took me to her Uncle Wolcott’s house. It is elegantly furnished. He
has in his sitting room pictures of six old venerable gentlemen, a
picture painted by his daughter, and a print. In his library are two
large bookcases filled with books, likenesses of his wife, mother,
father, daughter and her husband Mr. Gibbs. In his drawing-room are
several large prints from Homer’s Iliad, the battle of Bunker’s Hill
and death of General Montgomery, a large print called Marc Antony,
three or four landscapes painted by Mrs. Gibbs and many others. Hannah
showed me some Chinese curios, two men one holding two small boxes of
tea, and the other, a curious looking personage, a Chinese woman, a
pair of ladies and men shoes, stone cut in various shapes, Ivory
globes made in the most elegant manner, a number of boxes, six or
seven figures made of plaster of Paris, some baskets, and a beautiful
collection of shells.
_Dec. 27th._ Miss Mary Hooker, Miss Burr, Miss Reeves and Miss Beecher
at tea. In the evening heard a long letter read from Mr. H. Sheldon.
He wrote that he had visited the catacombs and asked his guide if
Bonaparte had ever been there, he said “No, Bonaparte had never
expressed any desire to be with the dead.”
_Jan. 1, 1816._ Went to school with a determination to improve all in
my power, recited in History without a mistake, in the afternoon I
went to Mr. Bradley’s tavern in a sleigh with Hannah Huntington, John
and Mr. O. Wolcott, W. T. and Mary. Had a most delightful ride,
returned with Hannah to tea, in the evening took a sleigh ride and
returned home about nine. Had a great many wishes that I might have a
Happy New Year.
_Jan. 2._ After school returned home with Louisa Seymour, and drank
tea with her and enjoyed myself extremely. Mrs. Seymour is a very fine
woman and endeavored to have our time pass agreeably. I almost froze
returning home, for the cold was excessive.
_Thursday._ After school took a walk with Margaret Hopkins of
Philadelphia. I am very much pleased with her, she is not only
beautiful, but amiable, kind, generous and sweet tempered. Dr. Fowler
drank tea at Dr. Sheldon’s and staid through the night. After studying
an hour I went to Mr. Brace’s where I spent the evening most agreeably
and saw a plenty of butterflies and spiders. I returned home about
nine, attended family prayers and retired to my room.
_Thursday._ I rose as usual early and exercised, knit and mended my
school frock, when it was finished, the cow bell announced that I must
prepare for school. * * * Mr. Brace commenced school as usual by
reading a portion of Scripture, and prayer. * * * After school I
called at Mrs. Wolcott’s, Mrs. Reeves’, and called and gave Mary
Deming some of Eliza Royce’s wedding cake. * * * * In the evening I
drank tea at Mrs. Deming’s with Miss F. Catlin who is the most
beautiful woman in Litchfield, Mary Wells cousin to Mrs. Hudson, she
unites to a lovely face all those pleasing qualities which delight and
attach and make us love and admire, the two Misses Buel and Miss
Landon with several of the students. * * * * The afternoon was spent
very pleasantly at Mrs. Aaron Smith’s with her niece Mary, the Misses
Hopkins from Philadelphia, Miss Wadsworth from Montreal, Miss Rockwell
from Albany and Miss Lewis who resides in Litchfield. * * * The
evening was spent very pleasantly in reading a letter from Mr. Henry
Sheldon to his sister Lucy. He wrote that he had seen the ascension of
two balloons, and that the French surpassed all other people in
sublime trifles, that the first ascended in a very fine evening,
covered with lamps, conveying a man named Augustine, who was afterward
found at some distance from Paris almost frozen to death. The next, he
wrote was much the most interesting as it conveyed a young heroine of
20 or 25. She cut the cords to her frail bark and every heart ached,
while she ascended so far in the air that she was hardly perceived.
She suffered no injury and was afterward presented to the King. * * *
Hannah Wolcott, Helen Peck, Margaret and Adela Hopkins came and staid
about an hour.
_Monday._ Rose at an early hour and took a long but pleasant walk with
Mary. At school I recited a lesson in Sacred History and had the
pleasure to hear Miss Pierce say I had said a most excellent lesson.
In the afternoon I learnt in my Blair that poetry is the language of
passion, or of enlivened imagination, formed most commonly into
regular numbers. I also learnt that a person who composed a letter
must write with ease and familiarity, simplicity, sprightliness and
wit. Our lesson was very interesting and I recited without a mistake,
but it fully convinced me that I was not born with a genius for letter
writing. After school took a delightful walk with Mary and Charlotte
Storrs. Went with dear Theodosia Devaux who is from Camden, S,
Carolina to see Harriot Kirby. * * * Went with Mary to take tea with
Clarissa Seymour. C. Marsh, E. Welch, E. Storrs and L. Seymour were
there. I spent my time very pleasantly. In the evening we recited
anecdotes, one was—A man who kept an ale house by a pound was
frequently visited by the students who wrote over the door “Ale by the
pound.” The Proctor of the university unwilling to have them visit it,
complained to the Vice Chancellor who ordered the ale keeper to appear
before him. This request was readily complied with, but as soon as he
entered the room began spitting and clearing his throat, the Vice
Chancellor asked why he did so, he replied—Sir I came here to clear
myself. Well how do you do, asked the Vice Chancellor. Very well I
thank you. Go! says the Vice Chancellor for an impudent villain. He
left him and meeting the Proctor who had complained of him, he told
him the Vice Chancellor wished to see him. He went, and the ale keeper
spoke and said, Sir you bid me go for an impudent villain and I have
brought you one of the worst I ever knew.
_Friday._ Mrs. Wolcott called and very politely asked Mrs. Sheldon to
permit me to take tea with her and Miss Cook, a niece of hers from
Danbury for whom she had made the party (I was at school) Mrs. Sheldon
gave her permission and I went. Though Mrs. Wolcott was the only
married woman in the room, yet no one would have thought her the
oldest for she looked very beautiful. The party was large. Some of the
ladies were—both the Misses Catlin, Miss Hooker, Reeves, Kirby,
Sanford, Beecher, Devaux, Lord, Landon, Burr and the two Misses Buel.
When the clock struck nine, the girl was carrying round the wine, and
I too well knew if I was not at home, the family would be displeased.
I spoke to the lady who sat next to me and said I must go, and she
said it would be extremely improper in her opinion for me who was the
youngest in the room to go first, because if I went, all would go. At
about half past nine Miss Burr rose to go, and all the company
followed her example. It was very cold and as I crossed the green, the
wind blew and I thought, what can be keener? but I found when I
reached home that a keener blast awaited me, a blast which will never
no never be erased from my memory. I opened the door with a trembling
hand, no one was in the room, but soon Dr. came. My heart throbbed
violently, and he said—why are you home at this late hour? I told my
excuse, he interrupted me by saying that it was but a poor excuse,
that I might as well have come as not, for it would have been
perfectly proper if I had only been five years old. He concluded by
saying that if I ever staid out again he certainly would lock the door
if it was after nine. I looked round for a candle but there was none.
I asked for one and he said if I wished one I might go up stairs and
get one. I spoke and said, Sir I can go to bed in the dark, he made no
objection. As I went up stairs I wept as a child and wished I was at
home with those friends whom I so dearly dearly loved. Mary was asleep
and I thought I should have frozen before I undressed myself, and thus
did I pay for my whistle. The party was pleasant but the scolding was
not, and sincerely did I wish I had not gone——
CAROLINE CHESTER—HER COMMONPLACE BOOK.[42]
A blush
Like the last beam of evening thrown
On a white cloud just seen and gone
The words of Schenadoah an Indian chief who died lately aged one
hundred and thirteen, at Oneida
I am, an aged hemlock; the winds of an hundred years have blown
through its branches; it is dead at the top. Those who began life with
me have run away from me: Why I am suffered to remain God best knows.
M. W. PECK.
Your own luminous nature surrounds you and seeing through that, you
fancy objects bright which only reflect your beams.
S. A. E. V.... N
Written on the collar of a dog belonging to the Prince of Wales,
I am his highness dog at Kew,
Pray tell me Sir, whose dog are you?
There is no duty, there is no pleasure, there is no sentiment, which
does not borrow from enthusiasm—I know not what charm, which is still
in perfect unison with the simple beauty of Truth.
A deity believed is joy began,
A deity adored is joy advanced,
A deity beloved is joy matured.
Your friend L. M. B.
“He who breathes must suffer
He who thinks must mourn.”
With quotations from Thomas Moore, Young, Pope, Cooper, Milton, Ossian,
Byron, Homer, Savage, Michael Angelo, Bishop Horne, Shakespeare, Cicero,
Hannah More.
To a Stone from the island of “the Lady of the Lake”—given by a friend
who had visited Loch Katrine.
Thou little brown stone: Ah what hast thou seen
Since the floods roll’d thee up on your island so green,
How many vast ages have travelled thee o’er.
Like wave after wave on thy Lake girdled shore;
How altered are all things; while thou art alone,
Unaltered, unchanged, the same little brown stone,
How many vast trees, have sprung where you lay,
Have grown up, and flourished and mouldered away,
How long was the time, when the deers tread alone,
Tore the branches away which thy Lake had o’ergrown,
When the eagle, alone woke the echo that slept,
On the mountains around, which thy paradise kept,
Ah! what has’t thou seen, since man sway’d thy shore,
Saw’st thou the first boat which that plunderer bore,
Well has’t thou mark’d every change he has made,
Since he first drove thy deer from their far spreading shade,
Wast thou their when fair Ellen first walk’d on thy shore,
Did’st thou see thy proud waves as the Pine flag they bore,
Did’st thou hear the loud shout of the Saxon’s afar,
And saw’st thou thy clan as they fell in the war,
Or has thy fair Lake never heard the war cry,
Sounding shrill as the bird of thy own native sky,
Is it fiction alone that endears thee to us,
If Scott had not sung, should we feel towards thee thus,
No: thou little brown stone—alone on thy shore,
Thou still would’st have listened to Loch Katrine’s roar,
Unheeded thy heath bell might bloom on thy isle;
And thy Lakelet unlov’d in the sunbeams bright smile,
And the cushat-doves notes, as in days that are past,
Sound back to thy moss rocks the deer hunters blast,
How great is thy power then, thou bard of the north,
When thou giv’st to a pebble a diamonds worth,
When a little brown stone from the Loch Katrine’s shore,
Is valued by us more than crystals or ore,
Sept. 4. 1816——
Composed by Mr. J. P. Brace.
my teacher at Litchfield Conn.
and written here by himself.—
AN OCTOBER EVENING.
The setting sun now shuts the day,
His face no vapors cloak,
No gold-tinged cloud around him play,
His last rays smile not, cheer not, now.
But with a stern and bloody brow,
He wades through seas of smoke.
No blushing beams the path unfold,
In which the monarch treads;
A path where once the living gold,
Fringed every deep with gold with fire
And bade night’s eastern studs retire
Nor show their star crowned heads,
Where once the rosy twilight blushed,
Upon the dark blue sky
The thick smoke has in anger flushed
And in its dun and moveless clouds
The sun his red face sullen shrouds,
Nor backward turns his eye.
No mists fantastic rise and curl,
Upon the glassy lake
Or on its breast their forms unfurl;
But on its wave the dun cloud lies
Like those which o’er lifes current rise
That hope and joy forsake.
Sear’d is the poplars quivering leaf.
And crisp’d and red the oak
Like life their course as gay and brief;
For always as decay appears
Their gayest robes the forest wears
And smiles at deaths last stroke,
Lifes pleasures are as briefly bright,
As autumn’s leaves so gay.
Then why regard their fickle light;
Tho’ dazzling as they may be now
Like snow-wreaths on the cataracts brow
They soon will melt away,
Now on rides night with quickened pace
A night of cold and gloom,
Her brow no star formed circlets grace;
Now closing round she covers all
With the same sad and darksom pall
A darkness like the tomb.
By MR. J. P. BRACE.
S. CLEAVLAND
FAREWELL TO THEE HYPE.
Away with thee, Hype thou bird of the night;
Unfurl thy dark wing and escape from my breast,
I have nestled thee long, thou ill omend sprite,
No more with your screams shall you drive away rest,
Why should I murmur if sorrow and ill,
Cloud o’er my sun shine and darken my road,
We ca’nt alway travel on pleasures bright hill,
Our path will oft lead us to sorrows abode,
Sometimes at the fire side my friends I can greet;
While each smiling face beams its beauty for me:
Then fondly I’ll love them but if frowns I should meet,
Shall I mourn at their loss or to other friends flee.
Pray whence is this change once thy heart alway’s sigh’d,
Like the Eolian harp, if a breath struck its string’s
Pray what is the cause that has thus fortified,
Thy breast gainst the sorrow’s that misery brings?
Is it love, that has sung to the breath no more sighs?
Love’s joy is too keen for a calmness like mine;
The sounds that love vibrates variably rise;
The first tone is joys; the next jealousy, thine.
Has friendship then blest thee? No: friends are all gone;
Like summer eve’s clouds they have vanished away.
I had friends once, alas:—but, Hype be done;
I’ll care not: I love’d them, but they would not stay.
Was it wine, that the sharp strings that misery stole;
But pleasure’s not always a guest at the feast;
Tho’ care may escape from the top of the bowl,
Mid the dregs at the bottom he always will rest.
It was that I found, but I will not relate,
What has lightened my spirits of woe’s fancied power;
Suffice that no more I shall murmur at hate;
Nor suffer neglect every pleasure to sour.
Then Hype, farwell and long be the time,
E’er thou fly back to visit this bosom of mine;
The clouds are all past, and a happier clime,
Beams with joy, that is brighter than friendship or wine.
By MR. J. P. BRACE.
AMANDA KEELER.
Albany.
VALE OF AVOCA.
There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet,
As the vale on whose bosom the bright waters meet,
Oh! the last ray of feeling and of life shall depart,
E’er the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Yet it was not that nature had spread o’er the scene
Her purest of chrystals and brightest of green
It was not the soft magic of streamlet or rill,
Oh! no it was something more exquisite still.
It was, that the friends of my bosom were near
That made every scene of enchantment more dear
Who felt how the blest of nature improves
When we see it reflected from eyes that we love
Sweet vale of Avoca how calmly would I rest
On thy bosom of shade with the friend I love best
When the raging of thy billows would forever cease
And our hearts like your waters be mingled in _peace_
Litchfield July 16th 1816
PARODY ON THE VALE OF AVOCA
There is not in all Litchfield a damsel so fair
As that girl with the dark eyes and bright auburn hair
The last lingering pulsation of life shall depart
E’re that maidens image shall fade from my heart.
But it was not that beauty had moulded her face
Where the white rose and red rose had mingled their grace
T’ was not the soft glance of a mild beaming eye
T’ was something more lovely than youths roseate dye
It was that virtue and feeling came mingling with truth
That added new graces, and beauty, and youth
And showed how the charms of the person increase,
When virtue and truth with the heart are at peace.
Sweet blossom of Litchfield how calmly my life
Would glide down in its channel with thee for a wife
Then the storms that once lowered forever should cease.
And our hearts like thy virtues be mingled in peace.
Composed by MR. J. P. BRACE.
HOME
What tho’ banish’d from home o’er the world I may roam
Still that home I have left is the first in my love;
There’s no sorrow so great, as its absence to mourn;
No joy that’s so bright as the hope of return.
At home are the friends of my earliest years,
That form’d my first hopes and soothed my first fears;
That taught my young bosom the pleasures of love.
And directed its tho’ts to the heaven above.
Tho’ much I may love other friends I have seen
Tho’ the _hills_ I now tread may be vivid and green
Still the hills of my childhood are brightest and best
And the friends of my _home_ are the first in my breast.
On that mirror full oft other objects may play,
And flash on its surface alluringly gay,
But the joys of my _home_ form a picture more bright
That will glow in the darkness and blaze in the light
For that picture is touched by a pencil most true
And the colours that deck it are loves brightest hue.
Like the vapors that rise from the far spreading main.
Ascend high in air, and in clouds charged with rain
Descend on the mountains, still in rivers their course
They will bend to that ocean, that gave them their source
So my love, tho’ towards friends I have met oft will burn
To that centre, its _home_ it will always return.
The pleasures of _home_, may be scattered at last
Like the sear’d leaf of autumn borne off by the blast
There’s a home that is better, and brighter than this,
Where no gloom will destroy o’ershadow its bliss;
Ah! how sweet to reflect when the worlds storms are o’er
There’s a haven of joy on eternity’s shore;
Where our tempest toss’d barks will be safe on its breast
And our hearts free from lifes troubles eternally rest.
E. M. CAMP.
By MR. JOHN P. BRACE.
1816–1818.
ELIZA OGDEN—HER JOURNAL.
_Written while at Boarding School in Litchfield Conn. 1816–1818._
ELIZA A. OGDEN’S JOURNAL BOOK.
_July 15, 1816._—I arrived at Litchfield the 3rd of July. I went to
Mrs. Bull’s to board. The next day I went to school in the afternoon,
but I did not learn my lesson. Thursday I arose in the morning very
early, ate breakfast, studied until the bell rang. I went to school,
learned a lesson in Geography in the forenoon, in Grammar in the
afternoon.
[Illustration:
PL. XXIX.—CHART OF ENGLISH HISTORY, BY ELIZA OGDEN
]
Friday I was examined in the Elements of Geography. Saturday I learned
a lesson in Geography, and was examined through the rules of the
school. Sunday I attended Church, heard Mr. Beecher preach. He took
his text in Luke the 3rd Chapter and 7th verse in the forenoon, and in
the afternoon in the 2nd Epistle of the Corinthians, 7th Chapter and
3rd verse. He preached very affecting indeed; he wished to have us all
be good Christians. After meeting I went home, and in the evening went
to Conference. After Conference I went home, went into my room,
thinking of what Mr. Beecher had said. I arose this morning as usual.
I went to school, recited my lesson in Sacred History and went to
writing my Journal and have just finished it.
_July 22, 1816._—Monday, after I read my Journal, I spent the rest of
the afternoon in writing. After school I went home and studied my
lesson for the next day. The next morning I arose, ate breakfast and
studied my lesson until I went to school. I said my lesson very well.
I went to writing. In the afternoon I recited in Grammar and Geography
and did not say them as well as I could wish, but I hope that I shall
do better the next time. Saturday after school I went home and thought
I would take a walk; I concluded to go to Pine Island; part of the
scholars accompanied me. We had a very pleasant walk indeed; we went
almost there and we could not see the water or any thing that pleased
us very much and the girls would go no farther. Coming back it rained
and wet us some. I went to the Post Office expecting to get a letter,
but I was very much disappointed not to find any there; I have not had
any since I came from home. Sunday I went to meeting; we had an
excellent sermon; he preached from Luke. I attended Conference last
evening; we had very good advice; he prayed for us, made a very long
prayer. This morning said my lesson very well. I did not miss.
_July 29, 1816._ Monday morning before I went to school I began to
write my Journal and finished it in the forenoon and read it in the
afternoon. After I went home and attended to the duties of the evening
I retired to my chamber. Tuesday I recited a lesson in Geography in
the forenoon, in Grammar in the afternoon. After I went home Mrs. Bull
mentioned two very sudden deaths, of a young gentleman and a negro,
that were drowned. Wednesday I had my holiday. Thursday I recited my
lessons as usual. Friday there was not any school in the afternoon. I
recited my lesson in Geography in the forenoon. We were examined in
Geography Saturday in the forenoon, I missed a good many times. Sunday
I went to church; heard Mr. Beecher; after I went home I read till it
was dark. This morning I arose as usual, made an apron before I came
to school; after I came to school I recited in History, said my lesson
very well missed only half a quarter.
_Aug 15._ Monday morning I went to school recited my History lesson
and wrote my Journal. Tuesday I recited my lessons as usual; after
school Miss Logan and Miss Ayres came here and drank tea; Miss Logan
informed us that she was going to leave the school this week.
Wednesday went to school in the forenoon; while there Miss Whittlesy
informed me that there was a letter in the Post Office for me. I went
down as soon as school was out and got the letter. They were all well.
My Aunt, who was sick when I left home, was better. In the afternoon
Miss Eliza Camp and Miss Keeler came to make us a visit; after tea
they walked on Prospect Hill. Thursday as usual nothing occurred worth
relating. Friday recited a lesson in Geography; in the afternoon was
examined I missed very little. Saturday after we had answered to the
rules of the school, Mr. Cornelius came. He said many of the scholars
were going away and he wished us if we had any disturbance or any
thing against each other to forgive one another before we parted and
if ever we met again to meet as friends. He said that every year. Four
of Miss Pierces scholars had died and if four should die every year
for twenty years how many would there be left. How necessary it is to
look to the preservation of our souls so that we may all meet in
heaven. After school Miss Butler went to the Post Office....