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John Wentworth (search for this): chapter 2
ember 26, 1861:— Your birthday was remembered and honored by gratitude and praise, remembering as I did the poor half dead baby that I had for so long walked about in my arms and fed religiously according to direction every two hours, bearing hope in my heart when there seemed no hope, and even the most experienced doctors gave him up; how could I be but grateful and exultant when I think of my stalwart son, the Day Star of my Life! Too many babies is the concise label with which Wentworth, the man, indorsed a letter written by his Aunt Nancy in 1824, in which she says:— I believe I have not written you since the birth of our young Thomas Wentworth. I meant to have announced to you the arrival of the Stout Gentleman. . . . Our Wentworth grows such a mountain—that we think sometimes it would be well to ask Mr. Perkins to invent some kind of a steam-engine whereby to tend him this summer—for we have some misgivings concerning the strength of our arms. . . . Oh, dear!
Thomas Wentworth (search for this): chapter 2
written you since the birth of our young Thomas Wentworth. I meant to have announced to you the arrival of the Stout Gentleman. . . . Our Wentworth grows such a mountain—that we think sometimes it own. He was in South America during most of Wentworth's childhood, but wrote charming letters addr but smiles and sunshine to be seen. When Wentworth was not quite four, he went to a Dame Schoolanket could be found, one of them cried, Ask Wentworth. He probably has a list of blankets in his (then Tory Row), Cambridge. To this school Wentworth was promoted at the age of eight, and there although he lived only a few rods distant. Wentworth's own home was a mile away, and he often dinter behaved shoulders have escaped. When Wentworth was nine, his mother recorded that he had rethe Latin grammar. The following summary of Wentworth's virtues from the same, perhaps not unbiase having been absorbed by Radcliffe College. Wentworth wrote this description of a visit to their f[6 more...]
John Holmes (search for this): chapter 2
Tommy there is a fire. I looked out of the window and saw a blaze. . . . I asked Sister Anna if we might [go] and she said we might if we would not go beyond the common fence. We went and when we got there we found people in abundance. As we were going along, Thornton [Ware] caught up with us having in each hand one of his father's firebuckets. He seemed to be quite at home there. There were a great many blankets, &c., hanging on the fence. . . . Some burnt papers were found as far as Dr. Holmes's. There were a great many books thrown out of the window. . . . I suppose I have not given you a very good description of the fire, but it is as good as I can give. I was glad to receive your knife, for I wanted it very much. Tell brother Stephen that I took the schooner that I was making when he came here, to pieces. I am now making a sloop instead of it. I think this is a pretty long letter, so Goodbye. Love to all. Your affectionate nephew, Wentworth. Dear Aunt Nancy,—
Signor Blitz (search for this): chapter 2
Waldo Emerson. The habit of omnivorous reading, which clung to him through his long life, can always be taken for granted. At this period he read Philip Van Artevelde, always a favorite, for the third time. A little later he speaks of spending many half-days in bookstores. During all these evidences of unusual maturity, compared with the slower juvenile development of to-day, the record shows a healthy interest in boyish amusements and activities. For instance:— Went to see Signor Blitz the juggler, Court House; produced 2 rabbits, guinea pig and cat from a tin. He was fond of visiting the ruins of the Ursuline Convent in Charlestown, the burning of which had made a great impression on his youthful mind, and which seems to have first aroused his love for religious tolerance. He walked often to Boston and spent a good deal of time at Mount Auburn or Sweet Auburn. In his Decoration Day address at Sanders Theatre, in 1904, he thus alluded to the old play-ground:—
Foster (search for this): chapter 2
se-Shoe Robinson, a book by the author of Swallow barn, both which are very entertaining. I have also read Miss Burney's Cecelia. To his mother he thus recounted his doings:— I will now tell you of our May party. We met on the 30th of April at 5 A. M. just down by Thornton's to choose a queen ... Afterwards we went to Mount Auburn and walked and played until 10 o'clock when we came home. ... I forgot to say that as [we] were going to Mount Auburn we stopped a little while at Mrs. Foster's and she gave us some cake. We found no flowers except half blown anemones. Dearly-Beloved Mother, The miniature tigresses' (that is Aunt Nancy, and Mrs.—) being absent, I sit down, away from the discord of feminine voices, which there usually is when I write! What do you think of that? ... Aunt Nancy will hardly ever show me any of your letters, for she says you always write sentiment to her, and sublunary things to the rest of us. I had a splendid time on the fourth of July.
Thacher Higginson (search for this): chapter 2
here, the latter being one of the older pupils. There is an amusing letter from Lowell to Thacher Higginson which Colonel Higginson later framed and hung in his library. My dear thach,— In thColonel Higginson later framed and hung in his library. My dear thach,— In the course of human events when the mind becomes indued with active spirit, with powerful imagination, with extensive enterprise, with noble designty—Then, my boy, Then! is the time to return to you tmon interest. The old habit of preserving family correspondence was never abandoned by Colonel Higginson. These little letters were written between the boy's tenth and thirteenth years in a rounAunt N. thinks this is very well for him. The last paragraph is explained by a sentence in Higginson's Old Cambridge which says, Cambridge boys were still sent to sea as a cure for naughtiness. At about this time, in 1834, Wentworth's father died. Two years later Mrs. Higginson sold the Kirkland Street house and removed to a smaller one on Garden Street, which had been built by her son F<
Ancient History (search for this): chapter 2
where we played and read Spenser's Faerie Queene. The first time I swam across from one point to another in this river was perhaps the proudest moment of my life. I had no feeling of fear, but one of great confidence. All along Mt. Auburn St. on the side bordering the river were apple trees and no houses. At the age of twelve the boy kept a diary of his own, from which it appears that one of his amusements was attending lectures on such subjects as these: The French Revolution, Ancient History, the poet Southey, and miscellaneous lectures by Rev. Waldo Emerson. The habit of omnivorous reading, which clung to him through his long life, can always be taken for granted. At this period he read Philip Van Artevelde, always a favorite, for the third time. A little later he speaks of spending many half-days in bookstores. During all these evidences of unusual maturity, compared with the slower juvenile development of to-day, the record shows a healthy interest in boyish amu
Robinson (search for this): chapter 2
. . . I suppose I have not given you a very good description of the fire, but it is as good as I can give. I was glad to receive your knife, for I wanted it very much. Tell brother Stephen that I took the schooner that I was making when he came here, to pieces. I am now making a sloop instead of it. I think this is a pretty long letter, so Goodbye. Love to all. Your affectionate nephew, Wentworth. Dear Aunt Nancy,— I have just been reading Pride and prejudice and Horse-Shoe Robinson, a book by the author of Swallow barn, both which are very entertaining. I have also read Miss Burney's Cecelia. To his mother he thus recounted his doings:— I will now tell you of our May party. We met on the 30th of April at 5 A. M. just down by Thornton's to choose a queen ... Afterwards we went to Mount Auburn and walked and played until 10 o'clock when we came home. ... I forgot to say that as [we] were going to Mount Auburn we stopped a little while at Mrs. Foster's and
Caesar (search for this): chapter 2
Peak which you left behind. Sunday School is in the Courthouse now. . . . I shall like to hear about a fox-hunt. Are there any slaves at Mr. Martin's, and do they blow a conch in the morning to collect them? . . . I read the Spectator a few days ago. Aunt Nancy received the two following letters:— How are you?... I am reading the Tales of a Grandfather and like them very much. . . . I am learning the conjugation of the verb parler, to speak. . . . I think that I shall go into Caesar, after the vacation, at school. . . . I have seen some snowdrops already in Mrs. Carpenter's yard. I meant to ask her for some the other day, but she was not at home. I am learning to waltz now. Several days ago, there was a fire here. It was at the Lyceum. As soon as I woke up in the morning, I heard Henry saying Oh Tommy there is a fire. I looked out of the window and saw a blaze. . . . I asked Sister Anna if we might [go] and she said we might if we would not go beyond the common fen
Herbert Spenser (search for this): chapter 2
r 4 1/8 cents apiece; the clock for $3 3/4; and a little table in there for 1 cent. ... There was an old curious chair, which Mr. Morse finding he could not sell, broke. I was much obliged to him for I got a nice bat by it. Occasionally a bit of autobiography is found among the old letters, as this:— I vividly remember when I first swam above my depth in the Charles River. We boys had been learning to swim at a point in the river not far from the willows where we played and read Spenser's Faerie Queene. The first time I swam across from one point to another in this river was perhaps the proudest moment of my life. I had no feeling of fear, but one of great confidence. All along Mt. Auburn St. on the side bordering the river were apple trees and no houses. At the age of twelve the boy kept a diary of his own, from which it appears that one of his amusements was attending lectures on such subjects as these: The French Revolution, Ancient History, the poet Southey, a
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