would
have rejoiced that she had it.

How poor she was this summer, and yet how rich ! Though giving
little thought or time to dress, she had always before kept certain nice
articles of wearing-apparel, befitting her station, and had worn them
with care. But now her wardrobe became " beautifully less."

" Oh, my dear and ancient friend," I said to her one day, " a new
bonnet you must really have ! "

" By no means," she remarked ; " mine is a very good bonnet
indeed."

I noticed, that, though she had very little money, she always had
enough to buy materials for " sofa-coverings." That was her name for
garments for the poor. So, one day when I was going to Springfield, I
borrowed some money of her, and, instead of returning it, brought her

504

back a nice bonnet and shawl. She professed to be indignant at the
ruse ; but, when I told her that, if she would behave like " Dominie
Sampson," she must be treated like him, she concluded to take it all
as a joke, and really enjoyed wearing her new things heartily.

Late in August, we went to Cambridge to make my Aunt Howe a
visit, and what a charming visit it was ! The warm-hearted sisters
planned together how they could adorn and arrange the old room in
" Massachusetts,'' that William and James Thayer were to occupy ;
and busy were their fingers and glowing their faces as they daily set
forth for the college-yard. My Cousin Mary and I one day watched
them as they walked up the street, — their homely habiliments, their
fine faces, their unconscious and ardent gesticulation, — and we said,
" There go the Cheeryblc sisters ! "

Let me mention here one circumstance of this visit that comes back
to me with the remembrance of my dear Aunt Howe, like some sweet
strain of long-forgotten music.

At that time, there was an old tenement-house still standing next to
hers, that has long since been removed. A member of the family
living there had died of ship-fever, and as our windows looked into
theirs, we were alarmed to see preparations for a " wake " going on,
and numbers of people collecting to pass the long summer night.
Each of us had something to say of the danger and the impropriety
of the occasion ; but only my dear aunt did any thing. We did not
understand it at the time ; it all came to us afterwards. She dressed
herself in her best black silk, took her handsomest, deep, cut-glass dish
from the closet, and fdled it with chloride of lime and surrounded it
with flowers. Like some sympathizing friend, she walked in among
the group, who were making their moan, and quietly set her dish upon
the coffin, where it remained all night. When she silently returned to
us, she said, with her sweetest smile, " 1 thought as it was a dress occa-
sion, if I could only make my dish handsome enough, it might save
some lives."

After remaining a month with my Aunt Howe, we went to Brush
Hill for a visit, and my mother returned home alone a few weeks later.

The death of her beautiful little grandson during this sutumer was
a heavy trial to my mother, who saw in him all the possibilities of a
man, a worthy descendant of a worthy race. And this feeling, with
her deep sympathy for her children, on whom the loss chiefly fell, sad-
dened her for a long time.

In February of 1849, her daughter, Susan Inches, was married, and
left her, to live in Milton, passing some months under the hospitable roof
of her uncle and aunt at Brush Hill, the early home of her mother and
grandmother. The day after this marriage, my mother wrote to
another daughter: " After Susan had left me, 1 was not slow to con-
clude ' I must finish my journey alone.' "

She records, in her little diary of this period, that, the week after the
marriage, Mr. R. W. Emerson came to Northampton to give a lecture ;
and she mentions, with peculiar pleasure, the two days he spent with
her, how he had sympathized with her loss of a daughter and acquisi-
tion of a son, how he had gone with her to visit a poor family in whom
she was deeply interested, and had left behind him the after-glow of
kind words and deeds, as well as of aspiring thought.

And now came a loneliness that is hard to remember. She often
invited some friend to share it ; but the old objects of interest were
gone, and every room in the large house, echoing to her solitary
tread, must have been full of sadness. She never complained ; that
was contrary to the habits of a life-time. But those nerves she
had despised rose up, an armed band, and took their revenge on her.
The sad fate of the excellent Mrs. Freme, of Brattleboro', who went
up in a chariot of flame, haunted her imagination, and voices in the
wind prevented her from sleep. " Old parlor " and " Best parlor,"
" Library " and " Office," " Corridor " and " Turnpike," — where were
all the glad voices that had once resounded through your walls ?
Was it strange that the warm heart that had guided successive gen-
64

506

erations through all the manifold experiences of joy and grief should
now

" Feel like one who treads alone
Some banquet hall deserted."

In the autumn of 1840, she decided to leave Northampton, and
her heart naturally turned towards Milton, the home of her child-
hood. But first she would visit her beloved Abby, whose frequent
invitations, in years gone by, she had necessarily been forced to
decline. In November she went to Cincinnati, and was received with
all the warmth of a child by this dear niece and friend. Another
happiness also awaited her in Cincinnati, in becoming acquainted
with the family of Sally (Mrs. Dana), her other niece, to whom she
was also tenderly attached. Her letters were full of the enjoyment
of this visit, and the devoted kindness of her nieces and their chil-
dren ; and, had it not been clouded by hearing of the death of her
brother, Dr. Edward H. Robbing, of Boston, during the month of
January, her happiness would have been complete.

To how many hearts did the death of this good man bring sor-
row ! I have heard that some stranger, seeing how many mourned for
him, asked, " Did Dr. Robbins found a benevolent institution? " " No !
he was a benevolent institution," was the reply.

My mother left Cincinnati in the spring of 1850, and came to Mil-
ton ; but she did not remain there many weeks. She made visits to
children and friends, and lingered about Northampton for some
months ; but after another year returned to Milton and occupied a
small house that her Lesley children had lived in, until their removal
to Philadelphia.

In 1852, she made a long visit at her son Sam*s in Northampton,
and wrote to me constantly of the pleasure of meeting old friends
and neighbors. I extract the following sentence from one of them :

" I am having a delightful time here. Your sister Ahniia and
the girls are devoted to my comfort ; and your sister has had

507

two parties for me, taking in all I most wanted to sec. Your
brother Sam could not have been more kind and attentive, or more
considerate of my interests, were he my own son. E. is one of the
most useful and excellent of daughters, saving her mother from many
cares ; and M. is one of the most charming creatures to be found
anywhere."

To Sarah Thayer, with whom, her relations were always most
affectionate and confidential, she afterwards wrote : " I often feel
sorry that I ever left Northampton. I was too old for so serious a
change in my interests and habits."

In Milton, her kind Forbes cousins contributed greatly to her
enjoyment ; and the occasional society of her brother and his wife,
at Brush Hill, and of Mr. and Mrs. Morison, who lived near her, and of
the Ware family, the children of those early friends she had valued so
much in youth, was an unspeakable pleasure to her. But the restless-
ness of disease and of a broken-up life had now asserted its sway
over her, and it was evident that on earth she had no continuing city.

CHAPTER XXI.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas ! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left rue mourning.

Wordsworth.

IN the spring of 1853, my mother took a house in Cambridge, to be
near her sisters. Within a i\;\v weeks after she went there, the
death of her sister, Eliza Robbins, exeited much emotion in her heart.
My Aunt Eliza died at my Aunt Howe's in the August of that year.
In her youth, a certain impatience of limitations, and eccentricity of
purpose had separated her much from her family, though never from
their affections. But though this circumstance left much to deplore,
there was much to remember with deep thankfulness, at the end.
Thirty years of her life had been devoted to the prisoner, the slave,
and especially to the higher education of the young, and had crowned
her memory with blessings. She made for herself and retained through
life the friendship of the good and wise ; and, after her death, Mr. Bry-
ant. Miss Sedgwick, Mr. Henry Tuckerman, and William Ware, wrote
affectionate tributes to her memory. When my mother returned from
seeing her for the last time, the day before her death, she told me with
much emotion that when her sisters stood around her bed, she breathed
a prayer in her wonderfully expressive language, which for depth of
humility and sublimity of aspiration surpassed any thing she had ever
listened to.

■>• ' <*

£afe

■

509

Some excellent school-books for the young, remain as evidence of her
patient toil and discriminating intellect : and letters to many friends, as
fine as any that were ever penned.

In the autumn of 1856, my mother moved into a small house next
to the one she had first occupied, which her sons had bought for her
and fitted up with every convenience that could add to the comfort of
her declining years. A faithful and devoted woman named Mary
Walker, watched over her personal wants ; another good Mary did the
work of the house. Her youngest sister spent hours of every day with
her, reading to her and entertaining her. One noble young man, whose
character and mental attainments would have given him a choice of
homes at that seat of learning, came daily to the little house for many
years to take his meals, because his presence there gave steadiness and
support to the three solitary women.

Her life in Cambridge, though marked by the steady but slow prog-
ress of disease, was not without many alleviations and pleasures. Her
son Joseph, at Jamaica Plain, was constant in his visits ; the tie be-
tween them had always been most tender. His wife also paid her the
tender and considerate attentions of a daughter. Her sisters' houses,
both in Cambridge and Boston, were open to her at all times. Nieces
and nephews came often to see her. Young men whom she had for-
merly befriended came, without regarding the sad change in her ;
children and grandchildren passed long summers with her, and her
devotion to the little ones was touching to see. Of the great kindness
of her neighbors, Miss Donnison and Mrs. Hopkinson, she constantly
wrote to me.

At first she wrote often, but as years went on, her letters became
mere repetitions; and, two years before she left Cambridge, they ceased
altogether. From the later ones I select only a few extracts, showing,
as dear Mrs. Child said of her at this time, " how the old light and
warmth still sometimes shone through the rifted clouds."

510

" My son Joseph came to see me to-day, and brought Mr. Theodore
Parker. I had not seen Mr. Parker for many years, not since he passed
a night at my house in Northampton, and I did not know him, because
he had become bald. He was very kind and cordial, and said, ' It is
true, Mrs. Lyman, that I " have no hair on the top of my head, in the
place where the hair ought to grow ; " but my heart is the same, and it
lias kept a warm remembrance for you.' This made Mary Walker
laugh very much, and you know a good laugh does Mary a world of
good."

" I walked down town yesterday, and I met Mrs. Gary and her good
daughters; they are always kind, and don't treat me as if I were a poor
old woman, ' all broke to pieces.' "

" Lois is just as good to me as if she had known me before ; she
sends her carriage to take me out driving, and always invites me to all
the family parties. 1 am so rejoiced that Estes has such a wife ; ' one
who seeketh not her own.' "

" Last Sunday night, my grandson, Ben, came and took tea with me,
and he and Chauncey entertained me for hours with their profound
conversation."

Alas ! she could no longer understand "profound conversation ;"' but
to know that it was going on about her, was like an echo of that far-off
past, when she had contributed her own share, as well as listened to it.

Only a few more sentences are worth recording, from the still glow-
ing and grateful and appreciative heart.

" Yesterday was Phi-Beta day ; and who do you think called to see
me ? Why, Mr. Emerson ! And he brought his charming good daugh-
ter, too. I am so glad he has that daughter. I introduced him to
Chauncey. Chauncey is so very profound, I knew Mr. Emerson would

511

think a great deal of him. Perhaps I never shall see Mr. Emerson any
more. Well ! ' I saw his day, and was glad.' "

" Sally Peirce came to see me to-day, just as full of kindness and
good sense as ever her mother was, and that is saying a great deal."

" I take it very kind of Chaunccy that he sometimes brings Mr.
Gurney home to take tea. He knows that I always like to hear pro-
found conversation ; and, I assure you, it is quite worth while to listen
to them. I was used to my father, and your father, and your Uncle
Howe, all my early life, and much of this modern talk I can't abide."

" I went out in the porch this morning, and Mary Walker was
training some vines. I asked her what she was doing. She said,
' Endeavoring to restore the old Hutchinson style.' Perhaps she
knows what that was. I am sure I do n't."

" My Martha comes every Sunday evening to take tea, and sit the
evening with me. Just the same dear, good child she always was.
'Among the faithful, always faithful found.'"

" My sister C. is an angel of mercy to me. What should I do with-
out her ? " She spends more than half her time with me."

In another letter she laments the fact that James Thayer had left
Cambridge. " That always good young man, who never forgot me at
any time, but came every Sunday evening to take tea with me, when
he might have gone to pleasanter places."

September 11, 1875.
I had written thus far, and was restraining my grateful pen, as I
recorded the last annals of the sad little household in Garden Street,
when the word came to me that my noble friend, who was the chief
stay and guardian of my dear mother's last home, was now no more.

512

No need now, dear Chauncey, to refrain from telling what you were
to us, from fear of causing your gentle and sensitive spirit to shrink
from the praise. Others will record your worth as a man of science,
as the profound thinker, the keen observer, the patient listener for
truth, in every realm of knowledge. To me comes a hallowed
memory of a manly soul, who, through the best years of his youth,
gave steadiness to a broken household ; who poured out from the rich
storehouse of his intellect the finest conversation to a weary, wandering
mind who could not comprehend him: who earuc down from the
sublimest heights of thought to comfort and cheer two humble women,
her attendants; who, during the long summer days, when tired with
the burden of his own patient discoveries, spent many an hour in*
carrying up and down the garden walks the child, whose little arms it
was always difficult to unclasp from " Ity's " neck, and whom he loved
with such devotion, Unit we felt as if some of his gentleness must pass
into her soul. No ties to wife and children ever brightened the destiny
of this man of brilliant genius and boundless affections. But there are
laws of spiritual transmission, deep as those of inheritance. Through
some such invisible influence, " Lord, keep his memory green ! "'

There remains little more to tell of my dear mother's life. In the
spring of 1860, my sister Jane died ; and though she had long been
oblivious to many things, she seemed to wake to temporary conscious-
ness of the event, and to the old sympathy for the orphan grand-
children whose father and mother both had been very clear to her.
For the first time for many months she wrote me a few lines. " Your
sister Jane has gone. She is a sad loss. She had not a trace of
selfishness in her composition, but was always thinking of others, like
her father before her. I always loved her."

Early in 1861, the fall of Sumter, and the opening of the war, sent

513

a thrill through all hearts, North and South. But to her it was only a
sound of confusion ami alarm, which she vaguely understood. In
October of that year, with the best advice of physicians ami wise
friends, we placed her in the McLean Asylum at Somerville ; and the
little household in Garden Street was broken up.

From this time I never saw my mother again. Two incidents in
these years of mental darkness stand out in my remembrance, and
when I think of them I can only recall the words of the old prophet,
" Your heart shall live forever.'' The summer before she left Cam-
bridge, my husband brought an invalid friend to pass the day. As
evening approached, she implored that he would urge his friend to stay
.all night. When he told her she had no room for him, she said, " Oh
yes ; she should have her own room put in nice order for him, and she
herself would occupy the parlor sofa, which would be entirely comfort-
able." She was deeply grieved that we would not consent to this
arrangement, weeping when she saw my husband accompany the sick
man to the cars, and saying she had never allowed so suffering a person
to leave her house before.

Two or three years later, at the Asylum, she was often seen standing

at the door of the beautiful Nancy Y , the young friend of former

years, who, by a strange coincidence, had come there to end her days,
close to her old friend, — and each unconscious of the other's presence.

One day the sister of Miss Y ■ came to visit her, and she asked an

attendant who that old lady was, and why she was unhappy. " It is
Mrs. Judge Lyman, of Northampton.-' was the reply; " and she is
unhappy because we will not allow her to go in and take care of your

sister." Mrs. D was much affected, and said to the attendant,

" Once she was almost the best friend my sister had, and now they do
not know each other! "

During the following year, after her speech and consciousness
seemed almost wholly gone, her attendant told Mary Walker that she
held in her hand often, for hours together, a daguerrotypc of her lit-
65

514

tie grandson, Warren Delano ; that she often kissed it, and pressed it
close to her heart, and did not like to have it taken from her, even for
a time.

In those last years, my dear mother had the kindest care from Dr. and
Mrs. Tyler, and the excellent Miss Relief Barbour. She attached her-
self warmly to her attendants, and her movements and gestures
showed affection and confidence, even when the power of speech
failed her. Her sister Catherine visited her frequently ; her son
Joseph also came often to see her, with the tender consideration that
marked his life-long devotion to her. At last, on a beautiful May
morning in 1867, her spirit was released from its bondage, the faithful
Mary Walker closing her eyes, — and her sister and son beside her.

Her remains were immediately conveyed to the house of her son
Joseph, at Jamaica Plain ; and, on the 29th of May, the funeral service
took place there. Her two daughters were in Europe at the time : but
the eldest daughter of her husband, our brothers Sam and Edward,
the new daughter she had never seen, whom she would have loved so
well, and many dear friends, came to pay the last respect to one who
had been dead to the world for many years. The kind Forbes cousins,
our friends, Mr. ami Mrs. Rufus Ellis, James Thayer, and others, — all
went ; and, forgetting the sad latter years, their minds reverted with
sympathetic emotion to the long life of active beneficence she had lived
among men. Mr. James Freeman Clarke performed the funeral ser-
vices, and, though he had not known her, spoke words of comfort that
sank deep in the hearts of those present. He alluded to the words of
Scripture, " In the midst of life we are in death,'' and showed that the
reverse is also true, that in death there is life ; and, in this connection,
he spoke of the life of her affections having outlasted that of her intel-
lect.

The little company of friends followed her body to the Milton Ceme-
tery, where it was laid. When all the mourners had left the grave,
one warm and grateful soul still lingered. He sat down by the open

515

grave, ami watched the last sods put in. If ever man might attribute
all his success in life to his own personal effort and perseverance, he
might; but, in that hour, he thought only of the helping hand and
warm heart beneath the sod, and followed her freed spirit with grateful
thoughts into the world of spirits.

In Switzerland, a letter from my brother Joseph came to me : —

'• I went to Milton," he says, " to choose a spot for our mother's
grave. I had long intended to buy a lot, either there or at Forest
Hills. I chose this place in Milton Cemetery for these reasons. The
soil is a clean gravel. A noble pine-tree will make constant music over
her head. It is a tree like the one you have seen in Desor's Avenue,
at Combe Varin, which he has dedicated to Parker's memory. From
our dear mother's grave, I could look over to Milton Hill, where she
was born ; to Brush Hill, which she loved so well, and where she
passed her youth, and from which home she was married. Every-
where my eye fell was some association dear to her. So there I will
lay our dear mother's mortal part, knowing that it will not be long, —
not so long as you think, — before I shall be laid beside her."

Again he wrote : " Perhaps I ought to have chosen Mr. Ellis to per-
form her funeral service, she loved him so much. But at the time, I
only thought that it was very long since she had been connected with
any church ; and so I naturally asked my own minister, Mr. Clarke.
It was a great satisfaction to me that Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, and many
other friends who had not seen her for years, came to this last
service."

Again he wrote : " The day is a beautiful, bright, clear, June day,
— ' Oh, what is so rare as a day in June ! ' The spring blossoms are
at their very summit of perfection ; cherries, pears, and apples in the
highest abundance of bloom, and the newest leaves on all the trees out
in their most perfect and various verdure. Life seems uppermost
everywhere. But, after all, what is it ? Only an alternation, — a con-
stant succession, as we feel this day, first life, then death ; and these

516

changes, and this particular change -which so affects us at this moment,
mean immortality, and nothing else."

And with these last words of my dear brother Joseph about our
mother, 1 may well close this imperfect record of a noble life. Not as
an example have I wished to set that life before you, my dear girls ;
for the temperament and the circumstances and the destiny of each
child of earth is his own, and not another's. But the retrospect of the
good lives, to which we owe our own existence, exalts our aspiration
and our gratitude, and excites our sympathy. Like Mrs. Southey's old
family portraits, they look down on us from the past, —

" Daughter, they softly say,
Peace to thy heart !
Vi'e, too, yes, 'laughter, have
Been as thou art :
Hope lifted, doubt depressed,
Seeing in part ;
Tried, troubled, tempted,
Sustained as thou art.
Our God is thy God,
What He willeth is best ;
Trust Him as we trusted,
Then rest, as we rest.

As a child standing on the shore of a river throws in his little pebble,
and with delighted wonder sees its ever-widening circle reach the
opposite shore, so might those who have gone before us rejoice to
know how each good deed of theirs had left a widening circle in our
lives.

APPENDIX.

WHEN I began to write this life of ray mother, I wrote to many early
friends for any letters they might have retained of hers, and any
recollections they might have of her. The letters I received in answer were
so cordial and kind, that I have added some of them in these pages. Within
a few hours after my mother's death was made known, a short but ex-
pressive notice of the event by James Thayer appeared in the " Boston Daily
Advertiser." which is appended below ; and, within a few months of her death,
Mr. Rufus Ellis, in the article called " Random Readings," in the "Monthly
Religions Magazine," embodied some of his reminiscences of her later life, which
have recalled her vividly and delightfully to many hearts.

To my dear friend, Mr. William Greene, I wish to express my heartfelt
thanks for his long and careful preservation of my mother's letters to my
Cousin Abby, and for his great kindness in giving them to me, and for the
cordial words accompanving this invaluable package. In his letter to me, he

•• I beg to say that I heartily sympathize with you in your pious undertaking.
I hold your mother's memory, and your father's too, in the highest veneration,
as I held them in their lives in the warmest affection. You cannot say too
much good of either of them."

I cannot help also mentioning here that my dear old friend, Mr. David Lee
Child, who passed from earth last winter, was about to write a sketch of my
mother that must have been most interesting, from his vivid appreciation and
warm recollections of her. His society was for many years a rare pleasure to
her. and she quoted his wise and witty sayings with delight. One expression of
his which she used for years after, on various occasions, is often recalled to me
by her satisfaction in it. She had asked him about the political events of the
day which had disturbed her. and his answer was: -Oh, Mrs. Lyman, when
things are in a transition state, there's a great deal of eccentric action."

518

One other dear friend, who had the deepest and truest understanding of her
character, would gladly have written a fitting memorial of her. I quote from
her warm and appreciative letter.

Exeter, X. II., July 21, 1874.
"I loved your mother dearly ; I mourned for her with sincere grief. First
her eclipse, then her death, caused a great void in my life. Her place has
never been filled for me. Standing on my own feet so much in youth, and
having so much care and responsibility, you can comprehend how I reposed in
the all-embracing ailltience of her nature, and how all chills and shivers were
dispelled, while basking in her sunshine.

At the time of your mother's death, I longed for some sufficient testimonial
to so large a life. I shall take the deepest interest in your memorial.
Yours very affectionately,

H. C. Steaens.

The published notices of my mother, to which I have referred, are added
below.

[From the Boston Daily Advertiser ]
MRS. ANNE JEAN LYMAN.

In that short list of deaths which makes every newspaper pathetic, there
appeared to-day, in the "Advertiser,'' this notice: " May 25th, Mrs. Anne J.,
widow of the late Hon. Joseph Lyman, of Northampton, Mass."

It is due to the memory of a remarkable woman and to the feelings of a very
wide circle of friends in this community, by whom she was admired, that something
more than this should be said of the death of Mrs. Lyman.

For thirty-eight years she lived in Northampton, and gave character to that
whole community. She was born in 1789, at Milton, the daughter of the Hon.
E. H. Robbins. On the mother's side, she was descended from a vigorous Scotch
stock — the Murrays — among whose living representatives in this city are some of
our best citizens. In 1811, she was married to the Hon. Joseph Lyman, of North-
ampton. From that time until the year 1849, she lived with her husband and the
beautiful family of children which they reared, in one house at Northampton,
near the middle of the village. Judge Lyman was a man of high character and
influence, and of a sweet and gracious demeanor which affected one like a bene-
diction. Their house was the centre of wide-spread hospitality ; all that was best
and most cultivated in the town had there a natural home and shelter.

Mrs. Lyman was a person of a vigor of mind, a broad and strong good sense, and
a quaint, idiomatic emphasis of expression w Inch gave general currency to her opin-
ions and her sayings. She was of a noble and impressive presence, and it was easy

519

to believe the traditions of the beauty which had filled the town with admiration
when she first came there.

But the best part of this good woman was a deep and warm heart, which found
expression in never-ending deeds of kindness. It stirred her up to the most ener-
getic and persistent efforts to help all whom she had once befriended, and to search
out new objects for her care.

A peculiar and sad interest is attached to the few closing years of her life. It
is comforting to think that she sleeps at last in peace.

May -.'7, 1SG7. T-

[From the Monthly Religious Magazine.']

"A Leaf from my Autobiography, in which, though the first pronoun personal

occurred! eery often, the chief figure is really one better than myself

We associate certain places with certain seasons of the year. For myself
autumn is, and always will be, Northampton. I always go there, in thought, when
the shadows of the year begin to lengthen, and here ami there a feebler leaf, tak-
ing on the hectic color before the rest, predicts what is surely coming upon all.
1 should go in deed as well as in thought, were there not such a mingling of joy
and sorrow because" of changes. It was a beautiful day in the earliest autumn,

when two of us, fellow-students at C . climbed up to the seat behind the

driver on the old " Putt's-Bridge Stage " which made the connection in those days
between the Western Railroad and Northampton. Long ago, in my early child-
hood, I had seen Holyoke and Tom, but the visions had passed into dreamland,
out of which they seemed to come naturally enough in that refulgent summer ;
and when we drew up at length at the Mansion House, after crossing the ferry at
Hockanum and driving none too slowly through the rich, unfenced meadows, the
house all came back with the associations of the time when it was filled with sum-
mer strangers and the parents of Round-Hill scholars. The hotel window com-
manded a view of the glories of that magnificent region, and, as I could see at a
glance, they were no rustics that passed up and down the village streets. To the
eyes of a city-bred and college-bred youth, the whole scene was as beautiful as it
was insh. I heard, the other day, of a young man who went to "supply" a
pulpit in one of our inland parishes, and was allowed to go to the tavern unwel-
comed, to pass thence to the church and return twice during the Sunday unspoken
to, except perhaps by the functionary who fails not to come for " the metres,"
and then to leave for home with no token of recognition except, we may hope, the
usual honorarium. It was not so in Northampton. The afternoon had not gone
by before a gentleman, authorized and competent to represent the little parish,
had made his appearance and proffered hospitality ; and before Monday morning
the young preacher had met and conversed with several parishioners of both sexes.
That Sunday proved to be the first of a six months' supply ; and the supply, with
the interval of a twelvemonth spent in another field, was the prelude of a ten years'
ministry, — a ministry marked by the utmost patience and kindness on the part of

520

the parishioners, who, it should ever be remembered, must take their young clergy-
man, after " the School" has done its best and its worst for him, and give him
the most valuable part of his training, and help him to convert his scholastici.-.ms
into experience.

It was a significant time in the parish. It was the day of Transcendentalism, —
that was the word then, a word almost forgotten in our swift years. I think the
" Dial " was just announcing the hour in the great cycle of the Ages, for the last
time. Mj predecessor had been a favorite an. I valued contributor to the pages of
that periodical, and there were those in the congregation who hung eagerly upon
his words. The larger portion, however, preferred the old paths ; and so my
friend — for such he was. is. and. I trust, ever will be — withdrew from his charge
after a very short term of service, and, as lung as lie remained in town, was my
kind parishioner. All the things which arc now called new- were discussed twenty-
five years ago in that little parish, with only a little difference of names, but with,
I think, a less clear perception of the inevitable issues. We bad it all in Bible
classes ami teacher's meetings, at our pleasant tea-parlies, at our evening gather-
ings, where we were no! ashamed to eat renter apples and boiled chestnuts, and
on more stately occasions ; for let no one suppose that we were not som'etimi - a ■
stately as the stateliest . or thai there were none amongst us who had been in king's
palaces, and were fit to be there, too. I can hardly recall without a smile my choice
of a sermon for the first Sunday morning. I had the young man's feeling that a
Testimony musl be uttered ; and 30 the preacher (who, with a very hearty apprecia-
tion of the positive side of Transcendentalism, especially as a protest against the
miraculously-confirmed deism which t'nitarianisin in many quarters had become,
had no sympathy whatever with the Transecndentalist's rejection, or, worse, his
patronizing recognition of the everlasting Symbol provided for the world in the
incarnate Word) took for his text. "The glory which thou gavest me I have given
them, that they may be one as we are one." Well, insignificant as what the young
man said unquestionably was. if was a good key-note.

I would write rather of things than of persons, but what are things save as they
pas, into Eorms and faces and deeds, and words and smiles and tears ? — so I must
say something about persons. Of one, the ehiefest chief of them, even then in the
time of his age and of his decaying faculties. I have elsewhere set down my im-
pressions, as they were freshly made upon me. Poorly enough the writer preached
upon the " Christian in his Village Home."' The Christian was Judge Lyman, one
of New England's noblemen, who found his peers only amongst the great and good
of our land. Had he lived anywhere save in that beautiful region, we should have
felt that he was out of place. But there was another whom we called Mrs. Judge
Lyman. In this year of my writing, as I reach this point in my simple story, she
ted out of the clouds that obscured her later years, into the light of our
higher life. Admirable words — they could not have been better, and were only
too few — were set down about her character in one of the daily journals. I meant
then to have added my testimony. Perhaps, as the twelvemonth is not gone, it is
not too late now.

521

Walk from Round Hill with the preacher down into Shop Row. He had been
in town not more than a day, before he found out that there was one place, at least,

which would he pretty sure to come into his rounds. Thai is the d It is on

the left hand of the street as you go down. It is not quite shut. The writi r
thinks that it must have been shut during the very coldest of the weather, but
there is no picture in his image-chamber of any closing, " early " or late. I have
my doubts whether it was not kept from blowing open by some peculiar process
other than latching or locking. I only know that a push sufficed to clear the way
into the hall, and that a knock was sufficient to open the parlor. There was a little
maid in the house whose name, by way of compensating for the smallness of her
stature, her mistress was in the habit of lengthening out by an added syllable, which
put her upon the instant, so far as words could do it, amongst heroes and saints, —
the Brigittas and the Theresas of mediaeval times. This little woman, however, did
not come much to the door. There was no need. We will go in. Seated at the
farther end of the parlor, by the side of a generous Franklin stove, soon to have a
little "smudge" of fire in it, morning and evening, you will see a lady not yet
passed middle life, and yet provided with spectacles which she seems to maintain,
chiefly, that she may lose and find them. Perceiving at once that she is girt about
with all sorts of " work," yon will beg her not to rise, and will get welcome enough
from her warm grasp and her fine, expressive face. What is she doing ? Many
things, O fine lady ! It is not her train that impedes her movements ; it is not
that her hands are aesthetically folded ; it is not that she is so elaborately got up
that to rise would be an artistic movement not lightly to be undertaken. What is
she doing? Shelling peas, perhaps; not always to the best advantage, for peas
will roll uniler sofas and into nooks from which it " does not pay " to extricate them
with much stooping and probing; darning stockings, perhaps, —what the good lady
calls her " embroidery." and what is indeed a very useful kind of worsted work ;
making a garment, perhaps, — a " sofa covering " possibly, for some sewing-circle
or other circle-child, a little peculiar it may be in the pattern, but very comforta-
ble, nevertheless, in the wear. But this is not all ; there is a volume in her lap, —
" Jane Eyre," we will say, or " Margaret Fuller," or some fresh sermon by Dr.
Channing, or the last " North American ; " ami as the story deepens in interest, or
the paragraph warm's and flushes into eloquence, the peas fly about a little mote
wildly, and now and then the needle goes into the finger instead of the stocking.
But the reading stops now. She loves the speech of the living, out of the abun-
dance of the heart, better than any (bad words. You have your cordial greeting.
You have, and you will have, henceforth and ever, your devoted friend.

I suppose it is so still, but I know that in those days one did not need to go
away from X. to hear of new things in literature, in theology, in politics, in
society. I think they came to us amongst the first, and we had time enough to
welcome and entertain them during those blessed, long days. Here was the old
thought ; revering, believing heartily in the Gospel tradition and dear churchly
things and ways. There, right opposite, in the pleasant old house which has
modestly withdrawn behind the comparatively new Town Hall, the new thought
60

522

uttered itself iu kindly, graceful speech, firm in protest and disseut, but just and
tender towards persons. All came together sooner or later into that parlor, as we
went up and down and in and out. as we were asked to meet summer visitors, or
gathered on great occasions when the Courts were in session, or Webster and
Choate came to argue the famous Will Case. Did " the Orthodox" come ? the
Unitarian asks, having heard, it may be, fearful accounts of a spirit of bigotry
stealing up from Connecticut along the river banks. Yes, " the Orthodox " did
come ; the town met in that parlor and made their social, if not their theologic,
report. It was a great blessing to the town that the door of that old dwelling was
so easily opened, and that the heart of the household was altogether a heart of
hospitality, not only for men and women, but for truths and what claimed to be
truths. We had a " Community " within our borders ; and whosoever of the Com-
munity was seized with a consuming and irresistible longing for the fleshpots of
civilization was welcome to fall back, within those walls, upon a cup of proscribed
tea and a denounced hot biscuit, whilst all the vagaries of what we voted "a
transition age " were quietly ventilated. All could come, because our friend was
a large-minded, large-hearted, hospitable woman, eager not to divide but to gather
and bind, earnest without narrowness and bigotry, a great blessing to a village.
And she was so ready, so eager to serve ! Was it a young man whose way to
Harvard was to be smoothed and otherwise provided for ? He could count upon
her friendly offices ; he could be sure that she would not fail him until the end had
been reached. She was a good friend, so good that, when the movement was
reversed and the force turned the other way, she could flash into wrath which did
not smoulder into sullenness and maliciousness. Her quaint and racy speech,
which alas ! has perished with her. was a source of infinite entertainment to the
young preacher; and when it was brought to bear, as it sometimes was, against
some of his ministerial '• juveniles," in word or deed, it always did him good,
wdicther for the moment he liked the medicine or not, —for "faithful are the
wounds of a friend," ami here was one who was a friend, first and last and mid-
way, only a friend. When he seemed to be running low, she provided, not bitter
words, but a pot of wormwood tea. which she persuaded the young parson to drink,
hoping that, somehow, it would get into his sermons. Is there any such parlor
there in these days '! Is there any house which has been such a, I will not say
" sainfs rest," but minister's home '? What one of our elder clergymen of those
who have begun with me to delight in " reminiscences " has not slept under that
roof, or preached in that pulpit, or felt the force of the words of the exasperated
man wli<> tried to keep the Mansion House, and declared that " it was no use, for
Judge Lyman invited everybody who came to town to stay with him " ? I wonder
how the conflict of the two thoughts gets on V Has the Community taken up all
the religious radicalism ? I could see no change in my day : each combatant stood
by his and, I ought t«> add, " her " (for we were mostly women) guns. Emigra-
tion and death were the only causes of change in the relative numbers. It will
take more time than a lifetime, even in these days, wdien we think or at least
talk so fast, for a distracted Liberalism, numbering its adherents now in all

523

churches, orthodox and heterodox, to find the higher unity which the fact of the
incarnation, freed from the scholasticisms of theology, will surely become to all
who are Christians, in any sense which a man of common sense need take into
account. To go to Northampton during that beautiful season when its atmosphere
is not too warm, and its glories have lost none of their gloriousness, would he to
find much, very much, that is delightful ; but it would be to find the old house
changed, and the old forms vanished, the old interlocutors silent, even the old
words changed. They talk about theisms now, and free thought, and right wing
and left wing. Is it strange that the writer dues not care to go"?

I began with a walk down town. I got only so far as one dwelling. I began
with that first Saturday after the Master's Degree had been taken, and the work
of life had been seriously entered upon. I got no farther than that first Sunday.
How many walks, how many Sundays followed ! How many houses became
homes, and would be still, 1 think ! Shall 1 ever have time to carry on these chap-
ters?— to take some one with me to my first Association (pronounced then, by
the elders in all that region, without the second syllable, — " Assciation "), where,
to my great dismay, I was accounted a Transeendentalist, and, on the whole, a
dangerous young man? — to go over in some congenial company to see those dear
old saints in Iladley ; that calm old man, quietly farming and theologizing upon his
broad, rich meadow, not knowing what a stir the son who returned on that Satur-
day, for his vacation, was destined to make in our Zion ; that true Christian
woman, his wife ; that courtly ami melancholy and wise and honorable and large-
minded gentleman, under the evergreens in the brown house opposite? — to drive
up the river and talk with the old blind preacher in Dcerfield ? Perhaps so ; but
for the present this chapter must suffice, and, instead of writing personal history,
I must be making it ; and what I most wished was to say a word about my dear old
friend, Mrs. L. E.*

Mr. li. W. Emerson to Mrs. Lesley.

Concord, July 26, 1«74.
My dear Mrs. Lesley, — I heartily wish I could obey your request in
regard to your mother's memory, but my opportunities were too few and too
short to enable me to attempt any adequate portrait. Indeed, my only real
acquaintance with her was in the fortnight in which your father ami herself
made me their guest in their house at Northampton, in my young days, when
Rev. Mr. Hall left me in charge of his pulpit for a few Sundays, — I cannot tell
now in what year. I had not then, and I cannot believe that I have since, seen
so stately and naturally distinguished a pair as Judge and Mrs. Lyman. Your

* Rev. Rufus Ellis, D.D., Minister of the First Church in Boston.

524

mother was then a queenly woman, nobly formed, in perfect health, made for
society, with flowing conversation, high spirits, and perfectly at ease, — under-
standing and fulfilling the duties which the proverbial hospitality of your house

required. Judge Howe came daily to the house, Judge Wilde was a guest,

— Mr. Ashniun, later Law Professor at Harvard ; the Patroon Van Ren-
sellaer from Albany, and his daughter, were guests one day while I was there,
and others. But no guests came, or could come, I thought, who surpassed the
dignity and the intelligence of the hosts. It cost them no effort to preside or
to please. Your mother,- — I remember how much she interested me one day,
by a narrative of the romantic history of Mrs. Mills, wife of the senator, and
then carried me to the house and introduced me to their daughters. — one of
whom, I believe, afterwards became Mrs. Huntington, and the other Mrs.
Peirce. My visit was shortened by two days, by a kind arrangement which
was made for me, by your mother,, with Judge Howe who was going to hold a
Court at Lenox ; and I was to drive his horse and chaise thither to bring him
home, and thereby make the acquaintance of Miss Catherine Sedgwick at
Stockbridge, which was happily accomplished. Since that time I have rarely
seen your mother, and only it seems for moments, — once at her house in
Cambridge, where she introduced me to Chauncey Wright. I grieve that I
can add so little to your own memories.

Yours affectionately,

R. W. Emerson.

J//-. James B. Tltin/cr* to Jfrs. Lesley.

Cambridge, October 5, 1875.

Dear Mrs. Lesley. — You have been kind enough to ask me to send you
my recollections of your mother. I do so. very gladly. You will, of course,
use my letter in any way which serves your purpose best ; or not use it at all,
if that is best.

My brother William and I were little boys of about twelve and ten years old,
when my father moved to Northampton, in 1841. I cannot definitely fix the
first time that I ever saw your mother or your father; but among the clear
recollections of my boyhood are those of her impressive presence and manner,
and of the benign figure of Judge Lyman in his old age. I recall him. espe-
cially, as he used to sit in the morning sun, on the broad, stone step of Mr.
Mclntyre's store, next door to your house, — a beautiful, white-haired old man,
whose presence brought with it a sweet composure, and insensibly prompted
the passer-by to "tender offices and pensive thoughts."

* Royall Professor of Law in Harvanl University.

525

My relations to your mother were those of a hoy and a young man to one
much older than he, from whom he received the most important and unceasing

benefits. When I was a young hoy she used to seud me 1 ks, and often

asked me to come in and read to her in the evening. I can remember reading
in this way, among other things, the " Artist's Married Life," Mr. Everett's
'• Funeral Oration on John Quincy Adams." and certain sermons by James
Martineau.

I was at that time studying for college without a teacher, — meaning to go to
Amherst, where some of my friends had gone. One evening Mrs. Lyman
surprised me by asking why I did not go to Cambridge. I answered that it was
cheaper at Amherst. She replied that I should go to Cambridge if I wished;
and so, to my great delight, the matter was soon arranged. Not only did she un-
dertake to see that the necessary means should be furnished for me, but when,
soon after, certain friends, who had supplied resources to my brother William,
unexpectedly gave out, — with the greatest spirit anil energy, she took hold of
his affairs also, and secured his continuance iu college. Besides this, her atten-
tion was drawn to our school-mate, Chauncey Wright, — whose sudden death
is now so fresh a grief to you and me, and all his friends. He had left school,
and was at work in his father's business; but your mother pressed upon Mr.
Wright the matter of sending Chauncey to college, and carried her point. And
so at last, in 1848, Chauncey and I entered the Freshman Class at Cambridge,
and my brother William returned there again. Not one of us would have been
there, if it had not been for your mother.

She also went to Cambridge that summer, — preceding us, — and arranged
that I should go directly to the house of your most kind aunt, Mrs. Howe,
to stay during the examination. She engaged in our behalf other most kind
and strong allies, whose friendship continues to-day, like your own, my dear
friend, among my best treasures. And so our way was made plain through
college, and we were started in life after we left college. It is impossible to tell
you all that she did for us ; 1 will only say that nothing could have been more
strenuous and effective than her efforts in influencing others in our behalf, and
nothing more constant than the kind offices' which she personally did us.

My first letter from her is dated at Cambridge. August 10, 184S. I was
then at Northampton. Commencement and the examination, as you will
remember, at that time did not come until the beginning of the fall term. In
this letter she offers me from her own house, which was then vacant, various
articles of furniture for my room, — with the profuse generosity of a mother to
her son. "Mrs. Howe," she says, "has some chairs which she will appropri-
ate to your room, if you wish them ; and if you see any small table which you
would like, iu my house, or desk, you can bring them down when you come.

526

There is, likewise, a single bedstead in the room over Letitia'sin the south wing,
which you can saw off the high posts of and bring down when you come ; and
there is probably a straw mattress belonging to it which you can put on board
the cars when you come down, if yon like ; and you may take any pillows you
can find, as many as you wish for, out of my room where I sit in the morning ;
you will want several, they are so small." She adds in a postscript : "I have
seen the president and said all I could for Chauncey, and I have no doubt he
will get in."

She was not the person to allow any young friend of hers to lose his head
from self-conceit. It was in this same " room where she sat in the morning,"
that she once read to me a letter from a wise friend, stating at large, in answer
to her request, his sober, yet not quite discouraging, estimate of my mental
endowments. And I may mention here that she was not merely a friend and
physician of the soul. I well remember her giving me once a teapot and a
quantity of some dried herb. — I think it was dandelion, — with instructions for
the preparation of a decoction, which I had better drink. The prescription met
my mother's approval, and these two ladies kept me supplied for a considerable
time witli this unpalatable liquor.

On Juue G, 184',i, she wrote me from Northampton, sending me some money
and expressing regret at not receiving certain funds which somebody had prom-
ised her for my benefit; and she added some words of encouragement: "I
have enclosed you fifty dollars. . . . But do not be disheartened ; you are
better off than those who have time and money to commit sin. and whose men-
tal repose is impaired by the want of innocence, which you will be able to
preserve. I hope you pay attention to your health, and that you prompt Wil-
liam occasionally respecting his. I have just been reading ' Tyler's Views of
the Life and Character of Bums,' manifesting the struggles he encountered for
want of means, and the triumphs of the spirit over mental discomforts of every
kind. . . . The yearnings of Burns's mind for opportunities of mental culture
were never satisfied, but the field of Nature contributed largely of her inspira-
tions to his naturally prolific and poetical imagination. This makes his life a
noble contemplation to all who think they are cramped more than they can
bear."

When I left college, in L852, and went to teach school in Milton, your mother
had gone there, as you remember, to live. My brother was already teaching
there, and Mrs. Lyman invited us to board with her, for some moderate price, as
long as she stayed there. At that time her memory was failing her a good deal ;
she was restless, and evidently missed the old Northampton life. I remember
the presence of symptom- which foreshadowed the mental trouble that came
upon her, later on. Notwithstanding the kindness of her neighbors and rela-

.527

tives, such a change in her dwelling-place and her habits, at that time of life,
was too great. It was a new generation that sin- looked upon ; they were not
used to her ways, and she was not used to theirs. She soon removed to Cam-
bridge.

Thither, after two years, I also returned; and during the seven years which
followed, until my marriage, I saw her often. During a good part of that time
Chauncey AVright was an inmate of her house; and it was my custom to take
tea there on Sunday nights. It was often sad to notice the signs of her failing
powers. But her old hearty welcome never once failed. She was, to the last
as hospitable and warm-hearted as ever. Not seldom her mind seemed clouded,
and she would be perplexed; but she did not mean that it should be observed,
and joined cheerfully in the talk. She liked to tell us of the past, and of people
whom she had formerly known, and made many a sagacious and quaint remark
in her old, familiar, emphatic way. In telling me, for instance, of the ancestors
of a certain wealthy family in our neighborhood, she said : "They were hatters
and clothes-vmders at the North End. The mother was a religious woman,
and though not cultivated, she had that kind of cultivation which gives good
sense, and which people are apt to get, who have to struggle aud contrive to
get a living. "

After I was married, in 18G1, and had moved back again to Milton, I saw
her seldom, and did not know how far her mind had failed until I heard of her
removal to the asylum. And so it seemed no cause for grief when the news
came, in the spring of 18G7, that this great and generous heart had ceased to beat ;
at last, all that was so pathetic about her last years had come to an end, and the
thought of it gave place to the blessed and thick-coming recollections of her
earlier life.

It is so good to know that you are preparing this memorial of your mother.
I wish that I could contribute more to help you, and especially could recall more
of her most amusing and vigorous conversation, the flavor of which I well re-
member. But others can do that, and my story is such as I have told you.
Your memoir will be of the greatest interest, not alone to your own family, but
to all who knew the dear and noble woman of whom you write. And I am
sure that it must do a great deal of good to the youuger generation among
your kindred, to read of that cultivated household at Northampton. It will be
to them like a liberal education, to grow acquainted with a life so sound and
healthful as your mother's, — -a life not only directed by the courageous and
frank instincts of a broad, noble, and healthy physical constitution, by strong
natural affections aud a powerful understanding, but disciplined also, and
devout, and cheered always by beautiful sentiments and a spiritual faith.
Your affectionate friend,

James B. Thayer.

528

Mrs. L. Maria Child to Mrs. Lesley.

Dear Susan, — lam glad to hear that you are preparing a memorial of
your large-souled mother, for the benefit of her grandchildren. She and your
excellent father are among the noblest pictures in my Gallery of Memory. I
recall very vividly those old times in Northampton, when we occupied a pew
next to yours, and listened to the pleasant preaching of John S. Dwight. His
soul was then, as now, harmoniously attuned to all lovely sights and sounds, and
he seemed then, as he does now. like the poetic child in the "Story without an
l-'.nd." who went meandering through creation, wondering at its multiform mira-
cles, and earnestly questioning all its forms of beauty.

It was one of my delights at that time to observe your father and mother,
as they walked up the aisle of the church. They hail such a goodly presence .'

me rarely sees a t pie s,, handsome, after they have passed the meridian of

their life; and their bearing was an impersonation of unpretending dignity.
Your mother especially was a. stately in her motions, as if she had been reared
in the atmosphere of royalty.

We always liked each other; but in many respects it was the attraction of
opposites. I was a burn radical, and her training hail been eminently conserva-
tive. Both of us were by temperament as direct and energetic as a locomotive
under high-pressure of steam, and coming full tilt from opposite directions we
often met with a clash; but no bones were ever broken. After such encoun-
ters, we shook hands and laughed, and indulged in a little playful raillery at
each other's vehemence. She was too sincere to deny any proposition that she
perceived to be right and true, however much it might lie at variance with her
pri nceh ed opinions.

I often wondered that she had a liking for me. I suppose the earnestness of
my convictions, and the fearless honesty with which I expressed them, proved
attractive to her because her own nature was in sympathy with those traits: and
I imagine she rather enjoyed the onset of our antagonisms as a sort of intel-
lectual tournament.

My attraction toward her is easily explained. I delighted in her earnestness,
her energy, her abhorrence of all suits of shams, her uprightness of principle,
and her large \ iews of men and things; and even when her opinions were most
at variance with my own. I honored the downright sincerity with which she
expressed them, and I greatly enjoyed the raciness of humor which she often
employed in their defence. Aristocratic she undoubtedly was ; but not in any
narrow sense. She ruse with a lofty disdain above all distinctions that were
merely conventional and external. I have often smiled at the impetuosity with
which she upon some occasions manifested this quality in my defence. . . .

529

The genuine inborn nobleness of her character often flashed out in this way, in
fine scorn of all pretension and sham.

I left Northampton, and years passed without my seeing her. Meanwhile,
her good husband had passed away, and his moral worth left a fragrance in the
memory of all who knew him. Her children had formed households of their
own. You, dear Susan, had married P. L., whose mind was absorbed in sci-
ence, while his heart was deeply interested in all that concerned the welfare of
his fellow-beings. It was after the hospitable old homestead in Northampton
was broken up, and its inmates scattered abroad, that I again met your mother.
After cordial salutations and a few mutual inquiries, I said, " Do you remem-
ber the lively encounters we used to have about Anti-Slavery? How do you
feel upon that subject now ? " " I hardly know what to say," she replied ;
" Between you and Peter, you have got me on the fence, and I don't know
which way I shall jump." I answered very quickly, '' But / know, Mrs.
Lyman. You will be certain to jump on the right side. You cannot do other-
wise."

The largeness of her nature showed itself in generous hospitality and delight
in doing pleasant things for others. I shall never forget her many kind atten-
tions to my dear husband, when circumstances compelled me to be absent from
him. AVe still keep, as precious relics, some pieces of a velvet wrapper which
she gave him, and the sight of them always recalls pleasant and grateful recol-
lections of her.

When I last saw your mother, her bright and active mind was overclouded
by physical infirmities and increasing years ; but even then gleams of her native
humor broke through the gathering mist, like sunshine flashing out between the
drifting clouds of a darkening sky. Her earthly light went out in darkness ;
but the spirit, disencumbered of external obstacles, shows only its interior qual-
ities, — and hers were good, bright, and noble.

Always your affectionate friend,

L. Maria Child.

Dr. Austin Flint* to Mrs. Lesley.

New York, September 13, 1874.
Dear Mrs. Lesley, — In accordance with your wishes, conveyed to me in
a letter from Mrs. Briggs, I shall send you several letters written by your dear
mother. In reading her letters to-day, I have lived over the period when her

* Professor of the Principles and Practice of Medicine and of Clinical Medicine in the
Bellevne Hospital Medical College, &c, &c, New York.
67

530

sympathy and affection were so much to me and mine. My heart has been
filled with love for her, and often I could not refrain from tears.

I have endeavored a brief sketch, but it does neither her memory nor me
justice, and do not hesitate therefore, if you think best, not to introduce it. I
shall send the package by express.

I earnestly hope that your mother is now cognizant of the affection and
gratitude which, in common with her descendants, my wife and I feel whenever
we think of her. My recollections of your mother always awaken emotions of
love and reverence. It were, indeed, proof of heartlessncss and ingratitude, if
I did not cherish her memory with deep affection.

When I was beginning my professional life in Northampton, she was a
sympathizing, devoted friend to my wife and myself. A tender mother could
not have been more kind ; and in her letters after we had left Northampton,
she often addressed us as her children. She confided, when I commenced
practice, herself and her family to my care, and thus, by her example and influ-
ence, the struggles incident to tin- early period of my professional life were
much less than they would otherwise have been. At this time I was under
obligations to her, for her encouragement and wise counsels, more than I can
adequately express.

Of the social position and influence of your mother you may justly be proud
She was truly a queen among women. No one could be in her company with-
out being impressed with the fact that her endowments were of a superior order.
With much beauty of countenance were combined intellectuality, dignity, re-
finement; and tn these were added grace and graciousuess of manner. The
homage which she received was not obtained by art or effort, but was the
spontaneous offering of those around her. She was ever ready to listen and
respond to the claims of philanthropy. She was ready at all times to promote
intellectual pursuits and pleasures, especially among the younger members of
society. I recollect in my boyhood days in Northampton, there was a Literary
Society, composed chiefly of young persons, to which were submitted original
poems, promiscuous essays, ami profoundly metaphysical disquisitions. Alihough
then a mother of children of mature age, she was not merely a patroness lint an
active member of this society, furnishing her quota of written contributions.
These were of a high order, and it would have been an easy task for her to
have become distinguished as a writer. Her conversational powers were
remarkable. She was not chary of her gifts in this regard; but her conversa-
tion was so full of interest and instruction that she never appeared to talk too
much. The exercise of her conversational powers was entirely devoid of pedantry
or assumption. The sayings of no one at that time and place were oftener

531

repeated ; but the wit and humor whieh characterized them never hurt the
feelings of others: she was far above a spirit of ridicule or detraction.

When it is said that she was the worthy wife of your honored lather, one
must have known him and his home to appreciate all that is expressed in this
statement. Judge Lyman was in truth a "gentleman of the old school," in the
fullest and highest sense of this expression. His house represented the highest
idea of domestic lite and elegant hospitality, forty years ago, in one of the most
intellectual, cultivated, aud refined sections of New England.

I sympathize with you in your undertaking to prepare a memorial for distri-
bution among your mother's descendants, and surviving friends. There are
many living who knew her in her .lays of health, during your father's life, who
are much more capable than I am of delineating her superior endowments and
beautiful traits of character. But no one of those not connected with her by
ties of blood, can cherish her memory more than I. or with greater affection and
reverence.

Very truly yours,

Austin Flint.

Mrs. Caroline II. B Laing to Mrs. Lesley.

Germantown, July 18, 1874.
Mr dear Mrs. Lesley, — It gives me very great pleasure to answer your
letter of the 14th inst. I only regret that my acquaintance with your mother
was not of such intimacy as to open a very wide field of reminiscences. Your
honored father and mother are associated with my earliest and most pleasing
recollections of Northampton. They now stand forth in all the dignity and
urbanity for which they were so distinguished, and which will long keep their
memory green to those who had the happiness to know them.

Of your father, that dear, good man, whose name was a household word, rev-
erently spoken by Mr. Butler and myself. I can only say " He was Nature's
Nobleman," with a heart to prompt kindness, and a ready hand to obey those
promptings.

For your mother I have always cherished the greatest respect, and admiration
for her talents. They were of the highest order ; her friendship strong, her
kindness unlimited, her wit keen. How many pleasant hours do I not owe to
her versatile flow of language ! Why ! the words dropped from her mouth like
jewels — if sometimes a little rough, the diamond was there ! It was her man-
ner, too, which gave such point to her wit. There are t'&w who can express so
much by the eye and hand as did your mother.

I have only a very few characteristic anecdotes connected with her from my
own personal knowledge, but volumes can hardly contain the many records of

532

her benevolence, and her disdain of all falsehood and pretension (the metal
must ring true, or she would none of it), which I have heard from the lips of
others more closely bound by long and intimate acquaintance. How many,
struggling with poverty, has her hand lifted to a competency ! How many
young men to whom God gave the higher gift of talent owe to her a position
and a name !

I remember her calling one morning at the mansion on one of her char-
acteristic visits for the weal of others. ■ had just married ; and, as the bride

had no fortune but gentle manners and a pretty i'ace, your mother undertook to
furnish a few articles rather necessary, we must allow, in all households ; namely,

bed and table linen. Miss listened to the appeal with that placid smile

her countenance always wore ; but , rather indignant at the improvidence of

the newly-married pair, exclaimed : " Well. Mrs. Lyman, I can only say one
thing — if I was to be married to-morrow, I thank goodness I have a supply of
sheets, pillow-cases, and towels! " Never shall I forget the sweep of her gar-
ments, as rising from her chair, with a low courtesy, your mother said : —

" I am glad you are so rich, ! " and then without another word, like a

" stately ship," sailed out the gate.

Another time I called at your father's ; your mother with her usual kindness
inquired about my children. Among other things, I told her that my boy
Edward had just entered the American Exchange Bank, New York. " How
old is he?" she asked. I replied, "Sixteen." "Sixteen!" exclaimed your
mother ; then calling to your father in the next room, " Mr. Lyman, do you

hear? Edward B. is only sixteen, and in a bank; and here is our who is

twenty, and has n't begun to If horn .' "

In New York, one Sunday evening, I went to the Unitarian Church to hear

Dr. . I had just seated myself, when I saw your mother walking up the

aisle with that calm independence of manner so natural to her. and fanning her-
self with a huge palm-leaf. She recognized me, and took a seat by my side.

Presently the Rev. appeared in the pulpit. Never shall I forget the

sparkle of fun in your mother's eye, as turning to me she said in a pretty loud
whisper: —

"Heard Nancy this morning; came here to get rid of him, and — Tve got
him!"

You perhaps know the reply made to a certain Miss who, visiting at

your mother's, had not only rather extended her limits, but drawn in a few shil-
lings and dimes by a borrowing line. At last as the stage stopped at the hos-
pitable door to bear her away, she threw her arms about your mother's neck,
saying half tearfully : " Oh Mrs. Lyman, tell me, do tell me, have you any thing
against me ? "

533

•' Only a matter office dollars!" was the inimitable reply.

Again. My sou Theodore, and Evans Denniston came from Philadelphia to
Northampton on a visit. Walking down Shop Row, they met your mother.
Theodore advanced at once, and expressed his pleasure at seeing her. " 1 am
very glad to meet you," she said; " how do you do? you look well;" and
shook his hand very heartily. Then Theodore turning to Evans said, " This is
Evans Denniston, Mrs. Lyman, you remember him?" '•Perfectly. How do
you do, Mr. Denniston?" Then holding her fan between her face and Theo-
dore's she asked (and you know she was too open to whisper as some people
do), " Evans, %cho is your friend'} "

My dear Mrs. Lesley, if in relating these little anecdotes I have trespassed
upon the filial tenderness you cherish for your dear mother's memory, I ask
your forgiveness. You say truly that " her influence was a strong one, and the
aim and purpose of her life noble." I appreciated and admired her, and shall
never cease to do so. I assure you it is to me an inexpressible pleasure to offer
this small tribute to the memory of such a noble woman.
Very truly and affectionately yours,

Caroline H. B. Laing.

Bon. George S. Hillard to Mrs. Lesley.

You have asked me to give you some reminiscences of your dear and excel-
lent mother. I comply with your request, although my treacherous memory is
not very retentive of details ; but it retains with a strong grasp the general
impressions.

It was in September, 1828, that I first saw your father and mother. I had
heard of them before ; and your brother Joseph, who was in college, was person-
ally well known to me. After leaving college, I was appointed a teacher iu the
Round-Hill school, at that time flourishing and numerously attended. The
journey from Boston to Northampton was then performed iu stage-coaches, and
was tedious and fatiguing. I went to "Worcester in the afternoon, slept there,
and the next day arrived in Northampton. I had for companions on my jour-
ney Miss Catherine Sedgwick, and Mrs. Griffith of Charlie's Hope, and I need
not say that with such fellow travellers the journey, though slow, was delightful.
Within a day or two after arriving at Northampton, I dined at your father's
house. 1 think the companions of my journey were both present, — at any rate,
I am sure Miss Sedgwick was. I remember the occasion particularly, because
in the course of the dinner it came out that the day was your father's birth-day.
He was sixty years old on that day. Let me here pause and say a word about

534

him. He was, as you well know, a very handsome man ; but in his manners
and natural language there were none of those peculiarities which handsome
men are apt to fall into. He was remarkable for his simplicity and unconscious-
ness. The sweetness and benignity of his countenance were the natural expres-
sion of a beautiful soul. His manners retained something of the finish derived
from a former generation, when the distinctions of rank were more marked than
at present; but he was no respecter of persons. His high-bred courtesy was
extended to the humblest as well as to the highest. He had a sweetness of
nature which nothing could affect. Long and familiarly as I knew him, I never
beard a harsh, bitter, or wounding remark from him. He had no gall in bis
blood ; there was never a frown upon his brow, and his tongue knew not how
to utter a gibe or a sarcasm. His face always bore an expression like that of
embodied sunshine, and all who approached him felt his genial warmth and
light.

Your mother was about twenty years younger than her husband. She was
in the prime of life, and a woman of noble presence and commanding beauty.
Her personal attractions were little enhanced by her dress, which was plain and
almost careless. She evidently gave little time or thought to it.

You will remember, of course, that I soon became a familiar and frequent
guest of the house : indeed for a time I was a sort of private tutor, giving a lesson
three or four times a week to the older children.

There were at that time four young children in the family, — Anne Jean,
Edward, yourself, and Catherine. Mary and Jane, daughters of your father by
his first marriage, were members of the family, but they were frequently absent
on visits to their relatives. You were between live and six, and Catherine
between two and three, and I may add that both of you were very attractive and
engaging children. Yon were much petted and caressed by all that came to
the house, and especially by me; some might have said you were in danger of
being spoiled, but I do not think that love or the expressions of love ever spoiled
anybody.

The most conspicuous characteristic of the household was its perfect freedom,
and the absence of any thing like formality or ceremony. Summer and winter
the front-door was never locked, and the friends of the house never knocked or
rang. Your mother was often seated at the window exchanging greetings with
the passers-by, and often calling them in. Whenever a visitor came, he was
cordially welcomed by your mother, in whatever part of the house she might
be, or whatever she might be doing; perhaps mending stockings in the parlor,
or shelling peas in the dining-room. If she were on familiar terms with her
guests, she would often ask them to read aloud some article from the " North
American Review," or " Christian Examiner," or some new publication fresh

535

from the press. I need not say to you that your mother was both physically
and mentally a woman of great energy and activity. There was not an idle
bone in her body. She was always doing something; she was never weary ;
she never folded her hands. I never saw upon her face an expression of pain
and weariness from overwork or over-worry. When a young girl as a member
of her father's family, who were in rather narrow circumstances, she, in com-
mon with her sisters, was cumbered with many cares and duties : and on her
marriage with your father who was a widower with several children, she imme-
diately took charge of a numerous household. But her burdens and anxieties
had never any power to depress her. She walked under them with a light and
elastic step. She was always a very early riser, and woke at once in full pos-
session of all her manifold energies.

Your mother inherited the blessing of a sound and healthy constitution. She
came of a vigorous and hardy stock ; her naturally firm fibre of health was
strengthened by a nurture which knew nothing of luxury. She was early
accustomed to self-denial and self-sacrifice, and these were not irksome to her.
But this firm and vigorous health had its drawbacks in her relations with
others. She did not understand, and consequently did not make allowauce for,
that, want of energy and want of animal spirits which belong to ill-health. Her
children, some of them at least, had a delicacy of organization to which sin- was
a stranger; and between such and a person like her, whose bosom's lord always
sits lightly on his throne, there is a gulf like that between Dives and Lazarus
in the parable. She could not understand that one could have moments of
weariness or inaction, without some specific cause. Her unbroken health and
unwearied energy, also, in some respects affected her judgment of others. She
had not enough of toleration for all those Protean forms of weakness which
belong to a nervous and sensitive organization. She knew nothing in her own
person of headache, dyspepsia, or the depression of spirits caused by a low tone
of health ; and therefore was hardly just to those who were thus tried.

But I need nut say that a mind and body so healthy as hers were in them-
selves no common attraction. There was a sort of magnetic power about her
which was particularly felt by those who, unlike her, were delicate and sensi-
tive. She was always ready for conversation ; and conversation with her was
an intellectual exercise, an interchange of thought, and not merely an amusement
or relaxation. She had a keen and healthy appetite for knowledge, and her
intellectual training in her childhood and youth, though in some respects lim-
ited, was sound and good. She had read but few books, but these were excel-
lent books, and were carefully and thoroughly read.

A sound and healthy love of knowledge had not been cloved with a multitude
of books of light reading, which I regard as one of the evils of our time. Some

536

physicians say that one should always rise from a meal with something of appe-
tite left. I think the maxim is also true of intellectual repasts. At any rate,
your mother preserved to the last her keen relish for all forms of knowledge.
The various problems of religion and society, which stirred the minds of men in
her time, were fully felt and comprehended by her. She delighted to discuss
them with her friends, and her conversation on such topics was always full,
frank, and courageous. In these discussions she laid open her whole mind ; she
never gave nor asked for quarter, and never made her sex a shield or defence.

Your mother was not by any means a faultless character; she had not that
measured excellence which comes from having no good qualities to excess. She
had strongly marked trails, and, where this is the case, there are corresponding
imperfections.

Where there are many and bright lights, there will be some shadows. She
was frank and courageous and out-spoken, but on the other hand she was im-
pulsive, sometimes formed hasty judgments, and gave free utterance to them.
She had an intolerant scorn for any thing that was low, base, or underhand.
She had warm and devoted friends, but then she had some enemies, or rather
unfriends. She often said sharp things, but in her large and generous nature
there was no room for malice, hatred, or vindictiveness. Her tongue sometimes
wounded, but in her conduct she was always friendly, warm-hearted, and benev-
olent. No one ever sought her for sympathy or aid. without finding a ready
response. You well know how faithful she was to all the claims of kindred, and
how for many years her house was the home of the orphan and the friendless.
The cares of a numerous family of her own might have been deemed by many a
sufficient excuse for declining these trusts, but your mother did not so regard it.
The warm impulses of her generous nature made it her pleasure as well as her
duty to respond to these calls. It is a great privilege to have been born and
reared in a household like your mother's, in which every faculty of mind, soul,
and heart found free development; where there was no bad temper, and no
restraint but that gentle kind to which a willing obedience was paid. There
was entire freedom, and that perfect love which casteth out fear. There is no
better preparation for the duties of life than the recollection of a happy
childhood.

Your book will give to such of your mother's descendants as have never seen
her a vivid picture of her excellences as a wife, mother, sister, and friend. It
gives the image of a noble, generous, large-hearted, ami warm-hearted woman,
who in the sphere in which she was placed was faithful to every duty, and
obedient to every claim of affection. The memory of such a life is a precious
inheritance.

537

Mrs. George S. HiUard to Mrs. Lesley.

Among the earliest recollections of my childhood, are those of the happy hours
I passed asaguest at what we children called the "Northampton House," while
my father's family lived in Worthington. The house, which was somewhat more
luxurious in its appointments than our own comfortahle, happy home, was to us
a palace of delight. Could I restore this house as it then was, it would doubt-
less look less imposing and palatial than it did to our eyes, but I am sure that
even those most accustomed to magnificence and splendor would consider it at-
tractive. Had I the power to call up the master and mistress of that hospitable
mansion, they would not suffer by comparison with the noblest and handsomest
now living.

The dining-room in those early days was in the east wing of the house, the
room that you knew as the sleeping-room of your father and mother. A de-
lightful, cheerful room it was, with its large windows opposite the glass door
which opened on to a piazza and looked upon a yard in which were trees and
shrubbery, the street beyond, and a portion of Mt. Holyoke in the background.
Between the glass door and the fireplace was a broad closet with glass doors
lined with green silk, in which were kept the books; aud much did we enjoy
being allowed to sit upon the broad lower shelf aud look at pictures, or choose
some child's book to read. I can see this room as it looked ou a bright, cool
autumn day, when we had driven down from the hills ; the blazing wood fire
with its bright fender and andirons, the long dining-table ou which the cloth
was laid for dinner, the bright red aud gold plate-warmer by the side of the fire,
in which was a pile of blue china plates, — all form a picture that is still bright, as
I turn to those pleasant days, so long, long gone. One of the greatest attrac-
tions of this house, to us, was the very tall, upright English piano which stood
in the west parlor. My brother Tracy and I had a strong love of music, which
was seldom gratified. Now and then would come to our house some friend who
could sing without an accompaniment, and who was kind enough to do so for
our entertainment ; but there was not a piano in the town where we lived, and a
child who has always been familiar with a piano could hardly understand the
thrill of delight with which we looked upon those black and white keys, when
the cover of the piano was raised ; and when your mother or one of your sisters
played upon it, our delight was unbounded. I doubt if the sight (I was going to
say of the great Ilarlaem organ, but I will say) of the great organ in the
Music Hall in Boston ever impressed us so much as the sight of that instru-
ment; and we listened then to the " Battle of Prague " with a delight as intense
as is now excited by the Fifth Symphony.

538

To this charming mansion your father and mother welcomed us cordially,
and this welcome is one of the choicest treasures in my memory. Perhaps we
did not then see their beauty, but we saw the smile of loving-kiudness that ever
made us happy; this I never failed to see when I met them, so long as they
lived ; even when memory and mind were all confused, the ever ready smile was
there, assuring me that I had friends who could never look coldly upon me.
After the removal of my father and mother to Northampton, our visits to the
'' Northampton House " were of course shorter and more frequent, but familiarity
destroyed none of the charm with which it was always invested.

As a part of the celebration of Thanksgiving, that festival so dear to New
England children, we were permitted to join the circle of relatives and friends
that were gathered early in the evening of that day in the west parlor. Thanks-
giving, like all anniversaries, is sail to must persons who have lived lung, from the
recollection of the changes that have come to all. and from the absence of those
with whom we once shared its enjoyment. Remembering the pure pleasure
we had in it, I always wish to have every thing possible done to make the day
one of enjoyment to the children ; so much of happiness as recollection can gn e,
is thereby secured to them. I remember one of these visits to your father's
house, when your sister Catherine was an infant; and what a beautiful baby
she was ! Your mother's sleeping-room was then on the same floor as the long
dining-room ; the kitchen was below. One day when there were some half
dozen friends at dinner, after they had gone to the parlor, your mother retired
to her own room and took charge of the baby, while the nursery girl went down
to her dinner. In perhaps a rather shorter time than usual, she rang the bell,
remarking, " I think the damsel has had time for sufficient rest and refection ! "
As the kitchen-door opened, your mother called from the head of the stairs, near
to her chamber-door, " 1 have left the baby on the bed !" Turning to me she
said, "If you wish people to be prompt in their service, you must throw the re-
sponsibility upon them; what people know must be done immediately, they
seldom neglect or delay in doing." She then sailed in a stately manner into the
parlor, and devoted herself to her guests, undisturbed by any anxiety or misgiving
about the baby whom she had left "on the lied."

'I'lie subject of education was one which ever interested her, on which she
often talked, and talked well. One day when the subject of corporal punish-
ment came up, some persons thought it necessary : others were convinced that it
ought never to be used,— that moral suasion is much better. Your mother closed
the discussion and put the whole tiling in a nut-shell, by saying, "Moral suasion
is very well when it is efficacious. But there are cases in which it is ineffectual
ami insufficient ; then we must resort to more stringent measures. My rule is,
to touch the conscience when you can : when you cannot, then touch the skin."

539

You know she always spoke favorably, when she could, of any thing 'I or

said I iv her friends. One fourth of July, the oration was given 1>\ a young man
in whom she felt a warm interest, partly on account of his friendless condition.
The performance was rather dull ; as we were going home, some one said, " I am
curious to know what Mrs. Lyman will say to that oration; she surely cannot
praise it, and she will not say any thing in disparagement of it." Some half
dozen of us dropped in at the ever open door to see the good lady. " Well," said
she with a sweet smile, " do n't you think we have had quite a romfortable ora-
tion ? " No one ventured to make any criticism; we were quite willing to say
yes, in answer to her question.

I recall my visits of a few days at a time to your house, as days of delightful
recreation, though by no means as days of idleness. Every hour was occupied ;
no one ever complained of ennui in that house. With a large house and many
people in the parlor, there was no lack of occupation for the early hours of the
day in setting the house in order, going out with messages of kind inquiry or
some token of sympathy to an invalid neighbor, or preparing for the reception
and entertainment of some of the frequent gatherings of friends in the evening.
The hospitality of your father's house, as well as mine, resembled that of our
good old friend. Judge McCoun, of New York, whose wife, being asked why she
did not give a ball to some distinguished people replied, " I do not wish to sacri-
fice the hospitality of a year to the prodigality of a night."

When the time came for sitting down quietly, while your mother was engaged
in her favorite (or at least common) occupation of " embroidering," I read, or
some one read, to her from her favorite periodical, the '■ North American Review,"
or from some book which was on hand ; her remarks about what she listened to
were original, amusing, ami instructive. You have given many of these in her
letters ; do you remember what she said of Miss Austen's novels? " She writes
well, and her books are good. But they would be more entertaining if they did
not introduce to you such very commonplace people ; when I read a work of fic-
tion. I prefer to meet with people more remarkable than those I see every day,
whose conversation is more striking. Were I sitting at work by the fire, and
some person at the window were to remark that a cow or a yoke of oxen or a
horse and wagon were going by, I should proceed with my occupation, and not
leave it to look at those useful animals ; but were some person to come in and
say, ' Mrs Lyman, there is an elephant passing.' I should surely go to the window
to look at it."

Many an afternoon or evening stroll did I take with her to visit some neigh-
bor for half an hour. Her knitting-work was her constant accompaniment on
these occasions. She had, as she said, great faith in it " as a means of keeping
idle hands from mischief, and quieting the nerves." On this principle she

540

recommended it to everybody. A young woman, who had grown up in pov-
erty and ignorance, — under the pressure of insufficient clothing and the sight of
a calico dress, yielded to temptation and appropriated the garment she so much
needed, to her own use, without permission. She was punished by imprison-
ment in the jail. The neighbors felt much sympathy for the poor tiling, and
much indignation was expressed. I met your mother on the street; she said,
"I am going down to the jail to see that poor girl, and take her some knitting-
work, for I am sure that will be a comfort to her."

When your brother Joseph was at home in his summer vacation, we had
lively times. How his contagious laugh rang through the house when he had
carried out some practical joke, or had been circumvented by your mother in
some 5>iece of mischievous fun. or had beard some droll thing! I can hear it
now, as his handsome face comes up before me. One warm summer morning,
as we were reading and working in the dining-room, we heard a rattling noise

in the corridor in which the refrigerator st 1. "Joseph, is that you? What

are you doing?" said your mother. " Only trying a little chemical experiment,
ma'am. I wanted to see if claret and water with sugar in it tasted good, and
it does!" We all joined, you may be sure, in his hearty, musical laugh, which
was always irresistible.

Your mother wished Catherine to be called by "her own name," as she
expressed it, "for 1 do not like nicknames." I think her objection to pet
names applied to short ones, for she almost always added oue syllable to your
name and mine, as a token of affection.

One of the visits to that attractive house, always one of my homes, was after
that deep sorrow had come upon it, the shadow of which never left the house
nor the loving heart of its mistress. The year after your sister Anne Jean's
death, our little Geordie died. Some weeks after, as I was recovering from an
illness which followed his death, your father came to see us in Boston; finding
me far from well, he kindly asked me to go home with him. I did so, my bus-
baud following me soon after. No father was ever more kind and loving than
was your father to me. then and always ; and your mother welcomed me warmly.
I need not speak of the tender sympathy showed to us on that visit. Your
mother talked much of her departed daughter, and we felt that as these parents
had possessed their treasure longer than we had ours, their loss must be the
greater. Dark as was the cloud that rested on that house, there was nothing
dismal or forbidding in its aspect; the same cordial hospitality welcomed all
friends; the same thoughtfulness of others, and earnestness in relieving their
suffering or promoting their comfort and happiness, was manifested as had been
in the sunny days that were gone.

After your father's death, your mother sometimes stayed at our house. One

541

of these visits comes hack to me as I write. It was in winter that she spen(
some two or three weeks under our roof. We had Beveral days of severely
cold weather ; there was small temptation to go abroad and leave our sunny

parlor. After Mr. Hillard had gone to the office iu the morning, she would
say : " Now, Susannah, we will stay at home and have a delightful time
in this lovely, warm parlor ; you shall read to me, and I will sew ; and if you
have any thing that requires mending, bring it forth : you know that is my
especial delight. Have you a table-cloth that shows symptoms of decay ? if so
let me ' embroider it ' a little. I assure you, if you will give me some fine mend-
ing-cotton, I will repair it in such a manner that my work will not be seen, or,
if noticed, will be considered an adornment." She was as good as her word,
and I have now one or two of these table-cloths, made precious by the ' em-
broidery.' I read to her from Wordsworth, Charles Lamb, and from various
books ; and whatever I read had an added charm from her keen enjoyment and
her criticisms. We went sometimes, when the weather had moderated, to visit
some friend ; one day when we were calling at Mrs. Nathan Hale's, on Hamil-
ton Place, we saw a copy of " Uncle Tom's Cabin " on the table ; it was just
published, and on Mrs. Hale's recommendation we borrowed it. Your mother
wished to read it because Mrs. Hale had recommended it, saying : " If she likes
it, it must be worth reading. I do not like to read about the horrors of slavery,
as I can do nothing about them." I read the book to her, and she is associated
with all its scenes ; how well do I recall the tears we shed at its pathos, and
our hearty laughs over some of the amusing scenes, and the capital descriptions
of life on a Southern plantation.

One afternoon, she wished to go to see a panorama of a voyage to Europe, of
which we had been told ; and we went. We went up two long flights of stairs
to reach the hall in which the panorama was to be exhibited ; the ascent fatigued
her a little, and made her rather breathless. The lights iu the hall had been
turned down, and to our eyes, coming as we did from the bright light of the
snowy streets, the room was quite dark. We went back to the unoccupied seats
in the rear of the audience. She, no fairy in figure at that time, dropped upon
a vacant seat. I was following her, when a man in the seat in front of her, at
the instant she sat down with some emphasis, turned and gasped : " My hat, if
you please ! " She rose slightly, and drew something from the seat, which, in a
queenly way, she handed to the gentleman, saying, as she half bowed and settled
herself iu her seat : " There's your hat."

The exhibition began immediately. We had never been to Europe, and
thought it all quite good except the views of Boston and New York, at the be-
ginning and end of the show, — which were very unlike any thing we had ever

542

seen. Your mother entertained Mr. Hillard at tea-time with her account of the
panorama, and I told him the story (if the hat.

When he had a leisure evening, and we were uninterrupted, he read to us,
and seldom had he a more appreciative or delighted listener. She expressed
much enjoyment in her visit, and she gave much in return. We both enjoyed
having her with us.

You know well your mother's strong objection, I may say hostility, to all
extravagance in dress. Going to spend the day in a house where one of the
daughters was soon to be married, after looking at the simple trousseau, she
said: '-I am glad yen are not having such heaps of clothes made as some
people do; it. is a mistake si> to accumulate garments. A woman can wear no
more clothes after she is married than she could before that event. One dress
at a time is all that any woman can wear, and it would be well for all to
remember it."

She had a wonderful command of language, especially of long words, which
we all know did not sound pedantic, coming from her lips. She came in to dine
with us one day. soon after we were married: there was an anthracite fire in
the open grate, and a pan attached to it, filled with water. " I am glad to see
this arrangement ;" said she: "the consumption of anthracite coal has such a
tendency to deprive the atmosphere of humidity, that some means of restoring
moisture artificially are extremely necessary."

1 saw her often during the years she spent in Cambridge, after her memory
bad failed and her mind was passing under the cloud which never lifted till the
light of heaven dispelled it, but which occasionally was broken for a very short
time, and a gleam, as it were, of remembrance came over her. At such
moments she had a puzzled, distressed look that was inexpressibly touching.
The indistinct image of some friend or relative would come to her, whose name
she could not recall. She would at such times describe a person, or tell some-
thing about them, hoping that we could give her the name she had lost. It was
always by some act of kindness or some affectionate thought, that she tried to
make us understand of whom she was thinking; the heart was all right: her
affections outlived her intellect. Her son Edward was "a man living far away,
near to a large city, or perhaps in the city, who is very good to me, and often
sends me presents and writes to me ; he has been to see me, but he is too far
away to come often." Mr. George L. Strains of Medford she strove to recol-
lect when she heard his name. After some little effort, she said : " Oh ! now I
know the man you mean. I should go to him to-morrow, if my house were
binned, and I had no home; he would open his doors and make me welcome."
Since Mr. Stearns's death, I have heard his wife say, alluding to this remark

543

which you had repeated to her, " George felt more gratified with this than with
any compliment he ever received."

During her last years she had, besides the restlessness and desire of change
which was but the seeking for that rest which could never be found in this
world, the strong social feeling that was ever so large a part of her nature.
My mother's house, of course, she considered a home; she went and came
there as freely as if it were her owu. She went, when so inclined, to the houses
of my lirothers, where she ever found a welcome from the younger members of
the household, as well as from the heads of the family : a welcome that she
could appreciate long after she had lost the power to express clearly what she
thought and felt. Other kind neighbors she continued occasionally to visit after
her mind was darkened and only her heart was unchanged.

Her love for the sister whose daily and hourly ministrations cannot be here
described, but which can never be forgotten by those who witnessed them, we
all know.

The affection she retained to the last for the members of her own household,
for that friend whose devotion was that of a son, and for the two Marys who
loved and served her to the end, was tender and true.

I did not see, but have been told that when Mary Walker was suffering from
the severe headaches that often distressed her, and made every noise torture,
to her, your mother, after she had ceased to remember any thing else, never
forgot to enjoin perfect quiet upon each person in the house ; and that she would
even take the shoes from her feet, lest by chance she should disturb the sufferer
whom she watched and nursed most tenderly.

You asked me, dear Susan, to send you some of my recollections of your
mother. I have put down a few things that I remember, which perhaps you
have not from any one else. I have omitted much that I thought others would
have told you, "or that you would recall ; and I have not tried to tell you, what
you well know, and what no words of mine could adequately relate, how much
your beloved father and mother were to me. When death came, an angel of
mercy as he was, and released them each from bonds and from darkness, he took
from me as well as from many, the best friends we had. From my earliest
remembrance, and especially after the death of my own father, your father ever
treated me like an own daughter, and your mother gave me the same place.
And if I can ever be in any measure to my younger friends what they were to
me, I shall do something to acknowledge a debt that I can never repay.

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Full text of "Memoir of the life of Mrs. Anne Jean Lyman .."

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