We don’t cry — Tim and I,
We are far too grand —
But we bolt the door tight
To prevent a friend —
Then we hide our brave face
Deep in our hand —
Not to cry — Tim and I —
We are far too grand —
Nor to dream — he and me —
Do we condescend —
We just shut our brown eye
To see to the end —
Tim — see Cottages —
But, Oh, so high!
Then — we shake — Tim and I —
And lest I — cry —
Tim — reads a little Hymn —
And we both pray —
Please, Sir, I and Tim —
Always lost the way!
We must die — by and by —
Clergymen say —
Tim — shall — if I — do —
I — too — if he —
How shall we arrange it —
205
Tim — was — so — shy?
Take us simultaneous — Lord —
I — “Tim” — and Me!
Non piangiamo — Tim ed io,
Siamo fin troppo fieri —
Ma sprangiamo forte la porta
Per escludere un amico —
Poi nascondiamo il volto ardito
Fondo nella mano —
Per non piangere — Tim ed io —
Siamo fin troppo fieri —
Né a sognare — lui ed io —
Ci degniamo —
Chiudiamo solo l’occhio bruno
Per vedere fino alla fine —
Tim — vede Casette —
Ma, Oh, così in alto!
Allora — tremiamo — Tim ed io —
E perché io non — pianga —
Tim — legge un piccolo Inno —
E preghiamo entrambi —
Per favore, Signore, io e Tim —
Sempre smarrita la via!
Dobbiamo morire — prima o poi —
Dicono i Pastori —
Tim — morrà — se io — muoio —
Io — pure — se lui —
Come lo combineremo —
205
Tim — era — così — timido?
Prendici simultanei — Signore —
Io — “Tim” — e Me!
Is it true, dear Sue?
Are there two?
I shouldn’t like to come
For fear of joggling Him!
If I could shut him up
In a Coffee Cup,
Or tie him to a pin
Till I got in —
Or make him fast
To “Toby’s” fist —
Hist! Whist! I’d come!
È vero, cara Sue?
Sono in due?
Non vorrei venire
Per paura di scuoterLo!
Se potessi rinchiuderlo
In una Tazza da Caffè,
O legarlo a uno spillo
Finché non entro —
O fissarlo saldo
Al pugno di “Toby” —
Zitti! Piano! Verrei!
Teach Him — When He makes the names —
Such an one — to say —
On his babbling — Berry — lips —
As should sound — to me —
Were my Ear — as near his nest —
As my thought — today —
As should sound —
“Forbid us not” —
Some like “Emily.”
Insegnagli — Quando compone i nomi —
Uno così — da dire —
Sulle sue labbra — di Bacca — balbettanti —
Che suoni — a me —
Fosse il mio Orecchio — vicino al suo nido —
Come il mio pensiero — oggi —
Che suoni —
“Non ci vietate” —
Qualcosa come “Emily.”
God permits industrious Angels —
Afternoons — to play —
I met one — forgot my Schoolmates —
All — for Him — straightway —
God calls home — the Angels — promptly —
At the Setting Sun —
I missed mine — how dreary — Marbles —
After playing Crown!
Dio permette ad Angeli industriosi —
Nei pomeriggi — di giocare —
Ne incontrai uno — scordai i miei Compagni di scuola —
Tutti — per Lui — all’istante —
Dio richiama a casa — gli Angeli — puntuale —
Al Tramontare del Sole —
Mi mancò il mio — che tristezza — le Biglie —
Dopo aver giocato alla Corona!
It was given to me by the Gods —
When I was a little Girl —
They given us Presents most — you know —
When we are new — and small.
I kept it in my Hand —
I never put it down —
I did not dare to eat — or sleep —
For fear it would be gone —
I heard such words as “Rich” —
When hurrying to school —
From lips at Corners of the Streets —
And wrestled with a smile.
Rich! ‘Twas Myself — was rich —
To take the name of Gold —
And Gold to own — in solid Bars —
The Difference — made me bold —
Mi fu dato dagli Dei —
Quand’ero una piccola Bimba —
Ci fanno Doni soprattutto — si sa —
Quando siamo nuovi — e piccini.
Lo tenevo nella Mano —
Non lo posavo mai —
Non osavo mangiare — o dormire —
Per paura che svanisse —
Udivo parole come “Ricco” —
Correndo in fretta a scuola —
Da labbra agli Angoli delle Strade —
E lottavo con un sorriso.
Ricca! Ero Io — la ricca —
A prendere il nome dell’Oro —
E Oro possedere — in Lingotti massicci —
La Differenza — mi fece audace —
We do not play on Graves —
Because there isn’t Room —
Besides — it isn’t even — it slants
And People come —
And put a Flower on it —
And hang their faces so —
We’re fearing that their Hearts will drop —
And crush our pretty play —
And so we move as far
As Enemies — away —
Just looking round to see how far
It is — Occasionally —
Non giochiamo sulle Tombe —
Perché non c’è Spazio —
E poi — non è piano — pende
E arriva Gente —
E vi posa un Fiore —
E appende i volti così —
Temiamo che i loro Cuori cadano —
E schiaccino il nostro bel gioco —
E così ci spostiamo lontano
Come Nemici — via —
Solo volgendoci a guardare quanto
Sia lontano — Ogni tanto —
We learned the Whole of Love —
The Alphabet — the Words —
A Chapter — then the mighty Book —
Then — Revelation closed —
But in Each Other’s eyes
An Ignorance beheld —
Diviner than the Childhood’s —
And each to each, a Child —
Attempted to expound
What Neither — understood —
Alas, that Wisdom is so large —
And Truth — so manifold!
Imparammo il Tutto dell’Amore —
L’Alfabeto — le Parole —
Un Capitolo — poi il possente Libro —
Poi — la Rivelazione si chiuse —
Ma negli occhi l’Uno dell’Altra
Un’Ignoranza si scorse —
Più divina di quella dell’Infanzia —
E l’uno per l’altra, un Bambino —
Tentò di spiegare
Ciò che Nessuno dei due — comprendeva —
Ahimè, che la Saggezza è così vasta —
E la Verità — così molteplice!
The Child’s faith is new —
Whole — like His Principle —
Wide — like the Sunrise
On fresh Eyes —
Never had a Doubt —
Laughs — at a Scruple —
Believes all sham
But Paradise —
Credits the World —
Deems His Dominion
Broadest of Sovereignties —
And Caesar — mean —
In the Comparison —
Baseless Emperor —
Ruler of Nought —
Yet swaying all —
Grown bye and bye
To hold mistaken
His pretty estimates
Of Prickly Things
He gains the skill
Sorrowful — as certain —
Men — to anticipate
Instead of Kings —
Del Bambino la fede è nuova —
Intera — come il Suo Principio —
Vasta — come l’Aurora
Su Occhi freschi —
Mai ebbe un Dubbio —
Ride — d’uno Scrupolo —
Crede tutto finzione
Fuorché il Paradiso —
Dà credito al Mondo —
Stima il Suo Dominio
La più vasta delle Sovranità —
E Cesare — meschino —
Nel Confronto —
Imperatore senza fondamento —
Sovrano del Nulla —
Eppure tutto regge —
Cresciuto a poco a poco
A ritenere errate
Le sue graziose stime
Di Cose Spinose
Acquista l’arte
Dolorosa — quanto certa —
Uomini — a prevedere
Invece di Re —
I’ll send the feather from my Hat!
Who knows — but at the sight of that
My Sovereign will relent?
As trinket — worn by faded Child —
Confronting eyes long — comforted —
Blisters the Adamant!
Manderò la piuma del mio Cappello!
Chissà — se alla vista di quella
Il mio Sovrano non ceda?
Come ninnolo — portato da Bimba sbiadita —
Affrontando occhi a lungo — consolati —
Piaga l’Adamante!
The Beggar Lad — dies early —
It’s Somewhat in the Cold —
And Somewhat in the Trudging feet —
And haply, in the World —
The Cruel — smiling — bowing World —
That took its Cambric Way —
Nor heard the timid cry for “Bread” —
“Sweet Lady — Charity” —
Among Redeemed Children
If Trudging feet may stand
The Barefoot time forgotten — so —
The Sleet — the bitter Wind —
The Childish Hands that teased for Pence
Lifted adoring — them —
To Him whom never Ragged — Coat
Did supplicate in vain —
Il Ragazzo Mendicante — muore presto —
È in Parte per il Freddo —
E in Parte per i piedi in Cammino —
E forse, per il Mondo —
Il Crudele — sorridente — ossequioso Mondo —
Che prese la sua Via di Batista —
Né udì il timido grido per il “Pane” —
“Dolce Signora — Carità” —
Tra i Bambini Redenti
Se i piedi in Cammino potranno stare
Il tempo Scalzo dimenticato — così —
Il Nevischio — l’aspro Vento —
Le Mani di Bambino che imploravano Soldi
Levate adoranti — esse —
A Colui che mai Cenciosa — Veste
Supplicò invano —
Let Us play Yesterday —
I — the Girl at school —
You — and Eternity — the
Untold Tale —
Easing my famine
At my Lexicon —
Logarithm — had I — for Drink —
‘Twas a dry Wine —
Somewhat different — must be —
Dreams tint the Sleep —
Cunning Reds of Morning
Make the Blind — leap —
Still at the Egg-life —
Chafing the Shell —
When you troubled the Ellipse —
And the Bird fell —
Manacles be dim — they say —
To the new Free —
Liberty — Commoner —
Never could — to me —
‘Twas my last gratitude
When I slept — at night —
‘Twas the first Miracle
Let in — with Light —
Can the Lark resume the Shell —
769
Easier — for the Sky —
Wouldn’t Bonds hurt more
Than Yesterday?
Wouldn’t Dungeons sorer frate
On the Man — free —
Just long enough to taste —
Then — doomed new —
God of the Manacle
As of the Free —
Take not my Liberty
Away from Me —
Giochiamo a Ieri —
Io — la Ragazza a scuola —
Tu — e l’Eternità — il
Racconto Mai narrato —
Placando la mia fame
Sul mio Lessico —
Logaritmo — avevo — per Bevanda —
Era un Vino secco —
Alquanto diverso — dev’essere —
I Sogni tingono il Sonno —
Astuti Rossi del Mattino
Fanno il Cieco — balzare —
Ancora alla vita d’Uovo —
Fregando il Guscio —
Quando turbasti l’Ellisse —
E l’Uccello cadde —
Le Manette siano fioche — dicono —
Per il nuovo Libero —
Libertà — più Ordinaria —
Mai poté — per me —
Fu la mia ultima gratitudine
Quando dormivo — di notte —
Fu il primo Miracolo
Fatto entrare — con la Luce —
Può l’Allodola riprendere il Guscio —
769
Più facile — per il Cielo —
Non ferirebbero i Ceppi di più
Che Ieri?
Non roderebbero le Segrete più aspre
L’Uomo — libero —
Giusto il tempo d’assaggiare —
Poi — condannato di nuovo —
Dio della Manetta
Come del Libero —
Non togliere la mia Libertà
Via da Me —
He told a homely tale
And spotted it with tears —
Upon his infant face was set
The Cicatrice of years —
All crumpled was the cheek
No other kiss had known
Than flake of snow, divided with
The Redbreast of the Barn —
If Mother — in the Grave —
Or Father — on the Sea —
Or Father in the Firmament —
Or Brethren, had he —
If Commonwealth below,
Or Commonwealth above
Have missed a Barefoot Citizen —
I’ve ransomed it — alive —
Raccontò una storia semplice
E la macchiò di lacrime —
Sul suo volto d’infante era impressa
La Cicatrice degli anni —
Tutta gualcita era la guancia
Che altro bacio non aveva conosciuto
Se non falda di neve, divisa con
Il Pettirosso del Granaio —
Se Madre — nella Tomba —
O Padre — sul Mare —
O Padre nel Firmamento —
O Fratelli, avesse —
Se Comunità di sotto,
O Comunità di sopra
Hanno perduto un Cittadino Scalzo —
Io l’ho riscattato — vivo —
Trudging to Eden, looking backward,
I met Somebody’s little Boy
Asked him his name — He lisped me “Trotwood” —
Lady, did He belong to thee?
Would it comfort — to know I met him —
And that He didn’t look afraid?
I couldn’t weep — for so many smiling
New Acquaintance — this Baby made —
Arrancando verso l’Eden, guardando indietro,
incontrai il piccolo Bimbo di Qualcuno
Gli chiesi il nome — Egli mi balbettò “Trotwood” —
Signora, apparteneva Egli a te?
Ti consolerebbe — sapere che lo incontrai —
e che non sembrava impaurito?
Non potei piangere — ché tante sorridenti
nuove Conoscenze — questo Bimbo fece —
A little Dog that wags his tail
And knows no other joy
Of such a little Dog am I
Reminded by a Boy
Who gambols all the living Day
Without an earthly cause
Because he is a little Boy
I honestly suppose —
The Cat that in the Corner dwells
Her martial Day forgot
The Mouse but a Tradition now
Of her desireless Lot
Another class remind me
Who neither please nor play
But not to make a “bit of noise”
Beseech each little Boy —
Un piccolo Cane che scodinzola
E non conosce altra gioia
Di un tale piccolo Cane io
Son fatta memore da un Bimbo
Che folleggia tutto il vivo Giorno
Senza una causa terrena
Perché è un piccolo Bimbo
Onestamente suppongo —
La Gatta che nell’Angolo dimora
Il suo Giorno marziale ha scordato
Il Topo ormai non più che una Tradition
Della sua Sorte senza desideri
Un’altra classe mi rammentano
Che né compiacciono né giocano
Ma di non fare “un po’ di rumore”
Supplicano ogni piccolo Bimbo —
So I pull my Stockings off
Wading in the Water
For the Disobedience’ Sake
Boy that lived for “or’ter”
Went to Heaven perhaps at Death
And perhaps he didn’t
Moses wasn’t fairly used —
Ananias wasn’t —
Così mi sfilo le Calze
Guadando nell’Acqua
Per amore della Disobbedienza
Ragazzo che visse per il “si deve”
Andò in Cielo forse alla Morte
E forse non ci andò
Mosè non fu trattato con giustizia —
Anania nemmeno —
From all the Jails the Boys and Girls
Ecstatically leap —
Beloved only Afternoon
That Prison doesn’t keep
They storm the Earth and stun the Air,
A Mob of solid Bliss —
Alas — that Frowns should lie in wait
For such a Foe as this —
Da tutte le Prigioni i Ragazzi e le Ragazze
Balzano in estasi —
Amato unico Pomeriggio
Che la Prigione non trattiene
Assaltano la Terra e stordiscono l’Aria,
Una Folla di solida Beatitudine —
Ahimè — che Cipigli stiano in agguato
Per un Nemico come questo —
The going from a world we know
To one a wonder still
Is like the child’s adversity
Whose vista is a hill,
Behind the hill is sorcery
And everything unknown,
But will the secret compensate
For climbing it alone?
L’andare da un mondo che conosciamo
A uno che è ancora meraviglia
È come l’avversità del bimbo
La cui vista è una collina,
Dietro la collina è stregoneria
E ogni cosa ignota,
Ma il segreto compenserà
Lo scalarla da solo?
I haven’t thanked you for your letter yet, but not for want of gratitude. I will do so now most sincerely, most heartily—gladly and gratefully. You will write me another soon, that I may have four right feelings again! They don’t come for the asking. I have been introducing you to me in this letter so far; we will traffic in “joys” and “sorrows” some other day. Colds make one very carnal, and the spirit is always afraid of them. You will excuse all mistakes in view of ignorance; all sin, in view of “the fall”; all want of friendly affection, in the sight of the verse, “The deepest stream the stillest runs”; and other general deficiencies, on the ground of universal incapacity! Here is surely room for charity, and the heavenly visitor wouldn’t have come but for these faults. “No loss without a gain.” I called to see your cousins an evening since; they were well, and evidently delighted to see one another—and us.
When your letter came, I had two Western cousins—now at South Hadley Seminary—staying their vacation with me. They took an unbounded delight in a sentence I read them; and to pay for it, send you their love.
In the following letter appear farther traces of the later and almost invariable custom of using dashes, instead of conventional punctuation. These, however, will not be given generally. In printing her poems it was found necessary to employ usual punctuation, in order that the meaning should be more easily apprehended; and in the letters the same system, often for the same reason, has been adopted.
MY DEAR CHILD,—Thank you for that sweet note which came so long ago, and thank you for asking. me to come and visit you, and thank you for loving me, long ago, and to-day, and too for all the sweetness, and all the gentleness, and all the tenderness with which you remember me,—your quaint, old-fashioned friend.
I wanted very much to write you sooner, and I tried frequently, but till now in vain, and as I write to-night, it is with haste, and fear lest something still detain me. You know, my dear A., that the summer has been warm, that at this pleasant season we have much company, that this irresolute body refuses to serve sometimes, and the indignant tenant can only hold its peace,—all this you know, for I have often told you, and yet I say it again, if mayhap it persuades you that I do love you indeed, and have not done neglectfully… . I think it was in June that your note reached here, and I did snatch a moment to call upon your friend. Yet I went in the dusk, and it was Saturday evening, so even then, A., you see how cares pursued me. I found her very lovely in what she said to me, and I fancied in her face so, although the gentle dusk would draw her curtain close, and I didn’t see her clearly. We talked the most of you,—a theme we surely loved, or we had not discussed it in preference to all. I would love to meet her again, and give my love to her, for your sake. You asked me to come and see you—I must speak of that. I thank you, A., but I don’t go from home, unless emergency leads me by the hand, and then I do it obstinately, and draw back if I can. Should I ever leave home, which is improbable, I will, with much delight, accept your invitation; till then, my dear A., my warmest thanks are yours, but don’t expect me. I’m so old-fashioned, darling, that all your friends would stare. I should have to bring my workbag, and my big spectacles, and I half forgot my grandchildren, and my pincushion, and puss—why, think of it seriously, A.,—do you think it my duty to leave? Will you write me again? Mother and Vinnie send their love, and here’s a kiss from me.
I received your letter, Austin, permit me to thank you for it and to request some more as soon as it’s convenient—permit me to accord with your discreet opinion concerning Swedish Jennie, and to commend the heart brave enough to express it—combating the opinion of two civilized worlds and New York into the bargain must need considerable daring—indeed, it had never occurred to me that amidst the hallelujahs one tongue would dare be dumb, and much less, I assure you, that this dissenting one should be my romantic brother! For I had looked for delight and a very high style of rapture in such a youth as you… .
We have all been rather piqued at Jennie’s singing so well, and this first calumnious whisper pleases us so well, we rejoice that we didn’t come—our visit is yet before us… . You haven’t told us yet as you promised about your home—what kind of people they are—whether you find them pleasant—whether those timid gentlemen have yet “found tongues to say.” Do you find the life and living any more annoying than you at first expected—do you light upon any friends to help the time away—have you whipped any more bad boys-—all these are solemn questions, pray give them proper heed!
Two weeks of your time are gone; I can’t help wondering sometimes if you would love to see us, and come to this still homo… . A Senior levee was held at Professor and Mrs. Haven’s on Tuesday of last week—Vinnie played pretty well. There’s another at the. President’s this next Friday evening. Clarum et venerabile Seniors!
Several subsequent letters, all piquant and breezy, but dealing quite entirely with family matters, experiences with callers, and other personal subjects, have been omitted.
… Father has not got home, and we don’t know when to expect him. We had a letter from him yesterday, but he didn’t say when he should come. He writes that he “should think the whole world was there, and some from other worlds.” He says he meets a great many old friends and acquaintances, and forms a great many new ones—he writes in very fine spirits, and says he enjoys himself very much… . I wish you could have gone with him, you would have enjoyed it so, but I did not much suppose that selfish old school would let you… . Last week the Senior levee came off at the President’s. I believe Professor Haven is to give one soon—and there is to be a reception at Professor Tyler’s next Tuesday evening which I shall attend. You see Amherst is growing lively, and by the time you come everything will be in a buzz… . We all send you our love.
DEAR AUSTIN,—I presume you remember a story that Vinnie tells of a breach of promise case where the correspondence between the parties consisted of a reply from the girl to one she had never received but was daily expecting. Well, I am writing an answer to the letter I haven’t had, so you will see the force of the accompanying anecdote. I have been looking for you ever since despatching my last, but this is a fickle world, and it’s a great source of complacency that ‘twill all be burned up by and by. I should be pleased with a line when you’ve published your work to father, if it’s perfectly convenient!
Your letters are very funny indeed—about the only jokes we have, now you are gone, and I hope you will send us one as often as you can. Father takes great delight in your remarks to him—puts on his spectacles and reads them o’er and o’er as if it was a blessing to have an only son. He reads all the letters you write, as soon as he gets them, at the post-office, no matter to whom addressed; then he makes me read them aloud at the supper table again, and when he gets home in the evening, he cracks a few walnuts, puts his spectacles on, and with your last in his hand, sits down to enjoy the evening… . I believe at this moment, Austin, that there’s nobody living for whom father has such respect as for you. But my paper is getting low, and I must hasten to tell you that we are very happy to hear good news from you, that we hope you’ll have pleasant times and learn a great deal while you’re gone, and come back to us greater and happier for the life lived at Cambridge. We miss you more and more. I wish that we could see you, but letters come the next—write them often, and tell us everything.
DEAR AUSTIN,—… Some of the letters you’ve sent us we have received, and thank you for affectionately. Some we have not received, but thank you for the memory, of which the emblem perished. Where all those letters go, yours and ours, somebody surely knows, but we do not. There’s a new postmaster today, but we don’t know who’s to blame. You never wrote me a letter, Austin, which I. liked half so well as the one father brought me. We think of your coming home with a great deal of happiness, and are glad you want to come.
Father said he never saw you looking in better health or seeming in finer spirits. He didn’t say a word about the Hippodrome or the Museum, and he came home so stem that none of us dared to ask him, and besides grandmother was here, and you certainly don’t think I’d allude to a Hippodrome in the presence of that lady! I’d as soon think of popping fire-crackers in the presence of Peter the Great. But you’ll tell us when you get home—how soon—how soon! … I admire the “Poems” very much. We all send our love to you—shall write you again Sunday.
… G. H. has just retired from an evening’s visit here, and I gather my spent energies to write a word to you.
“Blessed are they that are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for they shall have their reward!” Dear Austin, I don’t feel funny, and I hope you won’t laugh at anything I say. I am thinking of you and Vinnie—what nice times you are having, sitting and talking together, while I am lonely here, and I wanted to sit and think of you, and fancy what you were saying, all the evening long, but—ordained otherwise. I hope you will have grand times, and don’t forget the unit without you, at home.
I have had some things from you to which I perceive no meaning. They either were very vast, or they didn’t mean anything, I don’t know certainly which. What did you mean by a note you sent me day before yesterday? Father asked me what you wrote, and I gave it to him to read. He looked very much confused, and finally put on his spectacles, which didn’t seem to help him much—I don’t think a telescope would have assisted him. I hope you will write to me—I love to hear from you, and now Vinnie is gone I shall feel very lonely… . Love for them all if there are those to love and think of me, and more and most for you, from
DEAR EMILY,—I can’t come in this morning, because I am so cold, but you will know I am here ringing the big front door-bell, and leaving a note for you.
Oh, I want to come in, I have a great mind now to follow little Jane.into your warm sitting-room; are you there, dear Emily?
No, I resist temptation and run away from the door just as fast as my feet will carry me, lest if I once come in I shall grow so happy that I shall stay there always and never go home at all. You will have read this note by the time I reach the office, and you can’t think how fast I run.
P. S. I have just shot past the comer, and now all the wayside houses, and the little gate flies open to see me coming home.
Thank you, dear Mrs. Holland—Vinnie and I will come, if you would like to have us. We should have written before, but mother has not been well, and we hardly knew whether we could leave her, but she is better now, and I write quite late this evening, that if you still desire it, Vinnie and I will come. Then, dear Mrs. Holland, if agreeable to you, we will take the Amherst train on Tuesday morning, for Springfield, and be with you at noon.
The cars leave here at nine o’clock, and I think reach Springfield at twelve. I can think just how we dined with you a year ago from now, and it makes my heart beat faster to think perhaps we’ll see you so little while from now.
To live a thousand years would not make me forget the day and night we spent there, and while I write the words, I don’t believe I’m coming, so sweet it seems to me. I hope we shall not tire you; with all your other cares, we fear we should not come, but you will not let us trouble you, will you, dear Mrs. Holland?
Father and mother ask a very warm remembrance to yourself and Dr. Holland.
We were happy the grapes and figs seemed acceptable to you, and wished there were many more. I am very sorry to hear that “Kate” has such excellent lungs. With all your other cares, it must be quite a trial to you.
It is also a source of pleasure to me that Annie goes to sleep, on account of the “interregnum” it must afford to you.
Three days and we are there—happy—very happy! To-morrow I will sew, but I shall think of you, and Sunday sing and pray—yet I shall not forget you, and Monday’s very near, and here’s to me on Tuesday! Good-night, dear Mrs. Holland—I see I’m getting wild—you will forgive me all, and not forget me all, though? Vinnie is fast asleep, or her love would be here—though she is, it is. Once more, if it is fair, we will come on Tuesday, and you love to have us, but if not convenient, please surely tell us so.
May it come to-day?
Then New Year the sweetest, and long life the merriest, and the Heaven highest—by and by!
Will some one lay this little flower on Mrs. Holland’s pillow?
I thought that “Birnam Wood” had “come to Dunsinane.” Where did you pick arbutus? In Broadway, I suppose. They say that God is everywhere, and yet we always think of Him as somewhat of a recluse… . It is hard not to hear again that vital “Sam is coming”—though if grief is a test of a priceless life, he is compensated. He was not ambitious for redemption—that was why it is his. “To him that hath, shall be given.” Were it not for the eyes, we would know of you oftener. Have they no remorse for their selfishness? “This tabernacle” is a blissful trial, but the bliss predominates.
I suppose you will play in the water at Alexandria Bay, as the baby does at the tub in the drive… . Speak to us when your eyes can spare you, and “keep us, at home, or by the way,” as the clergyman says, when he folds the church till another Sabbath.
LOVED AND LITTLE SISTER,—Vinnie brought in a sweet pea to-day, which had a pod on the “off” side. Startled by the omen, I hasten to you.
An unexpected impediment to my reply to your dear last, was a call from my Aunt Elizabeth—“the only male relative on the female side,” and though many days since, its flavor of court-martial still sets my spirit tingling.
With what dismay I read of those columns of kindred in the Bible—the Jacobites and the Jebusites and the Hittites and the Jacqueminots!
I am sure you are better, for no rheumatism in its senses would stay after the thermometer struck ninety!
We are revelling in a gorgeous drought.
The grass is painted brown, and how nature would look in other than the standard colors, we can all infer… . I bade——call on you, but Vinnie said you were “the other side the globe,” yet Vinnie thinks Vermont is in Asia, so I don’t intend to be disheartened by trifles.
Vinnie has a new pussy that catches a mouse an hour. We call her the “minute hand.” …
Dr. Holland’s death, in October of 1881, brought grief to many loving hearts, but to the quiet Amherst household peculiar pain, voiced in the notes to follow.
We read the words but know them not. We are too frightened with sorrow. If that dear, tired one must sleep, could we not see him first?
Heaven is but a little way to one who gave it, here. “Inasmuch,” to him, how tenderly fulfilled!
Our hearts have flown to you before—our breaking voices follow. How can we wait to take you all in our sheltering arms?
Could there be new tenderness, it would be for you, but the heart is full—another throb would split it—nor would we dare to speak to those whom such a grief removes, but we have somewhere heard “A little child shall lead them.”
After a while, dear, you will remember that there is a heaven—but you can’t now. Jesus will excuse it. He will remember his shorn lamb.
The lost one was on such childlike terms with the Father in Heaven. He has passed from confiding to comprehending—perhaps but a step.
The safety of a beloved lost is the first anguish. With you, that is peace.
I shall never forget the Doctor’s prayer, my first morning with you—so simple, so believing. That God must be a friend—that was a different God—and I almost felt warmer myself, in the midst of a tie so sunshiny.
I am yearning to know if he knew he was fleeing—if he spoke to you. Dare I ask if he suffered? Some one will tell me a very little, when they have the strength… . Cling tight to the hearts that will not let you fall.
DEAR MARY,—Can you leave your flower long enough just to look at mine?
Which is the prettiest? I shall tell you myself, some day. I used to come to comfort you, but now to tell you how glad I am, and how glad we all are… . You must not stay in New York any more—you must come back now, and bring the blanket to Massachusetts where we can all look. What a responsible shepherd! Four lambs in one flock! Shall you be glad to see us, or shall we seem old-fashioned, by the face in the crib?
Tell him I’ve got a pussy for him, with a spotted gown; and a dog with ringlets.
We have very cold days since you went away, and I think you hear the wind blow far as the Brevoort House, it comes from so far, and crawls so. Don’t let it blow baby away. Will you call him Robert for me? He is the bravest man alive, but his boy has no mamma. That makes us all weep, don’t it?
The following lines, sent with flowers, have almost as quaint and “seventeenth century” a flavor as the now famous quatrain beginning,—
“A death-blow is a life-blow to some.” If recollecting were forgetting Then I remember not. And if forgetting, recollecting, How near I had forgot! And if to miss were merry, And if to mourn were gay, How very blithe the fingers That gathered this, to-day!
If we die, will you come for us, as you do for father?
“Not born,” yourself “to die,” you must reverse us all.
Last to adhere When summers swerve away— Elegy of Integrity
To remember our own Mr. Bowles is all we can do.
With grief it is done, so warmly and long, it can never be new.
… I was sick, little sister, and write you the first that I am able.
The loveliest sermon I ever heard was the disappointment of Jesus in Judas. It was told like a mortal story of intimate young men. I suppose no surprise we can ever have will be so sick as that. The last “I never knew you” may resemble it. I would your hearts could have rested from the first severity before you received this other one, but “not as I will.” I suppose the wild flowers encourage themselves in the dim woods, and the bird that is bruised limps to his house in silence, but we have human natures, and these are different. It is lovely that Mrs. W——did not disappoint you; not that I thought it possible, but you were so much grieved… . A finite life, little sister, is that peculiar garment that were it optional with us we might decline to wear. Tender words to L——, not most, I trust, in need of them.
DEAR ONES,—If I linger, this will not reach you before Sunday; if I do not, I must write you much less than I would love. “Do unto others as ye would that they should do unto you.” I would rather they would do unto me so.
After infinite wanderings the little note has reached us. It was mailed the twelfth—we received it the twenty-third. The address “Misses Dickinson” misled the rustic eyes—the postmaster knows Vinnie, also by faith who Emily is, because his little girl was hurt, and Emily sent her juleps —but he failed of the intellectual grasp to combine the names. So after sending it to all the Mrs. Dickinsons he could discover, he consigned it to us, with the request that we would speedily return it if not ours, that he might renew his research. Almost any one under the circumstances would have doubted if it were theirs, or indeed if they were themself—but to us it was clear. Next time, dears, direct Vinnie, or Emily, and perhaps Mr.——‘s astuteness may be adequate. I enclose the battered remains for your Sabbath perusal, and tell you we think of you tenderly, which I trust you often believe.
Maggie is making a flying visit to cattle-show, on her very robust wings—for Maggie is getting corpulent. Vinnie is picking a few seeds—for if a pod “die, shall he not live again”; and with the shutting mail I go to read to mother about the President. When we think of the lone effort to live, and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth “for His mercy endureth forever,” with confiding revulsion. Still, when Professor Fisk died on Mount Zion, Dr. Humphrey prayed “to whom shall we turn but thee?” “I have finished,” said Paul, “the faith.” We rejoice that he did not say discarded it.
The little postman has come—Thomas’s “second oldest,” and I close with reluctant and hurrying love.
DEAR L——,—Thank you, with love, for the kindness; it would be very sweet to claim if we needed it, but we are quite strong, and mother well as usual, and Vinnie spectacular as Disraeli and sincere as Gladstone,—was only sighing in fun. When she sighs in earnest, Emily’s throne will tremble, and she will need both L——and F——; but Vinnie “still prevails.” When one or all of us are lain on “Marian Erle’s dim pallet,” so cool that she deplored to live because that she must leave it, L——and the ferns, and F——and her fan shall supplement the angels, if they have not already joined them.
DEAR FRIEND,—I did not deem that planetary forces annulled, but suffered an exchange of territory, or world.
I should have liked to see you before you became improbable. War feels to me an oblique place. Should there be other summers, would you perhaps come?
I found you were gone, by accident, as I find systems are, or seasons of the year, and obtain no cause, but suppose it a treason of progress that dissolves as it goes. Carlo still remained, and I told him.
Best gains must have the losses’ test, To constitute them gains.
My shaggy ally assented.
Perhaps death gave me awe for friends, striking sharp and early, for I held them since in a brittle love, of more alarm than peace. I trust you may pass the limit of war; and though not reared to prayer, when service is had in church for our arms, I include yourself… . I was thinking to-day, as I noticed, that the “supernatural” was only the natural disclosed.
Not “Revelation” ‘tis that waits, But our unfurnished eyes.
But I fear I detain you. Should you, before this reaches you, experience Immortality, who will inform me of the exchange? Could you, with honor, avoid death, I entreat you, sir. It would bereave
DEAR FRIEND,—I was touchingly reminded of [a child who had died] this morning by an Indian woman with gay baskets and a dazzling baby, at the kitchen door. Her little boy “once died,” she said, death to her dispelling him. I asked her what the baby liked, and she said “to step.” The prairie before the door was gay with flowers of hay, and I led her in. She argued with the birds, she leaned on clover walls and they fell, and dropped her. With jargon sweeter than a bell, she grappled buttercups, and they sank together, the buttercups the heaviest. What sweetest use of days! ‘Twas noting some such scene made Vaughan humbly say,—
“My days that are at best but dim and hoary.”
I think it was Vaughan… .
Will it comfort my grieved cousin to know that Emily and Vinnie are among the ones this moment thinking of him with peculiar tenderness, and is his sweet wife too faint to remember to Whom her loved one is consigned?
“Come unto me” could not alarm those minute feet—how sweet to remember.
If you feel able, write a few words; if you do not—remember forgetting is a guile unknown to your faithful cousin
Intrusiveness of flowers is brooked by even troubled hearts.
They enter and then knock—then chide their ruthless sweetness, and then remain forgiven.
May these molest as fondly!
The face in evanescence lain Is more distinct than ours, And ours, considered for its sake, As capsules are for flowers.
DEAR FRIEND,—Is not an absent friend as mysterious as a bulb in the ground, and is not a bulb the most captivating floral form? Must it not have enthralled the Bible, if we may infer from its selection? “The lily of the field!”
I never pass one without being chagrined for Solomon, and so in love with “the lily” anew, that were I sure no one saw me, I might make those advances of which in after life I should repent.
The apple-blossoms were slightly disheartened, yesterday, by a snow-storm, but the birds encouraged them all that they could—and how fortunate that the little ones had come to cheer their damask brethren!
You spoke of coming “with the apple-blossoms”—which occasioned our solicitude.
The ravenousness of fondness is best disclosed by children… .
Is there not a sweet wolf within us that demands its food?
I can easily imagine your fondness for the little life so mysteriously committed to your care. The bird that asks our crumb has a plaintive distinction. I rejoice that it was possible for you to be with it, for I think the early spiritual influences about a child are more hallowing than we know. The angel begins in the morning in every human life. How small the furniture of bliss! How scant the heavenly fabric!
No ladder needs the bird but skies To situate its wings, Nor any leader’s grim baton Arraigns it as it sings. The implements of bliss are few— As Jesus says of Him, “Come unto me” the moiety That wafts the cherubim.
DEAR FRIEND,—You are like God. We pray to Him, and he answers “No.” Then we pray to Him to rescind the “no,” and He don’t answer at all, yet “Seek and ye shall find” is the boon of faith.
You failed to keep your appointment with the apple-blossoms—the japonica, even, bore an apple to elicit you, but that must be a silver bell which calls the human heart.
I still hope that you live, and in lands of consciousness.
It is Commencement now. Pathos is very busy.
The past is not a package one can lay away. I see my father’s eyes, and those of Mr. Bowles—those isolated comets. If the future is mighty as the past, what may vista be?
With my foot in a sling from a vicious sprain, and reminded of you almost to tears by the week and its witness, I send this sombre word.
The vane defines the wind.
Where we thought you were, Austin says you are not. How strange to change one’s sky, unless one’s star go with it, but yours has left an astral wake.
Vinnie gives her hand.
DEAR FRIEND,—A tree your father gave me bore this priceless flower.
Would you accept it because of him—
Who abdicated ambush And went the way of dusk, And now, against his subtle name, There stands an asterisk As confident of him as we; Impregnable we are— The whole of Immortality Secreted in a star.
After the birth of Samuel Bowles the Fifth:
I had, dear friend, the deep hope that I might see your brother before he passed from life, or rather life we know, and can scarcely express the pang I feel at its last denial.
His rare and hallowed kindness had strangely endeared him, and I cannot be comforted not to thank him before he went so far.
I never had met your brother but once. An unforgotten once—to have seen him but once more would have been almost like an interview with my “Heavenly Father” whom he loved and knew. I hope he was able to speak with you in his closing moment. One accent of courage as he took his flight would assist your heart. I am eager to know all you may tell me of those final days. We asked for him every morning, in heart, but feared to disturb you by inquiry aloud. I hope you are not too far exhausted from your “loved employ.”
To know of you when possible would console us much, and every circumstance of him we had hoped to see… .
HAPPY “DID” AND MAC,—We can offer you nothing so charming as your own hearts, which we would seek to possess, had we the requisite wiles.
DEAR BOYS,—Please never grow up, which is “far better.” Please never “improve”—you are perfect now.
LITTLE WOMEN,—Which shall it be, geraniums or tulips?
The butterfly upon the sky, who doesn’t know its name,
And hasn’t any tax to pay, and hasn’t any home,
Is just as high as you and I, and higher, I believe—
So soar away and never sigh, for that’s the way to grieve.
KATIE “DID” FROM KATIE “DIDN’T”
Will the sweet child who sent me the butterflies, herself a member of the same ethereal nation, accept a rustic kiss, flavored, we trust, with clover?
I am sure you must have remembered that father had “become as little children,” or you would never have dared send him a Christmas gift, for you know how he frowned upon Santa Claus, and all such prowling gentlemen.
To the Same, sent with yellow flowers when the country was drenched in rain
Accompanying a box of the delicious chocolate caramels she
Your coming is a symptom of summer.
The symptom excels the malady.
Should dear Mrs. Tuckerman have no pears like mine, I should never cease to be harrowed.
Should she, that also would be dismay.
I incur the peril.
And to another friend, about the same time, she wrote:—
Should it be possible for me to speak of my father before I behold him, I shall try to do so to you, whom he always remembered.
DEAR FRIENDS,—Even the simplest solace, with a loved aim, has a heavenly quality.
Arthur forgot to set a trap for Santa Claus, but that industrious mouse will excuse him, if he will steal the cakes instead. And Annie.
Mother congratulates Mr. Emerson on the discovery of the “philosopher’s stone.” She will never divulge it. It lay just where she thought it did—in making others happy.
DEAR COOUSIN,—Thank you for the delightful cake, and the heart adjacent.
SWEET AND GRACIOUS AUNT KATIE,—The beloved lilies have come, and my heart is so high it overflows, as this was mother’s week, Easter in November.
Father rose in June, and a little more than a year since, those fair words were fulfilled, “and a little child shall lead them”—but boundlessness forbids me… .
It is very wrong that you were ill, and whom shall I accuse? The enemy, “eternal, invisible, and full of glory” —but He declares himself a friend! It is sweet you are better.
More beating that brave heart has to do before the emerald recess.
With sorrow for Emma’s accident, and love for all who cherish you, including the roses, your velvet allies.
DEAR AUNT,—I have found and give it in love, but reluctant to entrust anything so sacred to my father as my grandfather’s Bible to a public messenger, will wait till Mr. Howard comes, whom Mrs. Nellie tells us is due this week. Thank you for loving my father and mother. I hope they are with the Source of love. You did not tell me of your health—I trust because confirmed. Thank you too for sorrow, the one you truly knew.
With Vinnie’s affection, in haste and fondness,
My consoleless Vinnie convinces me of the misfortune of having known dear Mrs. Carmichael, whom “to name is to praise,” for indeed, were we both intelligent mourners, I fear delight would close; but the “fair uncertainty” aids me, which is denied Vinnie.
Of her noble loss it is needless to speak—that is incalculable.
Of her sweet power to us when we were overwhelmed, that, too, shall be mute. She has “borne our grief and carried our sorrow,” that is the criterion… .
Let me hope she is well to-day, and sheltered by every love she deserves, which were indeed countless.
We congratulate sweet Mrs. Skeel on her beloved booty, and ask a remembrance in her prayer for those of us bereaved.
SWEET FRIENDS,—I send a message by a mouth that cannot speak.
The ecstasy to guess Were a receipted bliss If grace could talk.