FRUITLANDS.
MY KINGDOM.
A little kingdom I possess,
Where thoughts and feelings dwell,
And very hard I find the task
Of governing it well;
For passion tempts and troubles me,
A wayward will misleads,
And selfishness its shadow casts
On all my words and deeds.
How can I learn to rule myself,
To be the child I should,
Honest and brave, nor ever tire
Of trying to be good?
How can I keep a sunny soul
To shine along life's way?
How can I tune my little heart
To sweetly sing all day?
Dear Father, help me with the love
That casteth out my fear,
Teach me to lean on thee, and feel
That thou art very near,
That no temptation is unseen,
No childish grief too small,
Since thou, with patience infinite,
Doth soothe and comfort all.
I do not ask for any crown
But that which all may win,
Nor seek to conquer any world
Except the one within.
Be thou my guide until I find,
Led by a tender hand,
Thy happy kingdom in _myself_,
And dare to take command.
In 1842 Mr. Alcott went to England. His mind was very much exercised
at this time with plans for organized social life on a higher plane,
and he found like-minded friends in England who gave him sympathy and
encouragement. He had for some years advocated a strictly vegetarian
diet, to which his family consented from deference to him;
consequently the children never tasted meat till they came to
maturity. On his return from England he was accompanied by friends who
were ready to unite with him in the practical realization of their
social theories. Mr. Lane resided for some months in the Alcott family
at Concord, and gave instruction to the children. Although he does not
appear to have won their hearts, they yet reaped much intellectual
advantage from his lessons, as he was an accomplished scholar.
In 1843 this company of enthusiasts secured a farm in the town of
Harvard, near Concord, which with trusting hope they named Fruitlands.
Mrs. Alcott did not share in all the peculiar ideas of her husband and
his friends, but she was so utterly devoted to him that she was ready
to help him in carrying out his plans, however little they commended
themselves to her better judgment.
She alludes very briefly to the experiment in her diary, for the
experience was too bitter to dwell upon. She could not relieve her
feelings by bringing out the comic side, as her daughter did. Louisa's
account of this colony, as given in her story called "Transcendental
Wild Oats," is very close to the facts; and the mingling of pathos and
humor, the reverence and ridicule with which she alternately treats
the personages and the notions of those engaged in the scheme, make a
rich and delightful tale. It was written many years later, and gives
the picture as she looked back upon it, the absurdities coming out in
strong relief, while she sees also the grand, misty outlines of the
high thoughts so poorly realized. This story was published in the
"Independent," Dec. 8, 1873, and may now be found in her collected
works ("Silver Pitchers," p. 79).
Fortunately we have also her journal written at the time, which shows
what education the experience of this strange life brought to the
child of ten or eleven years old.
The following extract from Mr. Emerson proves that this plan of life
looked fair and pleasing to his eye, although he was never tempted to
join in it. He was evidently not unconscious of the inadequacy of the
means adopted to the end proposed, but he rejoiced in any endeavor
after high ideal life.
JULY, 8, 1843.
_Journal._--The sun and the evening sky do not look calmer than
Alcott and his family at Fruitlands. They seemed to have arrived
at the fact,--to have got rid of the show, and so to be serene.
Their manners and behavior in the house and in the field were
those of superior men,--of men at rest. What had they to conceal?
What had they to exhibit? And it seemed so high an attainment
that I thought--as often before, so now more, because they had a
fit home, or the picture was fitly framed--that these men ought
to be maintained in their place by the country for its culture.
Young men and young maidens, old men and women, should visit them
and be inspired. I think there is as much merit in beautiful
manners as in hard work. I will not prejudge them successful.
They look well in July; we will see them in December. I know they
are better for themselves than as partners. One can easily see
that they have yet to settle several things. Their saying that
things are clear, and they sane, does not make them so. If they
will in very deed be lovers, and not selfish; if they will serve
the town of Harvard, and make their neighbors feel them as
benefactors wherever they touch them,--they are as safe as the
sun.[5]
_Early Diary kept at Fruitlands_, 1843.
_Ten Years Old._
_September 1st._--I rose at five and had my bath. I love cold
water! Then we had our singing-lesson with Mr. Lane. After
breakfast I washed dishes, and ran on the hill till nine, and had
some thoughts,--it was so beautiful up there. Did my
lessons,--wrote and spelt and did sums; and Mr. Lane read a
story, "The Judicious Father": How a rich girl told a poor girl
not to look over the fence at the flowers, and was cross to her
because she was unhappy. The father heard her do it, and made the
girls change clothes. The poor one was glad to do it, and he told
her to keep them. But the rich one was very sad; for she had to
wear the old ones a week, and after that she was good to shabby
girls. I liked it very much, and I shall be kind to poor people.
Father asked us what was God's noblest work. Anna said _men_, but
I said _babies_. Men are often bad; babies never are. We had a
long talk, and I felt better after it, and _cleared up_.
We had bread and fruit for dinner. I read and walked and played
till supper-time. We sung in the evening. As I went to bed the
moon came up very brightly and looked at me. I felt sad because I
have been cross to-day, and did not mind Mother. I cried, and
then I felt better, and said that piece from Mrs. Sigourney, "I
must not tease my mother." I get to sleep saying poetry,--I know
a great deal.
_Thursday, 14th._--Mr. Parker Pillsbury came, and we talked about
the poor slaves. I had a music lesson with Miss F. I hate her,
she is so fussy. I ran in the wind and played be a horse, and had
a lovely time in the woods with Anna and Lizzie. We were fairies,
and made gowns and paper wings. I "flied" the highest of all. In
the evening they talked about travelling. I thought about Father
going to England, and said this piece of poetry I found in
Byron's poems:--
"When I left thy shores, O Naxos,
Not a tear in sorrow fell;
Not a sigh or faltered accent
Told my bosom's struggling swell."
It rained when I went to bed, and made a pretty noise on the
roof.
_Sunday, 24th._--Father and Mr. Lane have gone to N. H. to
preach. It was very lovely.... Anna and I got supper. In the eve
I read "Vicar of Wakefield." I was cross to-day, and I cried when
I went to bed. I made good resolutions, and felt better in my
heart. If I only _kept_ all I make, I should be the best girl in
the world. But I don't, and so am very bad.
[Poor little sinner! _She says the same at fifty._--L. M. A.]
_October 8th._--When I woke up, the first thought I got was,
"It's Mother's birthday: I must be very good." I ran and wished
her a happy birthday, and gave her my kiss. After breakfast we
gave her our presents. I had a moss cross and a piece of poetry
for her.
We did not have any school, and played in the woods and got red
leaves. In the evening we danced and sung, and I read a story
about "Contentment." I wish I was rich, I was good, and we were
all a happy family this day.
_Thursday, 12th._--After lessons I ironed. We all went to the
barn and husked corn. It was good fun. We worked till eight
o'clock and had lamps. Mr. Russell came. Mother and Lizzie are
going to Boston. I shall be very lonely without dear little
Betty, and no one will be as good to me as mother. I read in
Plutarch. I made a verse about sunset:--
Softly doth the sun descend
To his couch behind the hill,
Then, oh, then, I love to sit
On mossy banks beside the rill.
Anna thought it was very fine; but I didn't like it very well.
_Friday, Nov. 2nd._--Anna and I did the work. In the evening Mr.
Lane asked us, "What is man?" These were our answers: A human
being; an animal with a mind; a creature; a body; a soul and a
mind. After a long talk we went to bed very tired.
[No wonder, after doing the work and worrying their little wits
with such lessons.--L. M. A.]
A sample of the vegetarian wafers we used at Fruitlands:--
Vegetable diet
and sweet repose.
Animal food and
nightmare.
Pluck your body
from the orchard;
do not snatch it
from the shamble.
Without flesh diet
there could be no
blood-shedding war.
Apollo eats no
flesh and has no
beard; his voice is
melody itself.
Snuff is no less snuff
though accepted from
a gold box.
_Tuesday, 20th._--I rose at five, and after breakfast washed the
dishes, and then helped mother work. Miss F. is gone, and Anna in
Boston with Cousin Louisa. I took care of Abby (May) in the
afternoon. In the evening I made some pretty things for my dolly.
Father and Mr. L. had a talk, and father asked us if _we_ saw any
reason for us to separate. Mother wanted to, she is so tired. I
like it, but not the school part or Mr. L.
Eleven years old. _Thursday, 29th._--It was Father's and my
birthday. We had some nice presents. We played in the snow before
school. Mother read "Rosamond" when we sewed. Father asked us in
the eve what fault troubled us most. I said my bad temper.
I told mother I liked to have her write in my book. She said she
would put in more, and she wrote this to help me:--
DEAR LOUY,--Your handwriting improves very fast. Take pains and
do not be in a hurry. I like to have you make observations about
our conversations and your own thoughts. It helps you to express
them and to understand your little self. Remember, dear girl,
that a diary should be an epitome of your life. May it be a
record of pure thought and good actions, then you will indeed be
the precious child of your loving mother.
_December 10th._--I did my lessons, and walked in the afternoon.
Father read to us in dear Pilgrim's Progress. Mr. L. was in
Boston, and we were glad. In the eve father and mother and Anna
and I had a long talk. I was very unhappy, and we all cried. Anna
and I cried in bed, and I prayed God to keep us all together.
[Little Lu began early to feel the family cares and peculiar
trials.--L. M. A.]
I liked the verses Christian sung and will put them in:--
"This place has been our second stage,
Here we have heard and seen
Those good things that from age to age
To others hid have been.
"They move me for to watch and pray,
To strive to be sincere,
To take my cross up day by day,
And serve the Lord with fear."
[The appropriateness of the song at this time was much greater
than the child saw. She never forgot this experience, and her
little cross began to grow heavier from this hour.--L. M. A.]
CONCORD, _Sunday_.--We all went into the woods to get moss for
the _arbor_ Father is making for _Mr. Emerson_. I miss Anna so
much. I made two verses for her:--
TO ANNA.
Sister, dear, when you are lonely,
Longing for your distant home,
And the images of loved ones
Warmly to your heart shall come,
Then, mid tender thoughts and fancies,
Let one fond voice say to thee,
"Ever when your heart is heavy,
Anna, dear, then think of me."
Think how we two have together
Journeyed onward day by day,
Joys and sorrows ever sharing,
While the swift years roll away.
Then may all the sunny hours
Of our youth rise up to thee,
And when your heart is light and happy,
Anna, dear, then think of me.
[Poetry began to flow about this time in a thin but copious
stream.--L. M. A.]
_Wednesday._--Read Martin Luther. A long letter from Anna. She
sends me a picture of Jenny Lind, the great singer. She must be a
happy girl. I should like to be famous as she is. Anna is very
happy; and I don't miss her as much as I shall by and by in the
winter.
I wrote in my Imagination Book, and enjoyed it very much. Life is
pleasanter than it used to be, and I don't care about dying any
more. Had a splendid run, and got a box of cones to burn. Sat and
heard the pines sing a long time. Read Miss Bremer's "Home" in
the eve. Had good dreams, and woke now and then to think, and
watch the moon. I had a pleasant time with my mind, for it was
happy.
[Moods began early.--L. M. A.]
_January, 1845, Friday._--Did my lessons, and in the P.M. mother
read "Kenilworth" to us while we sewed. It is splendid! I got
angry and called Anna mean. Father told me to look out the word
in the Dic., and it meant "base," "contemptible." I was so
ashamed to have called my dear sister that, and I cried over my
bad tongue and temper.
We have had a lovely day. All the trees were covered with ice,
and it shone like diamonds or fairy palaces. I made a piece of
poetry about winter:--
The stormy winter's come at last,
With snow and rain and bitter blast;
Ponds and brooks are frozen o'er,
We cannot sail there any more.
The little birds are flown away
To warmer climes than ours;
They'll come no more till gentle May
Calls them back with flowers.
Oh, then the darling birds will sing
From their neat nests in the trees.
All creatures wake to welcome Spring,
And flowers dance in the breeze.
With patience wait till winter is o'er,
And all lovely things return;
Of every season try the more
Some knowledge or virtue to learn.
[A moral is tacked on even to the early poems.--L. M. A.]
I read "Philothea,"[6] by Mrs. Child. I found this that I liked
in it. Plato said:--
"When I hear a note of music I can at once strike its chord. Even
as surely is there everlasting harmony between the soul of man
and the invisible forms of creation. If there were no innocent
hearts there would be no white lilies.... I often think flowers
are the angel's alphabet whereby they write on hills and fields
mysterious and beautiful lessons for us to feel and learn."
[Well done, twelve-year-old! Plato, the father's delight, had a
charm for the little girl also.--L. M. A.]
_Wednesday._--I am so cross I wish I had never been born.
_Thursday._--Read the "Heart of Mid-Lothian," and had a very
happy day. Miss Ford gave us a botany lesson in the woods. I am
always good there. In the evening Miss Ford told us about the
bones in our bodies, and how they get out of order. I must be
careful of mine, I climb and jump and run so much.
I found this note from dear mother in my journal:--
MY DEAREST LOUY,--I often peep into your diary, hoping to see
some record of more happy days. "Hope, and keep busy," dear
daughter, and in all perplexity or trouble come freely to your
MOTHER.
DEAR MOTHER,--You _shall_ see more happy days, and I _will_ come
to you with my worries, for you are the best woman in the world.
L. M. A.
_A Sample of our Lessons._
"What virtues do you wish more of?" asks Mr. L.
I answer:--
Patience,
Obedience,
Industry,
Love,
Generosity,
Respect,
Silence,
Perseverance,
Self-denial.
"What vices less of?"
Idleness,
Impatience,
Selfishness,
Wilfulness,
Impudence,
Activity,
Vanity,
Pride,
Love of cats.
MR. L. L.
SOCRATES. ALCIBIADES.
How can you get what you need? By trying.
How do you try? By resolution and perseverance.
How gain love? By gentleness.
What is gentleness? Kindness, patience, and care for other
people's feelings.
Who has it? Father and Anna.
Who means to have it? Louisa, if she can.
[She never got it.--L. M. A.]
Write a sentence about anything. "I hope it will rain; the garden
needs it."
What are the elements of _hope_? Expectation, desire, faith.
What are the elements in _wish_? Desire.
What is the difference between faith and hope? "Faith can believe
without seeing; hope is not sure, but tries to have faith when it
desires."
No. 3.
What are the most valuable kinds of self-denial? Appetite,
temper.
How is self-denial of temper known? If I control my temper, I am
respectful and gentle, and every one sees it.
What is the result of this self-denial? Every one loves me, and I
am happy.
Why use self-denial? For the good of myself and others.
How shall we learn this self-denial? By resolving, and then
trying _hard._
What then do you mean to do? To resolve and try.
[Here the record of these lessons ends, and poor little
Alcibiades went to work and tried till fifty, but without any
very great success, in spite of all the help Socrates and Plato
gave her.--L. M. A.]
_Tuesday._--More people coming to live with us; I wish we could
be together, and no one else. I don't see who is to clothe and
feed us all, when we are so poor now. I was very dismal, and then
went to walk and made a poem.
DESPONDENCY.
Silent and sad,
When all are glad,
And the earth is dressed in flowers;
When the gay birds sing
Till the forests ring,
As they rest in woodland bowers.
Oh, why these tears,
And these idle fears
For what may come to-morrow?
The birds find food
From God so good,
And the flowers know no sorrow.
If He clothes these
And the leafy trees,
Will He not cherish thee?
Why doubt His care;
It is everywhere,
Though the way we may not see.
Then why be sad
When all are glad,
And the world is full of flowers?
With the gay birds sing,
Make life all Spring,
And smile through the darkest hours.
Louisa Alcott grew up so naturally in a healthy religious atmosphere
that she breathed and worked in it without analysis or question. She
had not suffered from ecclesiastical tyranny or sectarian bigotry,
and needed not to expend any time or strength in combating them. She
does not appear to have suffered from doubt or questioning, but to
have gone on her way fighting all the real evils that were presented
to her, trusting in a sure power of right, and confident of victory.
CONCORD, _Thursday._--I had an early run in the woods before the
dew was off the grass. The moss was like velvet, and as I ran
under the arches of yellow and red leaves I sang for joy, my
heart was so bright and the world so beautiful. I stopped at the
end of the walk and saw the sunshine out over the wide "Virginia
meadows."
It seemed like going through a dark life or grave into heaven
beyond. A very strange and solemn feeling came over me as I stood
there, with no sound but the rustle of the pines, no one near me,
and the sun so glorious, as for me alone. It seemed as if I
_felt_ God as I never did before, and I prayed in my heart that I
might keep that happy sense of nearness all my life.
[I have, for I most sincerely think that the little girl "got
religion" that day in the wood when dear mother Nature led her to
God.--L. M. A., 1885.]
One of Louisa's strongest desires at this time was for a room of her
own, where she might have the solitude she craved to dream her dreams
and work out her fancies. These sweet little notes and an extract from
her journal show how this desire was felt and gratified.
DEAREST MOTHER,--I have tried to be more contented, and I think I
have been more so. I have been thinking about my little room,
which I suppose I never shall have. I should want to be there
about all the time, and I should go there and sing and think.
But I'll be contented
With what I have got;
Of folly repented,
Then sweet is my lot.
From your trying daughter,
LOUY.
MY DEAR LOUISA,--Your note gave me so much delight that I cannot
close my eyes without first thanking you, dear, for making me so
happy, and blessing God who gave you this tender love for your
mother.
I have observed all day your patience with baby, your obedience
to me, and your kindness to all.
Go on "trying," my child; God will give you strength and courage,
and help you fill each day with words and deeds of love. I shall
lay this on your pillow, put a warm kiss on your lips, and say a
little prayer over you in your sleep.
MOTHER.
MY LOUY,--I was grieved at your selfish behavior this morning,
but also greatly pleased to find you bore so meekly Father's
reproof for it. That is the way, dear; if you find you are wrong,
take the discipline sweetly, and do so no more. It is not to be
expected that children should always do right; but oh, how lovely
to see a child penitent and patient when the passion is over.
I thought a little prayer as I looked at you, and said in my
heart, "Dear God, sustain my child in this moment of trial, that
no hasty word, no cruel look, no angry action may add to her
fault." And you were helped. I know that you will have a happy
day after the storm and the gentle shower; keep quiet, read,
walk, but do not talk much till all is peace again.
MOTHER.
HILLSIDE, CONCORD.
DEAR,--I am glad you put your heart in the right place; for I am
sure all true strength comes from above. Continue to feel that
God is _near_ you, dear child, and He never will forsake you in a
weak moment. Write me always when you feel that I can help you;
for, though God is near, Mother never forgets you, and your
refuge is her arms.
Patience, dear, will give us content, if nothing else. Be assured
the little room you long for will come, if it is necessary to
your peace and well-being. Till then try to be happy with the
good things you have. They are many,--more perhaps than we
deserve, after our frequent complaints and discontent.
Be cheerful, my Louy, and all will be gayer for your laugh, and
all good and lovely things will be given to you when you deserve
them.
I am a busy woman, but never can forget the calls of my children.
MOTHER.
DEAREST,--I am sure you have lived very near to God _to-day_, you
have been so good and happy. Let each day be like this, and life
will become a sweet song for you and all who love you,--none so
much as your
MOTHER.
_Thirteen Years Old._
HILLSIDE.
_March, 1846._--I have at last got the little room I have wanted
so long, and am very happy about it. It does me good to be
alone, and Mother has made it very pretty and neat for me. My
work-basket and desk are by the window, and my closet is full of
dried herbs that smell very nice. The door that opens into the
garden will be very pretty in summer, and I can run off to the
woods when I like.
I have made a plan for my life, as I am in my teens and no more a
child. I am old for my age, and don't care much for girl's
things. People think I'm wild and queer; but Mother understands
and helps me. I have not told any one about my plan; but I'm
going to _be_ good. I've made so many resolutions, and written
sad notes, and cried over my sins, and it doesn't seem to do any
good! Now I'm going to _work really_, for I feel a true desire to
improve, and be a help and comfort, not a care and sorrow, to my
dear mother.
_Fifteen Years Old._
_Sunday, Oct. 9, 1847._--I have been reading to-day Bettine's
correspondence with Goethe.
She calls herself a child, and writes about the lovely things she
saw and heard, and felt and did. I liked it much.
[First taste of Goethe. Three years later R. W. E. gave me
"Wilhelm Meister," and from that day Goethe has been my chief
idol.--L. M. A., 1885.]
The experiment at Fruitlands was (outwardly) an utter failure, and had
exhausted Mr. Alcott's resources of mind, body, and estate. Louisa has
not exaggerated the collapse which followed. But the brave, loving
mother could not give way to despondency, for she had her young to
care for. After a few days Mr. Alcott rose from his despair, and
listened to her counsel. They lived a short time at Still River, and
then returned to Concord; but not to the happy little cottage.
Mr. Alcott sought such work as he could find to do with his hands; but
it was scanty and insufficient. Mrs. Alcott subdued her proud heart to
the necessity of seeking help from friends. They had a few rooms in
the house of a kind neighbor, who welcomed them to her house, in
addition to her own large family; and there they struggled with the
poverty which Louisa for the first time fully realized.
Yet her journal says little of the hardships they endured, but is full
of her mental and moral struggles. It was characteristic of this
family that they never were conquered by their surroundings. Mr.
Alcott might retire into sad and silent musing, Mrs. Alcott's warm,
quick temper, might burst out into flame, the children might be
quarrelsome or noisy; but their ideal of life always remained high,
fresh, and ennobling. Their souls always "knew their destiny divine,"
and believed that they would find fitting expression in life some
time. "Chill penury" could not repress "their noble rage," nor freeze
"the genial current" of their souls.
The children escaped from the privations of daily life into a world of
romance, and in the plays in the old barn revelled in luxury and
splendor. This dramatic tendency was very strong in Louisa, and she
never outgrew it. It took various shapes and colors, and at one time
threatened to dominate her life.
The education of the children was certainly desultory and
insufficient; but it was inspiring, and brought out their powers. They
learned to feel and to think justly, and to express their thoughts and
feelings freely and forcibly, if they did not know well the rules of
grammar and rhetoric. Mr. Alcott always loved the study of language,
and became a master of it; while Mrs. Alcott had a rich and
well-chosen vocabulary, gained from the intelligent companions of her
youth and the best literature, which she read freely. Mr. Alcott made
great use of the study of language in his teaching, and often employed
the definition of a word to convey a lesson or a rebuke. The children
were encouraged, and even required, to keep their journals regularly,
and to write letters. Their efforts at poetry or the drama were not
laughed at, but treasured by their parents as indications of progress.
Mr. Alcott's records of his own theory and practice in the education
of children are full of valuable suggestion, and much yet remains
buried in his journals. The girls had full freedom to act out their
natures, with little fear of ridicule or criticism. An innate sense of
dignity and modesty kept them from abusing this liberty; and perhaps
nowhere in the world could it have been more safely indulged than in
the simple life of Concord, whose very atmosphere seemed then filled
with a spiritual presence which made life free, pure, and serene.
Louisa gives this interesting anecdote of their life at that time:--
People wondered at our frolics, but enjoyed them, and droll
stories are still told of the adventures of those days. Mr.
Emerson and Margaret Fuller were visiting my parents one
afternoon, and the conversation having turned to the ever
interesting subject of education, Miss Fuller said:--
"Well, Mr. Alcott, you have been able to carry out your methods
in your own family, and I should like to see your model
children."
She did in a few moments, for as the guests stood on the
door-steps a wild uproar approached, and round the corner of the
house came a wheelbarrow holding baby May arrayed as a queen; I
was the horse, bitted and bridled, and driven by my elder sister
Anna; while Lizzie played dog, and barked as loud as her gentle
voice permitted.
All were shouting and wild with fun, which, however, came to a
sudden end as we espied the stately group before us; for my foot
tripped, and down we all went in a laughing heap; while my mother
put a climax to the joke by saying, with a dramatic wave of the
hand,--
"Here are the model children, Miss Fuller."
They were undoubtedly very satisfactory to Miss Fuller, who partook
largely of the educational views of that time, and who loved to tell
anecdotes of this family. One of the sisters writes in her diary: "She
_said_ prayers; but I think my resolutions to be good are prayers."
In 1841 Colonel May, Mrs. Alcott's father, died and left her a small
amount of property. Mrs. Alcott decided to purchase with this a house
in Concord, and the addition of five hundred dollars from Mr. Emerson,
who was always the good Providence of the family, enabled her in 1845
to buy the place in Concord known as Hillside. This house is on the
road to Lexington, about one third of a mile from Mr. Emerson's home.
It was afterward occupied by Mr. Hawthorne.
In this house the girlish life of Louisa was passed, which she has
represented so fully in "Little Women," and of which she speaks in her
journal as the happiest time of her life. Yet she was not unmindful of
the anxiety of her parents; and the determined purpose to retrieve the
fortunes of the family and to give to her mother the comfort and ease
which she had never known in her married life became the constant
motive of her conduct. It is in the light of this purpose alone that
her character and her subsequent career can be fully understood. She
naturally thought of teaching as her work, and had for a short time a
little school in the barn for Mr. Emerson's children and others.
It was indeed a great comfort to be sure of the house over their
heads, but there were still six mouths to be fed, six bodies to be
clothed, and four young, eager minds to be educated. Concord offered
very little opportunity for such work as either Mr. or Mrs. Alcott
could do, and at last even the mother's brave heart broke down. She
was painfully anxious about the support of her household. A friend
passing through Concord called upon her, and Mrs. Alcott could not
hide the traces of tears on her face. "Abby Alcott, what does this
mean?" said the visitor, with determined kindness. The poor mother
opened her heart to her friend, and told the story of their privations
and sufferings.
"Come to Boston, and I will find you employment," said the friend.
The family removed to Boston in 1848, and Mrs. Alcott became a visitor
to the poor in the employ of one or more benevolent societies, and
finally kept an intelligence office. Her whole heart went into her
work; and the children, as well as the mother, learned many valuable
lessons from it. Her reports of her work are said to have been very
interesting, and full of valuable suggestion.
Mr. Alcott began to hold conversations in West Street. He attracted a
small circle of thoughtful men and women about him, who delighted in
the height of his aspirations and the originality of his thoughts. It
was congenial occupation for him, and thus added to the happiness of
the family, though very little to its pecuniary resources. His price
of admission was small, and he freely invited any one who would enjoy
the meetings although unable to pay for them. He was a great and
helpful influence to young minds. Besides the morally pure and
spiritually elevated atmosphere of thought to which they were
introduced by him, they found a great intellectual advantage in the
acquaintance with ancient poets and philosophers, into whose life he
had entered sympathetically. His peculiar theories of temperament and
diet never failed to call out discussion and opposition. One of my
earliest recollections of Louisa is on one of these occasions, when he
was emphasizing his doctrine that a vegetable diet would produce
unruffled sweetness of temper and disposition. I heard a voice behind
me saying to her neighbor: "I don't know about that. I've never eaten
any meat, and I'm awful cross and irritable very often."
On her fourteenth birthday her mother wrote her the following poem,
with a present of a pen. It was a prophetic gift, and well used by the
receiver.
Oh, may this pen your muse inspire,
When wrapt in pure poetic fire,
To write some sweet, some thrilling verse;
A song of love or sorrow's lay,
Or duty's clear but tedious way
In brighter hope rehearse.
Oh, let your strain be soft and high,
Of crosses here, of crowns beyond the sky;
Truth guide your pen, inspire your theme,
And from each note joy's music stream.
[Original, I think. I have tried to obey.--L. M. A., 1885.]
In a sketch written for a friend, Louisa gives this account of the
parents' influence on the children:--
When cautious friends asked mother how she dared to have such
outcasts among her girls, she always answered, with an expression
of confidence which did much to keep us safe, "I can trust my
daughters, and this is the best way to teach them how to shun
these sins and comfort these sorrows. They cannot escape the
knowledge of them; better gain this under their father's roof and
their mother's care, and so be protected by these experiences
when their turn comes to face the world and its temptations."
Once we carried our breakfast to a starving family; once lent our
whole dinner to a neighbor suddenly taken unprepared by
distinguished guests. Another time, one snowy Saturday night,
when our wood was very low, a poor child came to beg a little, as
the baby was sick and the father on a spree with all his wages.
My mother hesitated at first, as we also had a baby. Very cold
weather was upon us, and a Sunday to be got through before more
wood could be had. My father said, "Give half our stock, and
trust in Providence; the weather will moderate, or wood will
come." Mother laughed, and answered in her cheery way, "Well,
their need is greater than ours, and if our half gives out we can
go to bed and tell stories." So a generous half went to the poor
neighbor, and a little later in the eve, while the storm still
raged and we were about to cover our fire to keep it, a knock
came, and a farmer who usually supplied us appeared, saying
anxiously, "I started for Boston with a load of wood, but it
drifts so I want to go home. Wouldn't you like to have me drop
the wood here; it would accommodate me, and you needn't hurry
about paying for it." "Yes," said Father; and as the man went off
he turned to Mother with a look that much impressed us children
with his gifts as a seer, "Didn't I tell you wood would come if
the weather did not moderate?" Mother's motto was "Hope, and keep
busy," and one of her sayings, "Cast your bread upon the waters,
and after many days it will come back buttered."
FOOTNOTES:
[5] Emerson in Concord. By Edward Waldo Emerson.
[6] "Philothea" was the delight of girls. The young Alcotts made a
dramatic version of it, which they acted under the trees. Louisa made
a magnificent Aspasia, which was a part much to her fancy. Mrs. Child
was a very dear friend of Mrs. Alcott, and her daughters knew her
well.