Story-telling--Mr. Greeley's Father--His Personal Appearance--His
Education--A Fine Voice--Mr. Greeley's Mother--A Handsome Woman--How
she is remembered in Vermont--Field Labor--Bankruptcy--A Journey to
Vermont--School Days--The Boy Horace--How he entertained his
Playmates--His First Ball--Separation from his Family.
_June 25_.
"What a delightful evening for story-telling!" said Gabrielle, as she
listened to the heavy rain-drops falling upon the leaves of the old
apple-tree; "will you not give us one, Aunt Esther?"
"Yes," said Ida and Marguerite, drawing their chairs closer to mamma's
sofa. "Do tell us about yourself when you were a young girl, and about
grandpapa and grandmamma!"
"Ah," said mamma, with a sigh, "you children have never known my dear
parents!"
Marguerite was the only one of the young quartette who remembered
having seen grandpapa, and her recollections of him were confused with
memories of people in Europe, where our childhood was spent.
"How did he look when you were a little girl, mamma?" I inquired. "I
think he is quite imposing in your little picture taken the year before
he died, and he must have been very handsome when he was young."
"He was not only handsome: he was an unusual man," said mamma,
decidedly. "No biographer, in speaking of our family, has ever
estimated him correctly, and even dear brother himself does not give
sufficient importance to father's fine character and mental qualities;
but you know that he left home when a boy of fifteen, and after that
time he only saw father at long intervals.
"You remember, Cecilia, that all the foreign sketches you have ever
read of brother, announce that his parents were 'common peasants,'
while many American writers, although they do not use the word
'peasant,' convey a similar impression. Father was by no means a
common man, for to be 'common' one must be vulgar or ignorant, and
father was neither. He was not uneducated, although his schooling was
very slight; but he was a good reader, was very skilful in arithmetic,
and wrote an excellent hand--an accomplishment for which our family are
not celebrated--beside possessing a hoard of self-acquired information
upon different subjects. During the long winter evenings in our lonely
Pennsylvania home, he taught us younger children arithmetic, and was
very fond of giving us long sums to puzzle out. I have often, heard
him say to brother Barnes,
"'You must store your mind with useful knowledge, that when you go out
into the world you will have something to talk about as well as other
people.'
"A poor farmer in those days did not have much opportunity to acquire
accomplishments, as you may well imagine; but father possessed one
talent that, if properly directed, might have made his fortune and
ours. I have never yet heard a natural voice that excelled your
grandfather's; a high, clear, powerful tenor, with unsurpassed strength
of lungs, which, added to his handsome presence, would have made him
one of the finest singers that has yet trodden the boards. Of course
his voice was uncultivated, with the exception of the slight training
of country singing-classes, and the songs that he knew were simple
ballads; but his memory was very retentive, and his singing was in
great demand when company was present. At husking-parties and
apple-bees, when supper was over and the young people wished to dance,
if no fiddler was present, father would be petitioned to sing. I have
often known him to sing country dances for hours, and he sung so
heartily, and marked the time so well, that the young people enjoyed
the dancing as much as if the music had been furnished by the most
skilful violinist.
"I told you that father was a handsome man. He had large blue eyes,
soft, silky, brown curls clustering around a magnificent brow, a set
color in his cheeks, and a hand that the hardest field labor could not
deprive of its beauty--long, tapering fingers, and pointed nails, such
as novelists love to describe, but in real life are rarely seen outside
of the most aristocratic families. His teeth were small, white and
even, and at the time of his death, when eighty-seven years old, he had
only lost one. His figure, though less than six feet, gave the
impression of a much taller man; for he was slenderly built without
being thin, and his carriage was almost military. To this fine
presence was added an air of dignity and almost _hauteur_, that was
very unusual in a poor farmer. But father was proud to an unparalleled
degree. Indeed, it was his pride that caused him to plunge into the
wild forests of Pennsylvania. His haughty nature could not bear the
life of subordination that he led in Vermont, where he did not own an
acre of land, and was obliged to work under the orders of others, often
far inferior to him, and where he fancied the story of his flight from
New Hampshire was known to every one. Smarting with mortification, he
toiled until he could save a few hundred dollars to buy some acres in
the wilderness, far from all his former associates, and there he buried
himself with my dear mother and their five little children. But these
morose feelings were somewhat subdued as the years rolled on.
"With his children he was affectionate, but, like an old-school father,
very distant. He never struck one of us in his life--a glance being
sufficient to enforce obedience, or subdue the wildest spirits. He was
always as particular about the etiquette of the table as though we were
served by footmen in livery; and in our poorest days, when cups and
saucers were scant and spoons still more so, we were obliged to observe
the utmost decorum till we were helped; and any laughing or chatter
among the younger ones was immediately quelled by the emphatic descent
of father's fork upon the coverless table, with the words, 'Children,
silence!'
"Father was highly respected by our neighbors in Pennsylvania, and was
often urged to accept some county office. However, he always declined."
"Do you think, mamma," said Marguerite, "that grandmamma was as
handsome as grandpapa?"
A pause of a moment or two.
"They were very different," was her reply. "Mother had neither
father's brilliant face, nor his imposing presence, but she was a very
handsome woman. She had soft blue eyes, a perfectly straight nose, a
mouth rather large, perhaps, for beauty, but full of character, brown
hair tinged with red, and a transparent, though not pallid complexion.
If you wish more minute details, look at your uncle's picture. No man
ever resembled a woman more strikingly than he did our dear mother."
"In a recently published life of uncle," said I, "the author speaks of
grandmamma as often working in the fields, and describes her as large
and muscular, and possessing the strength of a man. Is not that an
exaggeration?"
"Mother was above medium height," was mamma's reply, "but her figure
was slender, with small and well-shaped hands and feet. It was her
pride that water could flow under the arch of her instep; and her
fingers, notwithstanding the hard toil of daily life, remained so
flexible, that, when fifty years old, she could still bend them
_backwards_ to form a drinking-cup."
"Let me tell you, Aunt Esther," interposed Ida, "how grandmamma is
remembered in Vermont. When Gabrielle and I were quite small children,
we went there on a visit, and papa took us to see some old lady (whose
name I have forgotten) residing in Westhaven. This lady had known
grandmamma very well, and, after contemplating Gabrielle and I for some
time, remarked curtly, 'Neither of you children are as handsome as your
grandmother was.'"
This uncomplimentary remark caused us all to laugh heartily. Mamma
then resumed her story.
"As for field labor, your grandmother may, while we were in New
Hampshire, have sometimes assisted father for a day or two during the
pressure of haying or harvesting time; but never, since I was old
enough to observe, can I recollect seeing her work in the fields.
Certainly mother was not a woman to hesitate to do cheerfully whatever
necessity required. But she had quite enough to occupy herself at home
with the entire duties of a house, with the spinning, weaving, and
making up of all the linen and woollen cloth that the household used;
and the care and early instruction of her little ones--for it was her
pride that all of her children learned to read before going to school.
I remember that when I was first sent to school, at the age of four,
the teacher, with a glance at my tiny figure (for I was a small,
delicate child), called me up to read to her, and opened the book at
the alphabet. Deeply injured, I informed her that I knew my letters,
and could read over in 'An old man found a rude boy in one of his
apple-trees,'--a fable that all familiar with Webster's Spelling-book
will remember.
"My first distinct recollection of mother is in the dark days in New
Hampshire. Father, as you know, had lost everything that he possessed,
and was obliged to fly into the next State to escape imprisonment for
debt. After he left, his furniture was attached and sold. I remember
seeing strange, rough men in the house, who pulled open all the trunks
and chests of drawers, and tossed about the beautiful bed and table
linen that mother had wrought before her marriage. Another picture,
too, is impressed indelibly upon my mind--how mother followed the
sheriff and his men about from room to room with the tears rolling down
her face, while brother Horace, then a little white-haired boy, nine
years old, held her hand and tried to comfort her, telling her not to
cry--he would take care of her.
"But mother, although humiliated and heart-sore at the poverty and
disgrace that lay before her so early in her married life, was not a
woman to fold her hands and think sadly of what
"'--might have been.'
She wiped away her tears, and her busy fingers were soon preparing warm
hoods and dresses to protect her little ones from the bitter cold
during the journey that lay before us, for in the course of two or
three months father had by hard toil earned money sufficient to send
for us. I remember very well that journey over the mountains covered
with snow into the State of Vermont, and our establishment in what was
called the 'small house by the ledge' in the little neighborhood of
houses clustering on and about the old Minot estate.
"You children, accustomed as you have been from your infancy to the
attractive text-books of the present day, would quite scorn the system
of instruction at the school I attended in Westhaven. I went there
three winters, but although I soon rose to the first class in reading
and spelling, in which branches I was unusually precocious, my
education was confined entirely to those two departments of learning.
Few text-books were then used in the school, for the parents of the
children were generally too poor to pay for many, and the musty old
Grammar and Arithmetic were kept in reserve for the older scholars. On
account of my youth the teacher did not advance me, and I went again
and again through the old Spelling-book, and learnt by heart what was
called the 'fore part of the book'--some dry rules of orthography,
which never conveyed the slightest idea to my mind, although I repeated
them, parrot-like, without missing a word, and which the teacher never
thought of explaining to me. From the spelling-book I was in time
promoted to the New Testament (not as easy reading as might have been
selected, by the way). This was followed by the American Preceptor,
and subsequently by Murray's 'English Reader,' a work reserved for the
most advanced scholars.
"My brothers did not go to school during the summer months, for their
services were then required to assist father in his work; and I, too,
had to leave school every day at eleven o'clock to carry their dinner
to them at the place, a mile and a half distant, where they were
clearing a portion of the Minot estate.
"When brother Horace was thirteen years old he was taken out of school,
as the teacher could instruct him no longer. I was kept at home also,
and brother taught me, giving me lessons in arithmetic and penmanship,
which studies had been prohibited me at school. Here commenced a most
tender attachment and sympathy between brother and I. As there were
two children--Barnes and sister Arminda--between us, our difference of
years had hitherto kept us somewhat apart; but after brother had been
for several months my instructor we were from that time the nearest in
heart in our large household.
"I think that mother must have entirely regained her spirits during the
four years that we lived in Vermont, for I remember that men, women,
and children alike delighted in her society, and our house was the
centre of the little neighborhood. We resided very near the
school-house, and rarely did a morning pass without a visit from some
of the girls, to have a few words of greeting from mother on their way
to their lessons. When recess time came, they would arrive in numbers
to spend the time with her, and beg for a song or a story from the
inexhaustible supply with which her memory was stored, and there they
would remain, fascinated by her sweet, low voice until she would be
obliged to playfully chase them out of the house to compel them to
return to school. From the teacher, for tardiness, punishment was a
very frequent occurrence, but it made slight impression upon the girls
in comparison with the enjoyment of listening to one of mother's
thrilling or romantic stories, for the following day they would return
to our house to again risk the penalty.
"I told you that brother taught me after we were taken out of school.
He was the gentlest and kindest of instructors, and was always ready to
lay down his own book to help me out of any difficulty that my lesson
presented, although it was by no means easy to make him close his book
under other circumstances; such as the solicitations of his young
friends to join them in a game.
"I have described father to you as a stern man in his every-day
intercourse with us, but although his motto was 'Work,' he was always
willing to grant us a holiday or a play-hour, when he thought we had
earned it. He would relax his dignity, too, somewhat when young people
came to pass the evening with us; would encourage us to play games and
dance, and would often join us; for, although he never played cards
himself, nor would he allow them to be played in his house, he himself
taught us how to dance.
"When our young friends came to see us, there was much rejoicing from
brother Barnes, who was full of life and spirits, and always ready to
play, and from Arminda and myself; but brother Horace, not at all
allured by blind-man's-buff or a dance, would retire to a corner with a
pine knot (for in those days candles were few), preferring the
companionship of his book to our merry games. Coaxing was all in vain:
the only means of inducing him to join us was to snatch away his book
and hide it; but even then he preferred to gather us quietly about him
and tell us stories. I remember that before he left home he had
related to us, among other things, the thousand and one stories of the
'Arabian Nights,' and 'Robinson Crusoe.' This gift of story-telling he
inherited from mother, whose talent in that line certainly equalled
that of the beautiful Sultana Scheherazade herself. At this time,
although I had never seen a copy of Shakespeare, I was familiar with
the names and plots of all his imaginative, and many of his historical
plays, which mother would relate to us in her own words, embellished
now and then with bits of the original verse, as she sat at her
spinning-wheel, or busied herself about the household work.
"It was, I think, at this same time--our last year in Vermont--that a
large ball, for young people only, was given in our neighborhood. Much
speculation was excited among our young friends as to whether Horace
would dance at this ball, and especially if he would fetch a partner
with him. It was the general opinion that he would not, as he did not
bear a high reputation for gallantry. Great, then, was the
astonishment of all present when Horace entered the ballroom with Anne
Bush, the prettiest girl in the neighborhood, upon his arm. He opened
the ball with her, and his deportment quite silenced those who had
questioned his appearance.
"Before long, preparations for another journey were in progress.
Father had earned money sufficient to buy some land, and I heard that
we were going to Pennsylvania. I was, however, too young to be much
impressed by this news, and it was not until I saw mother once more in
tears that its importance was apparent to me. This time mother wept as
bitterly as before, for not only was she to be separated by a greater
distance from her family in New Hampshire, to whom she was fondly
attached, and from the pleasant circle of friends she had made in
Westhaven, but her darling among us children, her beautiful eldest boy,
of whom she was so proud, was to be left in Vermont."