III
July 16.
My school-days are over! I have come off with flying colors, and
mother is pleased at my success. I said to her to-day that I should
now have time to draw and practice to my heart's content.
"You will not find your heart content with either," she said.
"Why, mother!" I cried, "I thought you liked to see me happy!"
"And so I do," she said, quietly. "But there is something better to
get out of life than you have yet found."
"I am sure I hope so," I returned. "On the whole, I haven't got much
so far."
Amelia is now on such terms with Jenny Underhill that I can hardly
see one without seeing the other. After the way in which I have loved
her, this seems rather hard. Sometimes I am angry about it, and
sometimes grieved. However, I find Jenny quite nice. She buys all the
new books and lends them to me. I wish I liked more solid reading;
but I don't. And I wish I were not so fond of novels; but I am. If it
were not for mother I should read nothing else. And I am sure I often
feel quite stirred up by a really good novel, and admire and want to
imitate every high-minded, noble character it describes.
Jenny has a miniature of her brother "Charley" in a locket, which she
always wears, and often shows me. According to her, he is exactly
like the heroes I most admire in books. She says she knows he would
like me if we should meet. But that is not probable. Very few like
me. Amelia says it is because I say just what I think.
Wednesday.-Mother pointed out to me this evening two lines from a
book she was reading, with a significant smile that said they
described me:
"A frank, unchastened, generous creature, Whose faults and virtues
stand in bold relief."
"Dear me!" I said, "so then I have some virtues after all!"
And I really think I must have, for Jenny's brother, who has come
here for the sake of being near her, seems to like me very much.
Nobody ever liked me so much before, not even Amelia. But how foolish
to write that down!
Thursday.-Jenny's brother has been here all evening. He has the most
perfect manners I ever saw. I am sure that mother, who thinks so much
of such things, would be charmed with him but she happened to be out,
Mrs. Jones having sent for her to see about her baby. He gave me an
account of his mother's death, and how he and Jenny nursed her day
and night. He has a great deal of feeling. I was going to tell him
about my father's death, sorrow seems to bring people together so,
but I could not. Oh, if he had only had a sickness that needed our
tender nursing, instead of being snatched from us in that sudden way!
Sunday, Aug. 5.-Jenny's brother has been at our church all day. He
walked home with me this afternoon. Mother, after being up all night
with Mrs. Jones and her baby, was not able to go out.
Dr. Cabot preaches as if we had all got to die pretty soon, or else
have something almost as bad happen to us. How can old people always
try to make young people feel uncomfortable, and as if things
couldn't last?
Aug. 25.-Jenny says her brother is perfectly fascinated with me, and
that I must try to like him in return. I suppose mother would say my
head was turned by my good fortune, but it is not. I am getting quite
sober and serious. It is a great thing to be--to be--well--liked. I
have seen some verses of his composition to-day that show that he is
all heart and soul, and would make any sacrifice for one he loved. I
could not like a man who did not possess such sentiments as his.
Perhaps mother would think I ought not to put such things into my
journal.
Jenny has thought of such a splendid plan! What a dear little thing
she is! She and her brother are so much alike! The plan is for us
three girls, Jenny, Amelia and myself, to form ourselves into a
little class to read and to study together. She says "Charley" will
direct our readings and help us with our studies. It is perfectly
delightful.
September 1.-Somehow I forgot to tell mother that Mr. Underhill was
to be our teacher. So when it came my turn to have the class meet
here, she was not quite pleased. I told her she could stay and watch
us, and then she would see for herself that we all behaved ourselves.
Sept. 19.-The class met at Amelia's to-night. Mother insisted on
sending for me, though Mr. Underhill had proposed to see me home
himself. So he stayed after I left. It was not quite the thing in
him, for he must see that Amelia is absolutely crazy about him.
Sept. 28.-We met at Jenny's this evening. Amelia had a bad headache
and could not come. Jenny idled over her lessons, and at last took a
book and began to read. I studied awhile with Mr. Underhill. At last
he said, scribbling something on a bit of paper:
"Here is a sentence I hope you can translate."
I took it, and read these words:
"You are the brightest, prettiest, most warm-hearted little thing in
the world. And I love you more than tongue can tell. You must love me
in the same way."
I felt hot and then cold, and then glad and then sorry. But I
pretended to laugh, and said I could not translate Greek. I shall
have to tell mother, and what will she say?
Sept. 29.-This morning mother began thus:
"Kate, I do not like these lessons of yours. At your age, with your
judgment quite unformed, it is not proper that you should spend so
much time with a young man.
"Jenny is always there, and Amelia," I replied.
"That makes no difference. I wish the whole thing stopped. I do not
know what I have been thinking of to let it go on so long. Mrs.
Gordon says--"
"Mrs. Gordon! Ha!" I burst out, "I knew Amelia was at the bottom of
it! Amelia is in love with him up to her very ears, and because he
does not entirely neglect me, she has put her mother up to coming
here, meddling and making--"
"If what you say of Amelia is true, it is most ungenerous in you to
tell of it. But I do not believe it. Amelia Gordon has too much good
sense to be carried away by a handsome face and agreeable manners."
I began to cry.
"He likes me," I got out, "he likes me ever so much. Nobody ever was
so kind to me before. Nobody ever said such nice things to me. And I
don't want such horrid things said about him."
"Has it really come this!" said mother, quite shocked. "Oh, my poor
child, how my selfish sorrow has made me neglect you."
I kept on crying.
"Is it possible," she went on, "that with your good sense, and the
education you have had, you are captivated by this mere boy?"
"He is not a boy," I said. "He is a man. He is twenty years old; or
at least he will be on the fifteenth of next October."
"The child actually keeps his birthdays!" cried mother. "Oh, my
wicked, shameful carelessness."
"It's done now," I said, desperately. "It is too late to help it
now."
"You don't mean that he has dared to say anything without consulting
me?" asked mother. "And you have allowed it! Oh, Katherine!"
This time my mouth shut itself up, and no mortal force could open it.
I stopped crying, and sat with folded arms. Mother said what she had
to say, and then I came to you, my dear old Journal.
Yes, he likes me and I like him. Come now, let's out with it once for
all. He loves me and I love him. You are just a little bit too late,
mother.
Oct 1.-I never can write down all the things that have happened. The
very day after I wrote that mother had forbidden my going to the
class, Charley came to see her, and they had a regular fight
together. He has told me about it since. Then, as he could not
prevail, his uncle wrote, told her it would be the making of Charley
to be settled down on one young lady instead of hovering from flower
to flower, as he was doing now. Then Jenny came with her pretty ways,
and cried, and told mother what a darling brother Charley was. She
made a good deal, too, out of his having lost both father and mother,
and needing my affection so much. Mother shut herself up, and I have
no doubt prayed over it. I really believe she prays over every new
dress she buys. Then she sent for me and talked beautifully, and I
behaved abominably.
At last she said she would put us on one year's probation. Charley
might spend one evening here every two weeks, when she should always
be present. We were never to be seen together in public, nor would
she allow us to correspond. If, at the end of the year, we were both
as eager for it as we are now, she would consent to our engagement.
Of course we shall be, so I consider myself as good as engaged now.
Dear me! how funny it seems.
Oct 2.-Charley is not at all pleased with mother's terms, but no one
would guess it from his manner to her. His coming is always the
signal for her trotting down stairs; he goes to meet her and offers
her a chair, as if he was delighted to see her. We go on with the
lessons, as this gives us a chance to sit pretty close together, and
when I am writing my exercises and he corrects them, I rather think a
few little things get on to the paper that sound nicely to us, but
would not strike mother very agreeably. For instance, last night
Charley wrote:
"Is your mother never sick? A nice little headache or two would be so
convenient to us!"
And I wrote back.
"You dear old horrid thing. How can you be so selfish?"
Jan. 15, 1833.-I have been trying to think whether I am any happier
to-day than I was at this time a year ago. If I am not, I suppose it
is the tantalizing way in which I am placed in regard to Charley. We
have so much to say to each other that we can't say before mother,
and that we cannot say in writing, because a correspondence is one of
the forbidden things. He says he entered into no contract not to
write, and keeps slipping little notes into my hand; but I don't
think that quite right. Mother hears us arguing and disputing about
it, though she does not know the subject under discussion, and to-day
she said to me:
"I would not argue with him, if I were you. He never will yield."
"But it is a case of conscience," I said, "and he ought to yield."
"There is no obstinacy like that of a f---," she and stopped short.
"Oh, you may as well finish it!" I cried. "I know you think him a
fool."
Then mother burst out,
"Oh, my child," she said, "before it is too late, do be persuaded by
me to give up this whole thing. I shrink from paining or offending
you, but it is my duty, as your mother, to warn you against a
marriage that will make shipwreck of your happiness."
"Marriage!" I fairly shrieked out. That is the last thing I have ever
thought of. I felt a chill creep over me. All I had wanted was to
have Charley come here every day, take me out now and then, and care
for nobody else.
"Yes, marriage!" mother repeated. "For what is the meaning of an
engagement if marriage is not to follow? How can you fail to see,
what I see, oh! so plainly, that Charley Underhill can never, never
meet the requirements of your soul. You are captivated by what girls
of your age call beauty, regular features, a fair complexion and soft
eyes. His flatteries delude, and his professions of affection gratify
you. You do not see that he is shallow, and conceited, and selfish
and-"
"Oh mother! How can you be so unjust? His whole study seems to be to
please others."
"Seems to be--that is true," she replied. "His ruling passion is love
of admiration; the little pleasing acts that attract you are so many
traps set to catch the attention and the favorable opinion of those
about him. He has not one honest desire to please because it is right
to be pleasing. Oh, my precious child, what a fatal mistake you are
making in relying on your own judgment in this, the most important of
earthly decisions!"
I felt very angry.
"I thought the Bible forbade back-biting," I said.
Mother made no reply, except by a look which said about a hundred and
forty different things. And then I came up here and wrote some
poetry, which was very good (for me), though I don't suppose she
would think so.
Oct. 1.-The year of probation is over, and I have nothing to do now
but to be happy. But being engaged is not half so nice as I expected
it would be. I suppose it is owing to my being obliged to defy
mother's judgment in order to gratify my own. People say she has
great insight into character, and sees, at a glance, what others only
learn after much study.
Oct. 10.-I have taken a dreadful cold. It is too bad. I dare say I
shall be coughing all winter, and instead of going out with Charley,
be shut up at home.
Oct. 12.-Charley says he did not know that I was subject to a cough,
and that he hopes I am not consumptive, because his father and mother
died of consumption, and it makes him nervous to hear people cough. I
nearly strangled myself all the evening trying not to annoy him with
mine.