_An Attic Fairy.—Our Child Artist Grinds Her Own Paints.—Scholarships
and Athletics at Harvard University.—Our Youngest Wins an
“H.”—American Girls’ Club in Paris.—Caroline’s Pictures Exhibited in
the New Salon._
OUR children received their early education at home and at the house of
our good friend, Mrs. Sykes. When the boys were well started in their
lessons we sent them to the neighboring public school. Here their
proficiency in reading was resented by their contemporaries. An
aristocracy of learning is quite as offensive to boy nature as any other
form of superiority. The school was coeducational, but in spite of this
some of the boys were pretty rough. It was a good thing for our sons,
however, to learn young to take their own part and to rub elbows with
all sorts and conditions of children. The public-school system of
America is an indispensable feature of our democracy.
All our sons were prepared for college at Mr. Leal’s excellent private
school in Plainfield. A schoolmate declared that when Mr. Leal called
Sam up to recite he would open the Greek book, lay it affectionately
upon the boy’s knee, pat it, and tell the latter to begin. Thereupon Sam
proceeded to reel off page after page of the text, as if he had been a
species of classic hand-organ. He was now too big, however, to have his
head punched for his proficiency. I was glad to help my children with
their home studies, thus reviving my acquaintance with Messrs. Virgil,
Cæsar and Company. But assisting them with their arithmetic and algebra
was very hard work. To present a mathematical idea so that a child will
clearly understand it is not easy. Perhaps that is the reason why
teachers so often leave this task to the luckless parents. This is all
wrong.
My second son, Harry, was a natural leader and had his little coterie of
friends and followers. When these were promoted to a higher room in the
public school it was proposed to promote their teacher, also; she
declined the honor!
The boy had a natural wit which he occasionally used to torment his
instructors at Mr. Leal’s school. Harry had various clashes with the
younger teachers, who were all men. They did not make sufficient
allowance for the high spirits and the desire for independence of the
growing boy. “Poppy Leal,” the principal, as the boys affectionately
called him, was wiser. He spoke of them all as men, thus winning their
hearts. But one day even Mr. Leal grew out of patience with Harry.
Sending for the boy’s parents, he told us that there seemed to be a
difference of opinion between Harry and himself as to who should run the
school. He, however, had always done so in the past and did not propose
to abdicate now. History repeats itself, and this same Harry was called
upon, not long ago, to curb the same spirit in his eldest daughter,
little Julia Ward Howe Hall. The teacher unknowingly used the same words
that had been applied to Harry in his youth!
He was a daring boy, yet possessed of a certain caution. We had bought
for his elder brother one of those immense bicycles which enjoyed a
brief day of popularity. It proved too big for the older boy, but Master
Harry managed to ride it, though his legs were so short that he could
only reach the pedals as they came up. On this he descended such a
dangerous incline that the boys kindly gathered at the foot of the hill
to see him fall off. “Come see Hally riding to hell!” one boy called to
the others.
Our only daughter studied at home and at private schools, going to Paris
for her education in painting.
She was less than five years old, when she made her own brushes by
taking stiff chicken feathers and shaving them off till only a small
tuft was left at the end. From pieces of brick and other materials found
about the place, she ground her own colors. When we found the child
making pictures with these primitive paints, we at once supplied her
with colors. In addition to the power of invention, perhaps because of
it, Caroline possessed the happy faculty of making the most of small
things, enjoying whatever little pleasures fell to her lot. Thus,
wishing very much to have a room entirely to herself, she asked for one
in the attic. When a mouse visited her bower in the evening, instead of
screaming she played softly on the harmonica, in the hope that the music
would lead him to return to his home. We called her the Attic Fairy.
In 1889, our eldest son, Samuel Prescott Hall, entered Harvard
University, having passed his examinations with honors. I went up to
Cambridge with the trembling Freshman, who had just passed his
seventeenth birthday. A certain indifference, not to say coldness, on
the part of the authorities soon showed me that the event of Sam’s
entrance into academic fields did not move them so deeply as it did me.
The bursar I found especially unsympathetic. My son had not drawn a room
in the college buildings, and that was an end of it. Mr. —— had no
suggestions to offer. I was assured later that this gentleman was a very
kind man. He certainly concealed the fact very successfully. I had
dealings with him from time to time during the period of fourteen years
while my sons were at Cambridge. But I do not remember his ever
displaying one sign of human weakness.
My brother had suggested our trying to procure for Sam the position of
president’s Freshman. The duties of this functionary consisted in
running errands for the head of the university, for which he was paid a
small honorarium. When I inquired about the president’s Freshman, I was
met by a pitying smile. The young man in charge had evidently never
heard of such a person.
When we looked about for rooms, dreadful tales of young collegians who
had been found dead from opium-smoking greeted our affrighted ears.
Fortunately, we found a pleasant lodgment at the house of an old
acquaintance.
This attitude of serene indifference toward the class of young men most
in need of advice and help has now passed away. The erection of a
stately row of buildings, intended especially for the accommodation of
Freshmen, shows that Alma Mater has waked up to a fact which was clear
long ago to the ordinary mothers of men. The entering class, the new
blood, is the hope of the future. As they are the youngest students and
are totally inexperienced in the ways of the university, many of them
coming from remote parts of the country, they should be made welcome.
Our sons thoroughly enjoyed their college life. They were much
interested in athletics and also liked to have a good time. It was fully
borne in upon them, however, that study must be the principal aim of
their college course. We could not afford to send them to Harvard simply
for amusement. Sam, being a student by nature, was always on the rank
list, taking special second-year honors, also graduating “_cum laude_”
with honors in Greek and Latin. In Charles Eliot Norton’s famous class,
“Fine Arts Four,” he was greatly interested. It was said that the very
large membership of Professor Norton’s classes was due to their being
“snap” courses. Some of the boys, having reported themselves present,
would depart by the fire-escape; others would read newspapers, to the
vexation of Professor Norton.
No. 241 Beacon Street was a second home to my mother’s five grandsons,
all of whom graduated from Harvard. Of Sam she was especially fond. His
tastes, like hers, were those of a scholar, and there was a close bond
of intellectual sympathy between her and her eldest grandson.
Football gave him so much pleasure that he continued to play with
amateur associations after leaving college. Those were the days of the
deadly flying tackle. One morning a short, powerful-looking young man
called at our house for Sam’s football clothes. This same young man had
accidentally killed another in a recent game. My feelings, on thus
learning that my son was to play with him, can be imagined. Sam passed
through these dreadful combats without lasting injury. He did, to be
sure, bruise one of his legs so that it was black and blue from hip to
ankle and the doctor looked serious. Fortunately youth and health pulled
him through so that no amputation was necessary.
Harry took his athletics less violently. Through persistent exercise he
became one of the strongest ten men in college. His mother felt much
anxiety lest he should thus become muscle-bound, but my fears would
appear to have been groundless. Tennis proved to be his forte, as
various trophies testify.
In 1893 we moved into our new house in Plainfield. As often happens,
however, our children began to leave home soon after we had established
ourselves permanently, as we hoped. Caroline was suddenly invited to go
to Paris with Mrs. George Richmond Fearing, there to study painting and
French.
Mrs. Fearing took great pleasure in giving young girls the advantages of
study in the French capital. She employed actresses from the Théâtre
Français and the Odéon—the government theaters—to give lessons in
diction. Caroline’s decidedly American accent changed, in the seven
years of her foreign residence, into something closely resembling the
French of the natives.
“Baby Hall,” as she was affectionately called, was the youngest girl at
the Délécluse studio. Thaulow, the great Norwegian artist, criticized
the work of the art students in the Bois de Boulogne. He was a very
large man and wore a bottle-green coat. He viewed with alarm the idea of
seating himself on one of the tiny folding camp-chairs of their kit, so
they procured one warranted to support many kilos.
In due course of time Caroline’s pictures were exhibited and “hung on
the line” at the new Salon in Paris. She was also invited to exhibit her
landscapes in the French provinces, receiving letters beginning “_Cher
maître_.”
For some years she lived at the American Girls’ Club, No. 4 rue de
Chevreuse, a pleasant establishment where the charges were very
moderate, Mrs. Whitelaw Reid contributing to its support.
When our youngest son, John Howe Hall, went to Harvard, it was necessary
for him to assist materially in his own support. As he was the least
robust of the three brothers, this was not so easy. He possessed,
however, grit, executive ability, and a capacity for hard work. He won
several scholarships, and also tutored in the courses he had himself
thoroughly mastered.
To “coach” for examinations boys who have neglected their studies
involves severe and exhausting mental labor for teacher and pupil alike.
Jack did the best he could for his pupils, who usually passed. Although
of slighter build than any of the other four grandsons, he determined to
achieve the coveted “H.” He accordingly entered the track team and
became a long-distance runner. The flutterings of the mother heart were
now great. I was glad to have the boy distinguish himself, but two miles
seemed a long-distance for one so slender to run. The perusal of a story
by Wilkie Collins, representing the hero, a college runner, as a very
brutal man, did not reassure me. At first the boy was indignant at his
parent’s timidity and, as he thought, lack of sympathy. After I had
attended, in company with his brothers, several races, where we showed
great enthusiasm and cheered loudly, he understood my feelings better.
It was indeed a proud moment at Franklin Field, Philadelphia, when Sam
called out to me, “Here comes your youngest, at the head of the bunch.”
He was so handsome and so graceful, in that wonderful stride of the
trained runner, that mother was made very happy. He gained, not long
afterward, the coveted “H”—the only one of the grandsons who did so.
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