a new england girlhood-第21章

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ter；sweeter　than　any　has　tasted　since；and　would　jump　up　towards　the　crows　cawing　high　above　me；　cawing　back　to　them；　and　half　wishing　I　too　were　a　crow　to　make　the　sky　ring　with　my　glee。

After　Dr。　Watts's　hymns　the　first　poetry　I　took　great　delight　in　greeted　me　upon　the　pages　of　the　〃American　First　Class　Book；〃　handed　down　from　older　pupils　in　the　little　private　school　which　my　sisters　and　I　attended　when　Aunt　Hannah　had　done　all　she　could　for　us。　That　book　was　a　collection　of　excellent　literary　extracts；　made　by　one　who　was　himself　an　author　and　a　poet。　It　deserved　to　be　called　〃first…class〃　in　another　sense　than　that　which　was　understood　by　its　title。　I　cannot　think　that　modern　reading　books　have　improved　upon　it　much。　It　contained　poems　from　Wordsworth；　passages　from　Shakespeare's　plays；　among　them　the　pathetic　dialogue　between　Hubert　and　little　Prince　Arthur；　whose　appeal　to　have　his　eyes　spared；　brought　many　a　tear　to　my　own。　Bryant's　〃Waterfowl〃　and　〃Thanatopsis〃　were　there　also；　and　Neal's；

〃There's　a　fierce　gray　bird　with　a　bending　beak；〃

that　the　boys　loved　so　dearly　to　〃declaim；〃　and　another　poem　by　this　last　author；　which　we　all　liked　to　read；　partly　from　a　childish　love　of　the　tragic；　and　partly　for　its　graphic　description　of　an　avalanche's　movement：

〃Slowly　it　came　in　its　mountain　wrath；　And　the　forests　vanished　before　its　path；　And　the　rude　cliffs　bowed；　and　the　waters　fled；　And　the　valley　of　life　was　the　tomb　of　the　dead。〃

In　reading　this；　〃Swiss　Minstrel's　Lament　over　the　Ruins　of　Goldau；〃　I　first　felt　my　imagination　thrilled　with　the　terrible　beauty　of　the　mountainsa　terror　and　a　sublimity　which　attracted　my　thoughts　far　more　than　it　awed　them。　But　the　poem　in　which　they　burst　upon　me　as　real　presences；　unseen；　yet　known　in　their　remote　splendor　as　kingly　friends　before　whom　I　could　bow；　yet　with　whom　I　could　aspire；for　something　like　this　I　think　mountains　must　always　be　to　those　who　truly　love　them；was　Coleridge's　〃Mont　Blanc　before　Sunrise；〃　in　this　same　〃First　Class　Book。〃　I　believe　that　poetry　really　first　took　possession　of　me　in　that　poem；　so　that　afterwards　I　could　not　easily　mistake　the　genuineness　of　its　ring；　though　my　ear　might　not　be　sufficiently　trained　to　catch　its　subtler　harmonies。　This　great　mountain　poem　struck　some　hidden　key…note　in　my　nature；　and　I　knew　thenceforth　something　of　what　it　was　to　live　in　poetry；　and　to　have　it　live　in　me。　Of　course　I　did　not　consider　my　own　foolish　little　versifying　poetry。　The　child　of　eight　or　nine　years　regarded　her　rhymes　as　only　one　among　her　many　games　and　pastimes。

But　with　this　ideal　picture　of　mountain　scenery　there　came　to　me　a　revelation　of　poetry　as　the　one　unattainable　something　which　I　must　reach　out　after；　because　I　could　not　live　without　it。　The　thought　of　it　was　to　me　like　the　thought　of　God　and　of　truth。　To　leave　out　poetry　would　be　to　lose　the　real　meaning　of　life。　I　felt　this　very　blindly　and　vaguely；　no　doubt；　but　the　feeling　was　deep。　It　was　as　if　Mont　Blanc　stood　visibly　before　me；　while　I　murmured　to　myself　in　lonely　places　

〃Motionless　torrents！　silent　cataracts！　Who　made　you　glorious　as　the　gates　of　heaven　Beneath　the　keen　full　moon？　Who　bade　the　sun　Clothe　you　with　rainbows？　Who　with　lovely　flowers　Of　living　blue　spread　garlands　at　your　feet？〃

And　then　the

〃Pine　groves　with　their　soft　and　soul…like　sound〃　gave　glorious　answer；　with　the　streams　and　torrents；　and　my　child…heart　in　its　trance　echoed　the　poet's　invocation；

〃Rise；　like　a　cloud　of　incense　from　the　earth！　And　tell　the　stars；　and　tell　the　rising　sun；　Earth；　with　her　thousand　voices；　calls　on　GOD！〃

I　have　never　visited　Switzerland；　but　I　surely　saw　the　Alps；　with　Coleridge；　in　my　childhood。　And　although　I　never　stood　face　to　face　with　mountains　until　I　was　a　mature　woman；　always；　after　this　vision　of　them；　they　were　blended　with　my　dream　of　whatever　is　pure　and　lofty　in　human　possibilities；like　a　white　ideal　beckoning　me　on。

Since　I　am　writing　these　recollections　for　the　young；　I　may　say　here　that　I　regard　a　love　for　poetry　as　one　of　the　most　needful　and　helpful　elements　in　the　life…outfit　of　a　human　being。　It　was　the　greatest　of　blessings　to　me；　in　the　long　days　of　toil　to　which　I　was　shut　in　much　earlier　than　most　young　girls　are；　that　the　poetry　I　held　in　my　memory　breathed　its　enchanted　atmosphere　through　me　and　around　me；　and　touched　even　dull　drudgery　with　its　sunshine。

Hard　work；　however；　has　its　own　illuminationif　done　as　duty　which　worldliness　has　not；　and　worldliness　seems　to　be　the　greatest　temptation　and　danger　Of　young　people　in　this　genera…　tion。　Poetry　is　one　of　the　angels　whose　presence　will　drive　out　this　sordid　demon；　if　anything　less　than　the　Power　of　the　Highest　can。　But　poetry　is　of　the　Highest。　It　is　the　Divine　Voice；　always；　that　we　recognize　through　the　poet's；　whenever　he　most　deeply　moves　our　souls。

Reason　and　observation；　as　well　as　my　own　experience；　assure　me　also　that　it　is　greatpoetry　even　the　greatestwhich　the　youngest　crave；　and　upon　which　they　may　be　fed；　because　it　is　the　simplest。　Nature　does　not　write　down　her　sunsets；　her　starry　skies；　her　mountains；　and　her　oceans　in　some　smaller　style；　to　suit　the　comprehension　of　little　children；　they　do　not　need　any　such　dilution。　So　I　go　back　to　the；　American　First　Class　Book；〃　and　affirm　it　to　have　been　one　of　the　best　of　reading…books；　because　it　gave　us　children　a　taste　of　the　finest　poetry　and　prose　which　had　been　written　in　our　English　tongue；　by　British　and　by　American　authors。　Among　the　pieces　which　left　a　permanent　impression　upon　my　mind　I　recall　Wirt's　description　of　the　eloquent　blind　preacher　to　whom　he　listened　in　the　forest　wilderness　of　the　Blue　Ridge；　a　remarkable　word…portrait；　in　which　the　very　tones　of　the　sightless　speaker's　voice　seemed　to　be　reproduced。　I　believe　that　the　first　words　I　ever　remembered　of　any　sermon　were　those　contained　in　the　grand；　brief　sentence；…　…〃Socrates　died　like　a　philosopher；　but　Jesus　Christlike　a　God！〃

Very　vivid；　too；　is　the　recollection　of　the　exquisite　little　prose　idyl　of　〃Moss…Side；〃　from　〃Lights　and　Shadows　of　Scottish　Life。〃　From　the　few　short　words　with　which　it　began〃Gilbert　Ainslee　was　a　poor　man；　and　he　had　been　a　poor　man　all　the　days　of　his　life〃to　the　happy　waking　of　his　little　daughter　Margaret　out　of　her　fever…sleep　with　which　it　ended；　it　was　one　sweet　picture　of　lowly　life　and　honorable　poverty　irradiated　with　sacred　home…affections；　and　cheerful　in　its　rustic　homeliness　as　the　blossoms　and　wild　birds　of　the　moorland　and　the　magic　touch　of　Christopher　North　could　make　it。　I　thought　as　I　read

〃How　much　pleasanter　it　must　be　to　be　poor　than　to　be　richat　least　in　Scotland！〃

For　I　was　beginning　to　be　made　aware　that　poverty　was　a　possible　visitation　to　our　own　household；　and　that；　in　our　Cape　Ann　corner　of　Massachusetts；　we　might　find　it　neither　comfortable　nor　picturesque。　After　my　father's　death；　our　way　of　living；　never　luxurious；　grew　more　and　more　frugal。　Now　and　then　I　heard　mysterious　allusions　to　〃the　wolf　at　the　door〃：　and　it　was　whispered　that；　to　escape　him；　we　might　all　have　to　turn　our　backs　upon　the　home　where　we　were　born；　and　find　our　safety　in　the　busy　world；　working　among　strangers　for　our　daily　bread。　Before　I　had　reached　my　tenth　year　I　began　to　have　rather　disturbed　dreams　of　what　it　might　soon　mean　for　me　to　〃earn　my　own　living。〃

VII。

BEGINNING　TO　WORK。

A　CHILD　does　not　easily　comprehend　even　the　plain　fact　of　death。　Though　I　had　looked　upon　my　father's　still；　pale　face　in　his　coffin；　the　impression　it　left　upon　me　was　of　sleep；　more　peaceful　and　sacred　than　common　slumber；　yet　only　sleep。　My　dreams　of　him　were　for　a　long　time　so　vivid　that　I　would　say　to　myself；　〃He　was　here　yesterday；　he　will　be　here　again　to…morrow；〃　with　a　feeling　that　amounted　to　expectation。

We　missed　him；　we　children　large　and　small　who　made　up　the　yet　untrained　home　crew；　as　a　ship　misses　the　man　at　the　helm。　His　grave；　clear　perception　of　what　was　best　for　us；　his　brief　words　that　decided；　once　for　all；　the　course　we　were　to　take；　had　been　far　more　to　us　than　we　knew。

It　was　hardest　of　all　for　my　mother；　who　had　been　accustomed　to　depend　entirely　upon　him。　Left　with　her　eight　child