Chapter D: P. Hall (1)

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XVII

“I TAKE MY PEN IN HAND”

_Following the Family Tradition.—“Demorest’s” and “Jennie June.”—Marion
Crawford and the Little Green Parlor.—Town and Country Club.—Charles
Dudley Warner.—How I Came to Write About Manners.—Life of Laura
Bridgman.—Helen Keller at the Perkins Institution.—A Luncheon at
“Boothden,” the Home of Edwin Booth.—Joseph Jefferson and William
Warren._

THE five children of our parents have all written and published books. We have thus followed their example and an hereditary impulse which made writing an easy method of expression for us.

My father published a history of the Greek revolution while he was still under thirty. Although essentially a man of action, he was accustomed throughout his long life to write reports, pamphlets and letters to the newspapers—in a word, to elicit the interest and good-will of his fellow-men in his work.

My mother is best known as the author of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic,” but she also published many volumes of verse and prose. In later years she appealed much to the public, and especially to her fellow-women.

Sister Julia wrote stories and verses from her earliest childhood. She published a volume of poems, entitled _Stray Chords_, and a little book, _Philosophicæ Quæstor_, describing the Concord School of Philosophy. Our mother considered this, her eldest daughter, as the most talented of her children. Brother Harry did not turn to literature until a later period in life. His works, although primarily technical and scientific, are thought to show a gift for literary expression. The award of gold medals on both sides of the Atlantic and of decorations by foreign governments was doubtless won by lucidity of expression as well as technical merit.

Sister Laura began to write rhymes for children soon after her marriage. They were published in _Saint Nicholas_, with illustrations by J. A. Mitchell, afterward the editor of _Life_. Their merit and charm were quickly recognized. She at once won the favor of the public, and has held it ever since. _Captain January_ is the best known of her many books. She is also the author of _Journals and Letters of Samuel Gridley Howe_ and, in collaboration with sister Maud, of _Julia Ward Howe_. In the preparation of the last-named book, I gave some assistance.

Sister Maud published novels and stories before her marriage. Her later books, _Beata Roma_, _Two in Italy_, etc., telling of her life and experience in the Eternal City and elsewhere, have won a genuine success.

Thus when I began to think of adding a little to our income, writing for the newspapers and magazines seemed the easiest thing to do. We had now four children, each of whom, as we held, had brought us good fortune. This pleasant theory was probably suggested by Bret Harte’s “Luck of Roaring Camp.”

They certainly brought us an incentive for new effort, which is the best form of good fortune. In story-writing I was not very successful. My natural mode of expression was in sketches and essays, often of a humorous character.

My mother was much interested in my new venture, and gave me letters to various editors, including Mrs. J. C. Croly (“Jennie June”), the editor of _Demorest’s Magazine_. She was extremely kind to me, and I wrote many articles for her. Mrs. Croly was very fair, if not pale, with blue eyes and light hair. Her face wore a rather worried expression, for her life was not an easy one. Her husband was then living, but his invalid condition added to her cares. She held pleasant evening receptions, at one of which I heard Marshall P. Wilder, the humorist. He had a real power of mimicry, but his delineations were not always pleasant. One of them was “The Idiot Boy.”

In these days I made pilgrimages to editorial dens, and was surprised at the wonderful flow of conversation issuing from the mouths of powerful personages. _Why_ do editors talk so much to the neophyte? They kindly gave me a great deal of information, but it was gradually borne in upon me that they talked in order to protect themselves from boredom at my hands. Did they not know, from long and painful experience, just what every beginner at the trade would inevitably say? Hence they forestalled my uninteresting remarks—and answered my unformed questions in the proper way. I noticed that, after a certain amount of information had been imparted to me, the editor would take up a paper and become deeply absorbed in its contents. This was the signal for me to go. I soon learned not to invade the editor in his den, unless he or she encouraged me to do so.

The following letter was written apropos of my pilgrimages to editorial dens:

SCOTCH PLAINS,
_Sunday P.M.,_
_Nov. 1, ’85_.

DEAREST LAURA,—I was werry plose and thankful to receive your
kind letter with so many addresses—werry nice kind & tanky much.

But oh! Lovely as is a Haddress, it is perhaps the right address
which fills us with the most lasting joy—as hennabling a feller
to find the zbodd, as it were.

I went to the Tribune Building—there was no Andrews Bazar
there—the hoary bearded Janitor suggested Morse building the
jan. of latter, said try Tract Building. At last after I had
wandered up and down a kindly news paper advertising man told me
he didn’t think there was “no such a person.” Or rather he told
me he thought it had changed its name and become “The American
Bazaar” where of he gimme the number but was too tired to look
it up that day.

Newport life furnished an excellent opportunity for summer correspondence. We lived near enough the town to enjoy something of its pleasures, yet far enough away to avoid absorption in the whirlpool of gaiety. When we were girls going into society we should have preferred to be nearer the center of things. But the six-mile trip to Newport was in reality a blessing. It enabled us to view the summer doings with a critical though friendly eye.

Those who suppose that Newport society is entirely composed of frivolous people do not know the place. Its matchless climate, delightful air and peaceful beauty have always attracted people of quiet tastes, men of letters and artists. Colonel Waring, who did such important work in conquering yellow fever, lived for many years in Newport, where he had a model farm.

He was a very handsome man, with dark eyes, gray hair, and a waxed mustache. In the early days of the Town and Country Club he took part in the “admirable fooleries” of which Colonel Higginson and my mother have both given accounts. Kate Field often came to the meetings, but did not, so far as I remember, take any part in the program. When at Newport she stayed at the house of her aunt, Mrs. Sanford, in the latter’s villa on the Point. From her “Juliet” window with its little balcony hung high in the air she could look out over the peaceful waters of the harbor and watch the beautiful Newport sunsets. Kate Field had very handsome hair which at one time she wore floating over her shoulders. This fashion, which lasted only a short time, was not becoming to her. As she was rather short, the long and heavy hair tended to dwarf her height, while its mass seemed out of proportion to her slender figure.

The diction of General Cullom, one of the officers of the Town and Country Club, was peculiar. When at a loss for a word, he deliberately remarked, “Pup-pup-pup,” occasionally changing it for “Pam-pam-pam.” To hear this courtly, elderly gentleman say with perfect gravity, “Did you go, pam-pam-pam to the Casino this morning?” was surprising.

When General Cullom kindly offered to give before the club a talk on the French châteaux, illustrated by lantern slides, we all felt anxiety. Wonderful to say, neither “pup-pups” nor “pam-pams” marred the smoothness of the address!

Prof. Alexander Agassiz, whose summers were spent at Newport, when he was not traveling about the world on his yacht, gave an illustrated lecture on the Panama Canal which was of especial interest. The French had then abandoned their attempt and the United States had not yet undertaken to build it. A series of mournful lantern slides showed the wrecks of the French machinery, and the excavations, which seemed small enough compared with the gigantic nature of the undertaking. Professor Agassiz was clearly of the opinion that, owing to the overflowing of the Chágres River, it was not possible to build a canal at that point.

Charles Dudley Warner, who read extremely well, gave us, with realistic effect, his delightful sketch, “The Bear Is Coming on.” We almost saw the raspberry-bushes and felt the animal bearing down upon us. Another sketch, relating to heaven and hell, was witty, but too frivolous in tone to suit the orthodox members of the club. They were rather scandalized at it.

In the summer of 1881 we had the happiness of counting our aunt Louisa and her family as our quasi-neighbors. She had been the family beauty, but was less clever than her sisters Julia and Annie. She was a woman of much charm and, like Uncle Sam, showed signs of her French descent. With her husband and their daughter Margaret she spent the season at one of the cliff cottages at Newport. “Daisy” was a débutante; and interested in the gaieties of the season. Hence her half-brother, Marion Crawford, who loved the quiet of the country, spent much of his time with us at “Oak Glen.” He was devoted to my mother and she was very fond of him. Her house in Boston and her Newport home were harbors of refuge to him in the years of his bachelorhood, many of which he spent in this country. We found him the most delightful of housemates. Genial, cheery and charming, he never availed himself of the masculine privilege of grumbling, but took things as he found them. Mother said of him, “He is as easy as an old shoe.” My youngest child, John Howe Hall, was born that summer. The stairs at “Oak Glen” were rather fatiguing for me to climb, when I first came down-stairs after his birth. So Cousin Marion, who was both tall and strong, would pick me up like a baby and carry me up-stairs. He was a very handsome man, with blue eyes like his father’s, regular features, and curly brown hair. This, alas! was already beginning to show a small bare place on the crown, in spite of his mother’s faithful efforts with hair tonic.

Sister Maud spent the summer of 1881 with my aunt, Mrs. Mailliard, who then lived on a great ranch in California. Some of her experiences there are described in her novel, _The San Rosario Ranch_. My mother was invited to take part in amateur theatricals at Newport during this eventful season. In spite of her sixty-seven years, she was the first of the company to master her lines.

She acted her part with spirit and gaiety, but could not resist the temptation to “gag” the lines. Thus in speaking of doctors who arranged, in Bob Sawyer style, to have themselves called out, she mentioned the names of Doctor Cleveland and other physicians spending the summer in Newport.

As bad luck would have it, this gentleman, who had a large practice, _was_ actually summoned from the hall and arose to go, blushing furiously!

Crawford had come to America, intending to live here. He thought seriously of taking up the profession of philology, having a talent for languages. As he possessed a good voice, he also thought of going on the operatic stage. His ear for music was somewhat faulty, but this defect, he was assured, need not, after the proper training of his voice, prevent his singing correctly.

While he was in an undecided frame of mind he wrote, as an experiment, his first novel, _Mr. Isaacs_. Its immediate success banished all doubt as to his career.

It was in the “little green parlor” at “Oak Glen” that he composed a large part of this story. Here, also, sister Maud and I often sat with our writing. The little green parlor is a grassy crescent surrounded on all sides by a hedge of tall cedar-trees. These have now grown so tall as almost to conceal the house from the view of passers-by.

In these days Messrs. Dana Estes & Co. proposed to my mother the preparation of a book on manners, dwelling especially on the origin of customs. She did not care to undertake it, but Crawford thought he might possibly do so, and sister Maud wrote a chapter. When both abandoned the idea it seemed to me a great pity to let this opportunity go to waste. I wrote to Mr. Estes, asking whether he would like me to write the book. He approved of my suggestion, and _Social Customs_ was the result. I was glad to carry out, within certain limits, his plan of noting the meaning and origin of customs. It was not possible, however, with the time at my command, to make an exhaustive historic study of the subject. But I was able to analyze it and so present general rules, rather than a mass of unexplained technical details. Looking thus at the matter, from an outside point of view, it was possible to treat it with a light touch instead of in the ponderous vein formerly considered necessary. I thought it right to speak occasionally of the humorous aspects of the subject, while emphasizing the intrinsic value and importance of good manners. The critics hailed the book as a new departure in the literature of the subject, and spoke very handsomely of it. It was especially gratifying to receive from the Brussels Institute of Sociology a good-sized volume containing, among other things, a notice of my book. The following letter accompanied it:

Instituts Solvay.
Institut de Sociologie Bruxelles (Belgium).

Madame:—The attention of a group of searchers at the Solvay
Institute of Sociology has been directed upon one of your last
works, and they are anxious to have a biographical note relating
to you inserted in the sociological record recently organized at
the said institute.

Yours sincerely,
D. WARNOTH, _Chief of the Service of Documentation._

It has been already said that the case of Laura Bridgman excited deep interest. My father’s reports were awaited as eagerly as novels, and were translated into several foreign languages. In 1846, when she had been nine years under instruction, he thought of writing an account of her education and of communicating with Messrs. Harper about its publication.

He never found time to carry out his purpose. There was always some class of unfortunates who needed his championship, some wrong that must be set right. It is deeply to be regretted that he never had the leisure to tell the story of his most conspicuous achievement. The materials were all at hand. A minute account of Laura’s progress had been kept in the school journals. There were also my father’s own reports, notes and correspondence, as well as Laura’s letters and the journals which she kept for some years. By the desire of our brother-in-law, Michael Anagnos, and with his help, sister Maud and I undertook to carry out our father’s intention and tell the story of Laura Bridgman. Our chief difficulty lay in the wealth of material. We held many consultations, but to my sister belongs the chief credit of the work. My share consisted principally in describing the technical part of Laura’s education.

The work was of absorbing interest. In tracing this drama of the birth of a human soul, we felt an echo of the thrill which came to my father when he saw Laura’s face suddenly “lighted up with a human expression: it was no longer a dog or parrot—it was an immortal spirit, eagerly seizing upon a new link of union with other spirits!”

No wonder that he exclaimed, “Eureka!”

His graphic description of these first wonderful steps is quoted—with due credit to Doctor Howe—in Dickens’ _American Notes_.

Since Laura’s was the first case of the sort in the world, it was necessary for my father to devise his own methods. A special teacher was employed for her, several devoted women filling this post in turn.

My father always superintended her education, and recorded every step—telling us how he taught her the use of prepositions, adjectives and verbs.

An excellent speller herself, in her later years she taught the little blind children how to spell. Laura Bridgman had the pride of intellect, in spite of her infirmities, and was inclined to look down upon people of inferior mind or education. The lessons in conduct which the ordinary child learns from the example of those around him Laura had to learn from books or from conversation with her teacher. Moral, ethical, and later spiritual problems aroused her deep interest. Her writings—and they are many—show a soul as white and innocent as that of a little child.

Laura was well trained in the domestic arts. She was an exquisite needlewoman, her darning being a “poem in linen.” She could also knit and crochet extremely well, making the fine beaded purses then in fashion. Indeed, the sale of her handiwork contributed to her own support. She kept her room in beautiful order, dusting the most delicate objects without injury to them. One of Laura’s amusements was to arrange my mother’s bureau drawers. The latter disliked having any one meddle with her things, but Laura’s touch was so delicate that she was allowed thus to officiate as “mistress of the wardrobe.”

Best of all, she enjoyed life in spite of her many deprivations, making the most of the little pleasures that came to her. The following is one of her “poems”:

LIGHT AND DARKNESS
BY
LAURA BRIDGMAN

Light represents day.
Light is more brilliant than ruby, even diamond.
Light is whiter than snow.
Darkness is nightlike.
It looks as black as iron
Darkness is a sorrow.
Joy is a thrilling rapture.
Light yields a shooting joy through the human [heart].
Light is sweet as honey, but
Darkness is bitter as salt and even vinegar.
Light is finer than gold and even finest gold.
Joy is a real light,
Joy is a blazing flame.
Darkness is frosty.
A good sleep is a white curtain.
A bad sleep is a black curtain.

In the late ’eighties the father of Helen Keller wrote to Mr. Anagnos, then director of the Perkins Institution, asking his assistance in the education of his little daughter. My brother-in-law chose Miss Annie Sullivan, herself partially blind and a graduate of the Institution, for Helen’s instructor. Miss Sullivan spent six months studying Doctor Howe’s reports before entering upon her task. Every step that Laura had taken little Helen now followed exactly. Her progress was more rapid, as that of my father’s later blind deaf-mute pupils had been. But the details of her case were very much like that of Laura Bridgman. Helen spent three years at the Perkins Institution under the charge of her special teacher, Miss Sullivan.

There I had the pleasure of seeing her a number of times in her childhood, and of talking with her in the finger language. When we spoke of a brook, she illustrated its movements by dancing. I noticed with surprise that she did not move about with the perfect freedom common to the blind children brought up at the Institution. They were accustomed to walk about alone, and to dash up and down stairs with utter fearlessness. Whether Helen later learned to go about in this way I cannot say. When she was about fifteen, we met again at the Kindergarten for the Blind, an off-shoot of the Perkins Institution founded and administered by Mr. Anagnos. In conversing with Helen I was struck with her intelligence. In these days I heard her talk with her voice as well as with her fingers.

Helen wrote me the following letter, after reading my sketch of my father’s life, published in the _Wide Awake_ magazine.

SOUTH BOSTON, MASS.,
_December 2, 1890_.

MY DEAR MRS. HALL,—I want to tell you how much I enjoyed hearing
about your dear Father, and all the brave, generous things he
did for the Greeks, and for all who were poor and unhappy. I
think the children who read _Wide Awake_ must have been greatly
interested in your story, but they cannot love Dr. Howe as we
little blind girls do. Teacher says, she would not have known
how to teach me if your Father had not taught Laura Bridgman
first, and that is why I feel so grateful to him. How dreadful
it would have been if I could not have learned like other boys
and girls! I am sure I should have been very sorrowful with no
one to talk to me, and so would Edith and many others, but it is
too sad to think about, is it not? When you come to Boston I
hope you will tell me more about your Father, and what you did
when you were a little girl. Mr. Anagnos is going to show me
Byron’s helmet some day. Teacher sends her kind regards to you.

Lovingly your little friend,

HELEN A. KELLER.

In these years Edwin Booth spent the summer at his pretty red-roofed villa, “Boothden,” on Indian Avenue. It was then a quiet and retired part of the island of Rhode Island, yet within easy reach of Newport. The house was placed so near the rocky shore that the ocean breezes might have been too boisterous had not awnings screened the wide piazzas. A large and pleasant boat-house equipped with a sitting- or lounging-room stood on the shore.

“Boothden” was only four miles from “Oak Glen,” so that we were country neighbors of Mr. Booth and his charming daughter. We had the pleasure of seeing them from time to time. When we were invited to take luncheon at their villa, to meet Joseph Jefferson, his wife and daughter, and William Warren, the veteran comedian of the Boston Museum, it seemed too wonderful to be true.

Miss Edwina Booth (whom I remembered as Baby Booth) received us with a grace and charm that vividly recalled her lovely young mother, dead many years before. The resemblance to Mrs. Booth was almost startling. It seemed as if the beloved wife, young and fair as of old, had returned to this earth. We saw the same slender figure, the same movements, as I fancied. What a strange thing is the inheritance of gesture! There could have been no conscious imitation, for Miss Booth could not have remembered her mother.

The three distinguished actors had rashly gone for a sail in Mr. Booth’s yacht. It is always rash to go out in a sail-boat if you expect to return at any particular hour.

When they finally arrived their entrance was like a scene upon the stage. Their behavior was not at all theatrical, but they were mariners returning from a stormy trip. A good stiff breeze had blown them all about, the waves had given them a good wetting, while Mr. Jefferson had lost his hat overboard.

They took all these small mishaps in the best possible humor, as a part of life’s comedy. Joe Jefferson had substituted a red bandanna handkerchief for the lost hat and treated the whole affair as a delightful joke. Presently we all sat down to a luncheon elegant and elaborate, after the fashion of the time, the table being faultless in its service and appointments.

Joseph Jefferson was brilliant and delightful, evidently enjoying the conversation. The geniality and cheeriness of his stage characters were but a reflection of his own sunny disposition. If he had stood in the shoes of Rip Van Winkle, Caleb Plummer, or Bob Acres, he would have taken life as cheerfully as they did. After seeing him in private life I understood better the spirit of his acting. The Jefferson of the parlor was the Jefferson of the stage, save that the man himself was more brilliant, more original than the men of a simple type whom he habitually portrayed. He possessed that highest form of art which conceals itself. At the Booth luncheon he talked of many things—of art, his pictures, the proper light for the stage, his children, his farm in Florida, his delight in roaming through the woods with his fishing-rod.

We enjoyed hearing many theatrical anecdotes which gave us peeps behind the scenes. Mr. Jefferson told us of a mistake he once made in “Lend Me Five Shillings.” Forgetting that he had already delivered certain lines, he repeated them—no applause followed! Just as he was wondering what the matter was, the actress with whom he was playing whispered, “You have repeated your lines.” William Warren confessed that he had had a somewhat similar experience in “Our American Cousin,” when he struck a match by the right end, lighting it, to his horror and surprise. According to the play, he should have struck the wrong end—and the mistake drove his part out of his head for a moment, when a fellow-actor gave him his lines, in a stage whisper! William Warren, “the Boston favorite,” was a relative of Joseph Jefferson or of Mrs. Jefferson. They called him “Uncle William,” and all treated him with the most affectionate respect. He was the eldest of the three actors, and already in failing health. Hence he was grave and quiet in manner when we saw him in private life, although inimitably funny on the stage. It seldom happens that so excellent an actor is content to remain all his life a member of a stock company, performing in a single city—but this was Warren’s choice. The strong affection in which he was held was doubtless a compensation to this inimitable actor for the loss of a wider fame. He died not long after this time.

We found our hospitable and kindly host, Edwin Booth, little changed from the old days when we had so devoutly admired him. There were the same charm and simplicity of manner, the same sense of humor. His eyes still had the old fire, while the cheerful serenity of middle life replaced the buoyant happiness of his younger days. He spoke very simply of the time when he was a young man. I did not like to think that Edwin Booth ever could grow old. He was still in the prime of life, handsome and vigorous.

Of his profession, of the stage and of Shakespeare, he liked to talk, and we liked only too well to listen. He had recently brought home from Germany some of the tokens of intense admiration that were showered upon him there—wreaths of silver, and perhaps of gold, also.

What to do with these he did not know. Mantel lambrequins then afflicted the world. I fear it was I who suggested that the classic garlands might be sewn on these with decorative effect!

Edwin Booth was too reserved and too kind-hearted to play the habitual mimic, yet he could, upon occasion, imitate to the life the person described. Once, when telling us of an experience in the far West while he was traveling with his father, he suddenly became a knock-kneed, shambling man. In a moment he was again Edwin Booth, grave and dignified.

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XVIII

OUR CHILDREN AT HOME, SCHOOL AND COLLEGE

_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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XIX

THE CLUB AND SUFFRAGE MOVEMENTS

_Enthusiasm of the Pioneer Clubwomen.—Early Conventions of the General
Federation of Women’s Clubs.—Work as President of the New Jersey
Woman Suffrage Association.—We Visit the Legislature.—Campaign for
School Suffrage.—Formation of New Leagues.—Lucy Stone and Her Baby’s
Cradle.—Rev. Samuel Smith, Author of “America.”_

THE rapidity with which, in the latter part of the nineteenth century, women’s clubs sprang up all over the face of this broad land of ours was miraculous. We may say that this agency and that person helped in the development of the great movement, but there must have been a cause underlying it. The women of America had outgrown the old, narrow, often selfish life of utter absorption in the affairs of the individual home. They now longed for wider culture, for the broadening of their ideas by association with other women, for opportunities to improve not only their own, but all homes. For the club movement is only a part of the great, splendid world movement whereby the women of the race have advanced to take their place beside the men. In the beginning intellectual culture was the principal object of the clubs. Yet we felt deep interest in the conduct of meetings and in the administration of affairs. Why were the women so delighted with parliamentary law? Because, all unconsciously, we were attending a school of citizenship and learning that order which is a part of the divine law.

The tremendous vitality of the club movement was shown by the almost magical growth of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs. To Sorosis, and especially to Mrs. J. C. Croly (Jennie June), belongs the honor of founding this splendid and powerful organization. Sorosis has shown a wonderful power of vision, for it founded also the “Association for the Advancement of Women,” a pioneer body which did very important work.

Yet the administration of both organizations soon passed into other hands. This was, as I think, because Sorosis had not cultivated the executive powers of its members. Hence when it came to questions of administration, other more active clubs assumed the leadership for which they had been trained. Thus the New England Woman’s Club, full of good works and activity in civic movements, furnished the president, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, who for many years guided the movements of “A. A. W.”

We must note a feature in the constitution of this national union of clubs which, helpful in the beginning, later proved a serious defect. The individual societies were directly affiliated with the General Federation, every club president being also a vice-president of the national body. Under the devoted leadership of Mrs. Charlotte Emerson Brown of East Orange, whose soul was fairly absorbed in her work, this grew and prospered.

The “fault” in the method of formation became more and more evident as time went on. The number of clubs increased to such an extent as to make the national conventions unwieldy. It has been proposed at various times to limit the representation to the state federations, but the individual clubs, who have greatly enjoyed their membership in the national body, are very unwilling to give it up.

Will the initial fault in construction end by destroying this splendid body? No one can now say. Even should it perish, however, it will have fulfilled an important mission. We should look at the General Federation as a part of the great movement by which our sex has been prepared for the new duties which women are now so splendidly fulfilling. Viewed in this light, the stimulus which it gave to the formation of new clubs and the opportunities it afforded to the women of all parts of our country for meeting together have more than compensated for the defect in organization. Had we waited to form first state federations, and out of those a national body, we should have lost the glow and enthusiasm of those wonderful early conventions of the G. F. W. C. We might have failed, also, in fulfilling the larger mission.

The conservative women often opposed us, but we of the liberal party prevailed in the end. Gradually club and Federation broadened their programs. At the first biennial convention of the General Federation, held in Chicago, we devoted our attention principally to questions relating to clubs and their management. Should they be large or small? Should we have club-houses? Should we engage in philanthropic work? It seems strange now to remember the great enthusiasm with which we labored over these minor matters. But they were doubtless necessary steps in our progress.

The General Federation now has departments of art, civics, legislation, public health, and many others. Last and best of all, at the convention of 1914, the General Federation endorsed suffrage for women. It was a moment of great excitement and enthusiasm. Veteran suffrage leaders wept with joy and embraced one another, while the strains of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic” sounded through the hall.

Sister Julia, with her strong intellectual tastes, early felt the attraction of the movement and joined the New England Woman’s Club. There were many clever and delightful women in its membership. She read papers before many of the clubs then springing up all about Boston, and enjoyed doing so. Thus she followed in the footsteps of our mother, who rejoiced in club life and had the true club spirit.

The two youngest sisters, Laura and Maud, have never possessed this in full measure. They have been much in demand as speakers before societies of women, and have belonged to these when occasion arose. Both are fond of society as well as full of public spirit. Mrs. Richards has done much reform and charitable work in her adopted state of Maine. Mrs. Elliott has not been behind her sister. In the Progressive movement she was one of the leaders, and on the Hughes “golden special” train she was one of the “Big Four” speakers. In the suffrage movement in Rhode Island she has done important service. Last but not least she is the founder and moving spirit of the Newport Art Association.

The fact remains that to neither of them have club work and club association been the real joy that they were to our mother and to me. When the young birds began to leave the nest, the sons to go to college and the daughter to study art in Paris, I had more leisure to attend to outside matters. Thus, when the Monday Afternoon Club of Plainfield was formed, in the late ’eighties, I was one of the charter members, succeeding the founder, Miss Elvira Kenyon, as president. The General Federation of Women’s Clubs was formed at about this time, and I was appointed chairman of correspondence for New Jersey. This officer was a species of shepherd for the clubs of the state, a part of whose duty and pleasure it was to visit the various societies.

We chairmen of correspondence strove to hand on to others the inspiration received at the Federation and club meetings. For in those bright days there was much exchanging of visits and many club festivities.

During my presidency, the Monday Afternoon Club of Plainfield gave its first luncheon, with the indispensable program of speeches. The amount of work we—the members of the executive board—put into the preparation, seems now almost incredible. We had plenty of zeal, but no experience. Hence every detail of the arrangements was considered at great length. The cost of the luncheon was a burning question. We compromised on a dollar, if I remember aright. Nowadays, a competent house committee would handle the whole matter quietly and easily. But we were like children with a new toy!

As the shepherd of New Jersey, I proposed inviting the not yet federated clubs to our gala-day, in order that they might see for themselves the advantages of union. The scheme was so successful that one lady declared she had never known such a happy day before, not even her wedding-day! How we did enjoy it all! I see it now through a rosy mist. How delighted we were with the wit of the speakers! One of the lessons that we learn from club life is that women possess a keen sense of humor. The luncheon was brightened by toasts. Rev. Antoinette Brown Blackwell, Mrs. Mary Mumford, of Philadelphia, witty and delightful, and my mother were among the speakers.

On another gala-day, the national president, Mrs. Charlotte Emerson Brown, visited us.

In opening her speech she praised the beauty of our decorations and found the English language inadequate for the expression of her feelings. She passed from “how beautiful” to “_wunderschön_” and, “_magnifique_,” ending impressively with “to Kalon.” We all smiled, but only a little, because Mrs. Brown was very amiable and had devoted much time to the study of languages.

At a club festivity in Boston, Rev. Samuel Smith—“Sammy Smith,” as he was familiarly called, told us of the circumstances under which he wrote “America.” They were not thrilling. He was in his library, looking out upon the hills, if I remember aright. He seemed a kindly old gentleman, still vigorous, despite his silver hair. My mother also described the train of events which led to the writing of the “Battle Hymn of the Republic.” She was often called upon to do this.

I had the pleasure of serving on the nominating committee at several biennial conventions—but none of the later ones resembled the lively session held at Chicago in 1892. Miss Octavia Bates kindly consented to act as our chairman, her good humor and good sense helping to straighten out the knotty problems that came before us. If the discussion became too animated she thumped on the floor with an umbrella!

One of the interesting women at these early conventions was Dr. Jennie de la M. Lozier, a physician herself and the wife of one. At Chicago in a moment of irritation she took the reporters to task, alluding to them as “the ink-slingers of the Press.” Fortunately, Mrs. Sarah Perkins, of Cleveland, Ohio, came to the defense of the newspaper men, telling the convention how much a good cause often owed to them. At its close the reporters presented Mrs. Perkins with a beautiful basket of roses!

We learned some lessons in public speaking from Miss Susan B. Anthony, the noted suffrage leader. In her own vigorous way she told us not to immerse our heads in our papers, but to hold them up, to look at the man in the last row of the parquette and address our remarks to him!

At the second biennial, held in Philadelphia, I had the pleasure of taking part in the program of the evening meeting at the Academy of Music. I had received, shortly before, an absurd publication, treating in solemn vein of the management of husbands. This moved me to write, in serio-comic style, a short paper on “The Duties of Women’s Clubs toward Mankind.”

The club husband furnished food for humor in those early days, although many men attended our evening sessions.

It was interesting to me to see how the audience took the points—sometimes after a moment’s delay—and to note how waves of mirth one after another passed over the great throng.

Kate Upson Clarke, always witty and delightful, spoke of “Democracy in Women’s Clubs.”

In November, 1895, the General Federation Council met at Atlanta, Georgia, where the “Cotton States and International Exposition” was then in session. We did not quite relish being asked whether we were “Daughters of the Confederacy,” although the mistake was a natural one. It was gratifying to see the progress made by the Southern women.

From Atlanta we went on to New Orleans, where a meeting of the Association for the Advancement of Women was scheduled.

Here we were delightfully entertained by Mrs. King and her daughters, one of them being Grace King, the novelist. My mother was no stranger to New Orleans, having spent the winter of 1884–85 there, when she had charge of the woman’s section of the exposition.

Many friends welcomed her on her return to the quaint old city. I had never seen it before, and was much interested in exploring as much of it as our short visit and the necessary attendance at the sessions of A. A. W. permitted. We made a visit to the Ursuline Convent on the occasion of the coronation of the image of the Virgin with a crown of gold studded with jewels, contributed by the women of the city. When the crowning took place all applauded. The singing of the Mass was very beautiful. In the address of the day we were told that the image had been brought over by the Ursuline nuns from France. It was held to be of miraculous power. The sisters prayed to it at the time of the battle of New Orleans; to their prayers, as we were told, was due the victory of General Jackson and the troops under his command.

It is said that if you taste the water of the Mississippi you will want to return to the Crescent City. No one is rash enough to do that until the mud has been allowed to settle—perhaps in one of the beautiful great earthen jars resembling those in which the Forty Thieves took refuge.

Clubwomen, as a rule, are very sensible. They all wish to be nicely and suitably dressed, but a parade of fine gowns is thought undesirable. It was amusing as well as sad to see aspirants for office appear at a convention in a succession of expensive dresses, which insured the failure of their hopes. These dear ladies could not understand why Jenny Wren in her simple gray gown was preferred before them!

At the Milwaukee biennial we had the great pleasure of listening to a speech from Octave Thanet. She banished all possible stiffness by confessing to the audience, “When I forget what I want to say, I stop and take a drink of water.” After that, whenever she raised the tumbler to her lips we all laughed.

During this biennial word came to Mrs. Philip N. Moore, treasurer of the Federation, that her house in St. Louis was on fire. She felt it her duty to remain at her post until, as retiring treasurer, she had signed all the checks. Some one quoted apropos of this: